Thank you for opening to this page, in this book, this magazine, this site online, wherever it is you’ve found it. I hope you read more than the title because I wrote this for you.

'Why?' you inquire. 'You don’t know me.'

This is probably true, unless you are a kind friend or relative of mine, or an unkind reviewer, who has picked this up because I do know you. Perhaps you are wondering if you are in this story. Maybe you are.

But for the many, many people who are not my friends or relatives or colleagues or anywhere in the ambit of my everyday life, I still wrote this for you. I write so there is a chance you will remember my story or a bit of it. Perhaps you will utilise it in some unforeseen time to come, although I didn’t write it particularly because I wanted to help you in that way. I wrote it because I have to pass on these stories that are in my head, that are a part of who I am. It’s an urge, an urgent one. 

Many speak of the biological imperative, and they mean the passing on of one’s genes, something corporeal, albeit microscopic. I speak of the compulsion to pass on something incorporeal, the part of ourselves that can be embodied in words and shapes and images and sounds. These things sprang from our memories and imaginations and are as much a part of who we are as any piece, large or small, of our bodies.

Everyone feels this urge and it grows stronger as we grow older, almost frantic one might say. Will you listen if I tell you a story? Will you remember?

It doesn’t matter if every listener does, not every mating is fruitful. But some of you will and that is what is important for me. And when you pass on your stories, perhaps you will include some of mine that have become a part of you.

That is why every person, real or imagined, wants to tell their story.

And, if you have read this far, I thank you once more, and hope that you find listeners for your story, too.

MA Khoury