the sky is falling

Our ceiling broke.

Birds have apparently entered our ceiling from the roof and picked away at some of the planks. I noticed it a little over a week ago when crumbs of ceiling began sprinkling onto my bed and a wooden plank bent over my pillow in an unnatural downward direction. Then, last night, a bit more than sprinkles came down and luckily neither my sister nor I were within range of this roof cascade. When I came back from school today, all my things had been moved to the other salon; a new home in my home.

So, why am I telling you all this? Well, other than the rather amusing mental image of me dodging pieces of falling ceiling, Moui said something to me today that I’ve had a hard time shaking off. She joked that the broken ceiling salon (also the blue salon) was my room for the first part of my time here and now the red salon will be my residence for whatever time is left. Now I can’t seem to get it out of my head that my days are measured as the time I have left here. Cue ball dropping.

I caught a glimpse of it somewhere between the sunshine and the flowers on the car ride away from my home in the village. It being that uncertain type of goodbye which can’t be followed by I’ll see you soon/later/sooner or later. The type of parting that makes you go for the seventh or eighth kiss on the cheek just in case a reunion isn’t in the books. With my little brother Haj, I went for ten. Mama Haja got an even dozen.

The weather here has taken an ugly turn for the worse. It is the coldest and rainiest I’ve seen Rabat in the over two months I’ve been here. From what my dad tells me, I understand it’s blizzarding in Colorado, so I suppose a bit of rain is nothing to complain about. Just got this itch of a feeling that I’ve seen the sky fall one too many times during the past few days.