​

‘Ikra!’ the man with the blurred face exclaims. I search for his eyes, in the hope of some grip.

‘I was on my way to learn Dutch…’ 

‘That’s what you told your daughter’ he says, ‘to shut her up, but you never did. You wanted Rania to

be your personal translator for the rest of your life, so you just fled to the park.’

‘But this time I’m serious. I want to improve myself so I can be there for my daughter.’ 

‘That’s only because it’s too late for that’ he says while disconnecting the lens of his camera. 

‘You had a brain haemorrhage. Right here in the park.’ 

 ‘What?’ I look around me in disbelief. ‘This doesn’t sound like me at all.’

‘We’ve been through this before’ the man sighs.

‘Your short term memory doesn’t function anymore, alright?’

‘What if this is just a dream?’ I ask, but the man with the blurred face is totally devoted to the polishing of his lens.

By now I feel like pushing his face in a plate of halloumi cheese.

‘You should do that to your face instead of to your lens’ I tell the man. ‘Now give me my bag.

I need to speak to my daughter.’

​