Palestwinians.

I hate Mondays.

"They told me to follow my dreams; so I went back to sleep." - Anonymous

Chapter 3 - I hate Mondays.

I woke up the next morning and groaned in agitation. It was like my body automatically recognised that it was a Monday.

Mondays make me want to strap myself to a bull that has ADHD. 

I yawned loudly as I emerged from the warm confines of my bed and headed straight to bathroom.

You know how there are some people who wake up and have a shower? Can I just say, no. What are you doing with your life? I mean I can't even form a coherent sentence in the morning and these people have the energy to shower? Unless you sleepwalked outside and rolled around in the mud or I don't know, miraculously went for a jog there is absolutely no need to shower in the morning. Unless you didn't shower the day before well then you're just dirty and I have nothing else to say to you. 

Clearly, anything that required effort and movement in the morning was a big no in my books.

I stood in front of the mirror analysing myself. I wouldn't call myself extraordinarily beautiful but I did have some good features. Even then, most days I would wake up looking like I had just been run over by a truck. 

I always believed however, that one had to compliment themselves, not out of narcissism, but to keep their mind healthy and positive about themselves.

I had very long, curly black hair which reached past my bottom. It was quite thick too and sometimes gave me a headache, what with being held up by my hijab majority of the time. I had chocolate brown eyes, protected by thick black eyelashes. Although I had tanned skin, the small amount of freckles that were sprawled over my nose and a bit of my cheeks, were still apparent. 

I guess with my tan skin and brown eyes, I looked like your typical Mediterranean Arab. 

After I finished getting dressed, I trailed down the stairs and straight into the kitchen. If I didn't eat breakfast every morning I'd get a headache and well...let's just say you want to be at least  a kilometre out of my vicinity once that headache starts pounding. 

I uttered a dull good morning and received no replies. When I looked up, it was no surprise why. 

As usual, it was chaos in the house.

Nadia and Rida were screaming over who would get the remaining two pieces of multigrain bread for their sandwich and Deana was secretly eating chocolate for breakfast in the corner, so mum couldn't see her. Poor mum was trying to feed a crying Adam who just wouldn't budge. 

Then there was my dad and Noah who were arguing over money.

"Dad please just take it."

"Noah you worked hard for this money. I have no need or want for it."

"But I want to give it to you. It'll give me peace of mind. Please?" I watched as my father's stern face slowly softened, until finally he smiled, causing the wrinkles to appear at the corner of his eyes.

"Ok son, only because you're so adamant. Muna when did our son become so demanding?" 

My mother, who was holding Adam, looked above his head and smiled. "When he became handsome and responsible." My father patted his shoulder approvingly and my mother came over and kissed the side of his head. 

"We're proud of you son."

Even though Noah was wearing a modest smile, I knew those words meant tons to him. Noah scored a job at the beginning of the year, working in the spare time he gets at our university in administration. Although it's not really his thing, the declining rate of jobs in Gaza has sort of forced him to settle. Many Palestinian businesses have been shut down or demolished a long time ago.