Memoirs, next to a fridge

I have been here for a while, or at least I believe so. Should I make conclusions? Should I drive myself to places that make more sense to where I am at this very particular moment in my life? Should I respond differently to the disgusting word "3o2balak" (Trans: Hopefully it will happen to you, or something like that)?

Is there chocolate?

My favorite place in the house after my room, is the kitchen. I did most of my studying there, by the fire from the stove, that once, aged 11, caught my hair and turned it into white ashes while I was sleeping by it. But let's not drift away from the subject.

The window from the kitchen sees my childhood friend "M" and his crazy family with weird names. Given the above, me being in the kitchen a lot caused me quite some trouble. Many thought I used to stay there in order to stare at "M"'s sisters when they used to go out in the balcony. I did not. Really.

I think both of his sisters are married now, whilst "M", is currently living in Alexandria. And since I am talking about him, a rush of memories comes back to life in my head. Me, him and a few others were that crazy gang from the age of 11 to 13 . We used to meet up on his building's rooftop to watch people's lives through windows and balconies. (Lives, women taking off clothes or whatever..)

I look back at myself and try to recognize this kid. No recollection whatsoever.

Winter is almost here. The oven looks tempting..