Tales from the Mechanic Centipede Archives: People We Meet on the Metro

  

Almost three years ago, I moved to a new city to embark on a new chapter in my life. I wanted to explore the world outside of my small village. I wanted to see unfamiliar faces and places.

In the city, you are introduced to one of the most convenient yet still inconvenient transportation vehicle that goes by the name Metro  or as I would like to call it the Centipede.  Why do I call it that you asked? Simple; It moves in certain circular articulations and it has more than four wheels (or let us call them legs) therefore it is in fact, a Centipede.

The Centipede entering process is simple but it also highly depended on the fast movements and the quick-reactions of the human body. Once you enter, you are given an invisible stopwatch. You have about twenty seconds before the doors close and the Centipede moves in action to the next station. In those twenty seconds, that are usually taken for granted, you have to pay for the death ride and find a seat or hold on for dear life on one of those yellow hangers things. I call them life supporters. My advice? Leg pressure. Move all the pressure and focus on keeping your legs glued to the gray ground. Standing next to the payment machine is also a good place to hold your grounds.

If you think this is silly or an over-reaction that means you have never taken a trip on the Centipede. I learned the hard way in which it functions, so consider yourself lucky with some of the tips I provided. I was not warned about the devil-ride.

Why did I dedicate two paragraphs to an explanation of the Centipede? I wanted to provide you with an imagery of what it is like to be there, I wanted you to imagine the awkwardness of it all. However, I would like not to get ahead of myself.

After learning the 101’s of the Centipede, you take the advanced classes of the Centipede. The people you meet on the Centipede. The people that I met fall into three categories.

1. The Metro Shadows:

The ones who enter silently, ghost like. They slide their card, it beeps, and that is the only sign of life they will give. They sit or sometimes stand, quietly. No eye contact, steady breaths, no reactions. For some reason they never wear sandals or open-shoes. My theory is that they are the urban legends of the metro. They have seen it all and they know it all. Legend has it, they are invisible to almost everyone. Therefore, seeing them could mean I am the chosen one.

 

2. The obnoxious façades:

The ones who make sure everyone else on the living planet knows that they have arrived. Yes, I am talking about loud gum chewing. Yes, I am talking about loud talking on the phone and inviting us to their phone conversation (with usually either their co-worker to gossip or their overly-protective romantic partner that is obviously a huge red flag). They just do it all, annoyingly. Do not even dare to tell them to keep it quiet. Because legend has it, again, that if you shall ask the obnoxious façades to lower their voices, you shall be cursed with the sentence of the motion slip and crash curse. Trust me; you do NOT want to know what that is. 

 

3. The Eyes of the Commute:

The deadliest of all. You know them, you heard of them and you are probably seeing one right now. Quiet like the Metro Shadows, obnoxiously equal to the façades. When they enter the metro, you feel them. Their wide-eyed gaze falls upon you. That tingling in the back of your neck that sends chills to all of your body? They are the cause of it (scientists would argue it could also be from the AC of the metro, but do you buy that? Choose your side wisely) 

They not only watch, they observe you. You cannot avoid it, many have tried to ignore it but alas, they had failed. They are inescapable. I know what you are thinking, I will stare back. Rookie mistake, my friend. It won’t stop it, just give in into the eyes.

 

These are the people I have encountered on the metro during my three years of living in the city and being on the metro almost daily. Consider this a seasoned traveler's warning as you embark on your own journeys aboard the Centipede. Arm yourself with the knowledge of these archetypes, for they are the silent architects of the metro's social dynamics. Jot down these observations in your mental notebook, study the subtle nuances, and decode the unspoken language of the metro. In this bustling underground realm, understanding your fellow travelers becomes not just a skill but also a survival strategy. So, as you step onto the platform, be vigilant, for the Metro Chronicles are waiting to unfold before your very eyes.

Before the Maté gets Cold - A Retelling

 

Last February, I read four books from a series titled ‘Before the Coffee Gets Cold’ by Toshikazu Kawaguchi and I have been thinking about that series non-stop.

If you have not heard of the series or read it yet (you should as soon as you can), here is a brief spoiler-free description of the series: In Tokyo, Japan there is a small café rumored to make you travel to the past to visit someone you want. People of different backgrounds, intentions, and emotions come to visit it and travel to the past to visit people there.

Now I am no Kawaguchi, although after reading his works, I now aspire to be, but I did not do it justice with that preview. You have to check it out yourself and see what the series is like between these marvelous pages.  It is captivating, pulling you with each word and each line. The characters differ making you love ones, dislike ones, and question ones as well. In conclusion after reading this, go give it a chance and you will see the reason I chose to write about this series. Side note, there are currently four books that have been translated into English and I am patiently, yet that is already running out, waiting for the fifth installment in the series.

What is my point of writing this, you may ask?

