They tell me, when it is not cloudy in this country, oh, you must come out and enjoy the nice weather. They do not understand that nice weather for them is not nice weather for me. They do not know that the sun terrifies me. Clouds will kill you too, yes, but gently, with mercy. I don’t know how to explain that, for those born in scorched countries, nice weather nearly always means a grey sky. I know every single one of the words I need, even in this strange, stumbling language, but I don’t know how to string them together to say this.
Hibah Shabkhez is a writer of the half-yo literary tradition, an erratic language-learning enthusiast, and a happily eccentric blogger from Lahore, Pakistan. Her work has previously appeared in Black Bough, Zin Daily, London Grip, The Madrigal, Acropolis Journal, Lucent Dreaming, and a number of other literary magazines. Studying life, languages, and literature from a comparative perspective across linguistic and cultural boundaries holds a particular fascination for her.