One day I was standing by the window gazing vacantly and smoking at the lunch break at work, when a colleague came and stood by me without me noticing her. I was looking out blankly and she was, probably, looking at my look, or the way I looked. Then out of sudden she asked me in a decisive and assuring tone: “Are you existentialist Sami?” I was shocked and startled for that direct unexpected questions and remembered the “parties” of interrogation they held on me in jail.
What? Existentialist? What’s that? And I was really astonished not only from the question but from the questioning person whom I never thought she knows (and I was right) anything of Sartre or Fanon.
What? Existentialist? Why the hell I am always taken to be –ist?
“You are communist, and we know that” roared the interrogator suddenly (actually not one but three interrogators…
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