As I was reading the first book of the series, I started thinking if I had the chance to travel to the past to visit certain someone, who would it be and what it would look like. What will I feel? Given there are certain rules that I myself will not spoil them for you if you wish to read the book (s), I started coming up with my own version of the book.

Before the Maté gets cold.

For those of you who know, you know. For those of you who do not, Mate is a very common hot beverage known in my culture. It originated from South America and has made its way to Syrian culture and it is now considered to many an essential household token.  I have provided a picture of what it looks like but trust me the taste is better once you get the hang of it. (This is a direct message to all the people who tried it the first time and thought it had a bitter feeling to it, IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE THAT AND TRUST ME IT GETS BETTER EACH TIME YOU DRINK IT)

After briefly explaining what the book’s main idea is and you know what mate is, here is my version of that magnificent book.

 

Before the Maté gets Cold

That is the place. I am standing from across the street staring at the sign of the café. I can see the reflection of the neon-purple letters on the puddle near me. I have heard the rumors and read the stories. That is the place, I announced in both relief and fright. I have traveled almost two hours to get here. It is already half-past seven and their website says they close at eight. Thirty minutes is all I got, will it be enough? I am not saying that I believe the rumors but if they did turn out to be true, will I make it through?

 Before I know it, I am sprinting to the other side of the street. I should not be this excited over a mythical place. The thought slows my pace, what am I doing. I am standing in front of the door. It is not too late to turn back, Mayad. You can still manage to-

The door opens.

‘Can I help you?’ a girl my age asks.

Shit.

‘Hi.’ I say ‘this is the café’ smooth, I know. This makes her laugh.

‘Yes, this is the café’ she steps aside from the door ‘come in, I can squeeze another puzzled customer’

Puzzled is one of the words that could describe how I felt. Embarrassed is a close second.

I enter and I am immediately smell the strong sent of coffee beans and the remaining donuts in the display case. Thankfully, there is still one last salted-caramel donut, this is definitely a sign. I sit at the first chair I stumble across. I settle down as I wait for her to bring me the menu. I look around the place as an excuse for me to wait for the waitress to bring me the menu. I hear a snicker coming the from register. I take a glance towards it. The girl that opened the door, and I completely made a fool of myself in front of, is smiling while looking at me.

‘If you are waiting for a menu, there is one here’ she says as she waves the cardboard menu. So it is that kind of café. What a way to, yet again, embarrass myself in front of the girl. 

‘Oh, haha. I knew that’ clearly I did not.

I stand up and walk towards the register, I look at the time; 19:42 already. My foolishness made me waste a couple of minutes. Get straight to the point, Mayad. I opened my mouth to speak, but I stopped myself. How does one ask for this weird request? The waitress, erm- the worker is staring at me. She almost looks like she is giving me the look of pity. I give up. I smile and just head towards the door.

‘Are you here for the past?’ She asks as I put my hands on the doorknob. I stop in my place.

‘Is it that obvious?’ I ask nervously.

‘I figured that might be the case since you were standing outside the café for a good amount of time’ she smiles, now pure smiling and not out of pity.

‘I just did not know if it… you know like-‘

‘If it is real?’ she asks, already reading my thoughts I see.

I nod.

‘It is real’ she says ‘why don’t you take a seat and I will show you?’

I rest my shoulders. I walk towards the seat I sat at, she is walking behind me.

She taps my shoulder. I turn to her.

‘That one’ she points and looks at something across the room.

I follow her gaze, she is pointing at a booth near the window. There is a woman sitting there drinking mate. The woman is reading a book; I cannot catch the name of it. She is heavily immersed in that book, I am eager to know what it is.

‘That is the ghost of Nadia’ the girl announces.

A-what-now?

‘How on earth did you even find us?’ the girl asks as she began to explain the story of the ghost woman who is apparently is a bookworm.

The rumors were true; this was the café that can make you travel back to the past to meet someone from that period. There were a few rules but the main rule was to drink the mate before it gets cold or I will end up replacing the ghost-lady. As it turns out, Nadia had went to the past to visit her sister and did not finish her cup of Maté , therefore she ended up being the café ghost. Nadia gets up from her chair only two times throughout the opening hours of the café, at eleven in the morning to go to the bathroom and at 19:55. Five minutes before closing time, what a respectful customer. The girl, who weirdly I still do not know the name of, asked me if I got the rules. I nod. I look at the time.

19:54.

One minute left, Nadia stops reading. The girl goes to prepare the hot cup of mate. Nadia stands up and vanishes. The girl comes back with the mate and a timer-clock. I run towards the seat and settle in. I felt like that was a little bit extra considering the seat wasn’t that far from where I was standing.

‘Okay, in a couple of seconds I will pour the Maté ’ the girl says ‘you already know who you want to meet?’

I do.

She pours the Maté. Here we go.

