In the Red Square

Yemenat

Ahmed Saif Hashed

In the midst of the Red Square, at the heart of Moscow, you find yourself enveloped in a fantastical world, narrating wonders that surpass your modest imagination, despite its authenticity. Your imagination, which could not conceive the scene you now stand upon, witnessing with your own eyes, leaves you hesitant to believe, immersed in astonishment, even though it is real and certain.

I appeared to myself as one who had lost their mind under the shock, unable to distinguish between the reality of the moment and the void. I ask myself, gaping in disbelief at what I see: Am I truly here, or not? Is this world before me, surrounding me in every direction, indeed a tangible reality as I perceive it, or merely an unfounded illusion with no basis in truth? It is a scene I had never envisioned before, and I remain reluctant to accept it.

This is another world, shockingly different from the one I came from or had grown accustomed to. Imagine suddenly being transported from your remote village, still pleading for rain from the heavens while paying dearly for the precious money you earn through toil, to a civilization that causes rain to fall precisely when and where it desires. It is a vast contradiction between a country whose people pray for rain while, in reality, it imports wheat from lands where its inhabitants do not pray for it. This is the cultural shock, the immense disparity between your village, lost in the forgotten corners of the Earth, and the heart of Moscow, the capital of the mighty Soviet Union. It is a contrast that encompasses all wonder.

As I wander through the Red Square, awestruck, my gaze shifting amidst the dazzling sights, I find myself thinking: I can envision Isra