 

It did not feel like the past at first, nothing had changed. The café still looked the same. I look around as a couple of customers walk in. I smile. They are here.

Zakia, Attra and Hamoud walk in. They are as I lastly remember them. Attra was in her wheelchair strolling like a champion that she always was. Zakia and Hamoud were holding hands and smiling. They glance around and when they find me, their eyes light up. Tears were already streaming down my face and my cheeks were burning red. They are truly here. They walk towards me and I take a sip of my mate. Still hot, that means I have enough time, I will not waste any minute. They arrive and we exchange hugs. Zakia and Hamoud sit on the other side of the table and I move the chair next to me for Attra’s wheelchair. They are here. We are here together.

‘I have missed you’ I cry ‘I have not stopped thinking about you since the moment you left.’

I hold their hands strongly. I will not let go this time.

‘Life has not been the same. There is a strange feeling that floats around my life daily. At night, I cry watching the remaining videos of all of you and the pictures of us. You are on my mind every day. It has been hard; I am not going to lie to you. People told me that it does it get better but I don’t think it is a case of ‘getting better’ it is rather a case of ‘trying to make things feel normal again’. But things are not normal. Normal was the time I was with you. Normal was the times we drank mate together. Normal was when I was walking home from school and I stop by Attra’s house and sit with her on the balcony for a couple of minutes complaining to her about school and her telling me that I got it. Normal was when Hamoud used to walk around the neighborhood collecting random pieces and creating tools out of them. Normal was when I spent five hours with Zakia and filming random snapchat videos with her. Normal was when you were around. Normal was when you were minutes away from me and not a lifetime away. Where I came from today is not normal. This meeting we are having is not the normal either, it is rather a conception of normal. Nevertheless, I needed this meeting. I needed to see you as I always remembered you. Smiling no matter how you felt. Holding me and making all of my worries and anxiety disappear into the abyss. Telling me stories that I now hold close to my heart and will one day share them with the world so they would know how special you were and how strong you held into this questionable life. You are my identity, heritage and the reason why Mayad is Mayad today. I love you and I will never stop loving you. I miss you that is well known by now and I-‘

The Maté . I forgot about the Maté. I take a sip. It is not as hot but it is still warm.

‘Drink it!’ they all shout in fear.

I lift the cup, the bitter aroma of the mate hits my lips. I stop myself do I take that final sip or should I savor this moment?

 

 

 

 

 

Navigating Life's Tapestry - Chapter Two: Attra

19/4/2023... 

I'm grappling with how to begin this, but the compulsion to write is undeniable. 

It's been roughly twenty-four hours, and the ache of your absence has already settled in. I saw you just four days ago; you even acknowledged me with a raised hand despite the struggle with words in your current state. 

Yet, it was the look you gave me that spoke volumes—a familiar gaze. It mirrored the one in that picture, stained with spilled coffee, when you first bathed me. It echoed the same expression from the nights I announced I'd be sleeping over, and the mornings after, when you'd grace me with your famous pita. 

That look, assuring me that everything is okay, that you've got me—I miss it profoundly. Your food, your smile, the Syrian accent that defines home for me—I yearn for them all. I miss the way you loved me, a love so rare and precious. I've lost you not once, but multiple times, and it feels surreal. 

Life is unpredictable, often unbearable. 

Attra, even your name holds a poetic resonance. Your stories, the scenes you've witnessed, the traumas you endured—these have shaped you into a legacy, a gift, a gem. The familial bond we once shared has dissolved, but scratch that—I will honor you. I'll carry forward your legacy with love, respect, and peace. 

Rest peacefully, my angel. I'll encounter you in my dreams, perhaps even in the waking world soon, for a life without you feels like stepping into an eternal abyss.

Navigating Life's Tapestry - Chapter One: Zakia

23/12/2023...

I've just bid my farewells, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead.

White blankets enveloped you, yet even behind closed eyes, a glimmer of that familiar twinkle and everlasting joy shone through. Remarkably, on your final day, you departed with a serene smile. 

Oh, Zakia, the extraordinary life you led. I'll deeply miss the tales we shared, the memories we revisited over maté. In my mind, you were immortal, a permanent fixture destined to remain, showering me with love, holding me close, and shielding me from the world.

Alas, I've learned the harsh truth: when you love someone, you must let them go. Today, I did just that, as we all did.

We love you, and we feel your absence keenly. You'll forever reside in our hearts, particularly in mine. 

Rest in power, my angel. Heaven has embraced another beautiful soul.

 Arrival

Welcome to Mayad's Mosaic, an earthly space where I weave together a tapestry of thoughts, experiences, and musings. Here, you'll find a collection of my writings, opinions, and snippets from life's diverse landscape. Mayad's Mosaic is more than just a blog; it's a journey through the mosaic of my mind, where each piece contributes to the vibrant picture of who I am. 

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