I decided to go for a second walk today.

After a very beautiful walk with a couple of very close friends in the morning, I decided to allow myself to go for another. An unusual decision, really. This time though, I wanted to take one good friend with me- that friend was me. Early in my walk, I started to feel the drop in temperature as the sun was quickly hiding behind the mountain to my right. "That is unfortunate!" I thought to myself. But as the breeze started to hit my face and freshen my soul, I took it back. That is artsy. Later, while walking on an unpaved road, I thought to myself "That is unfortunate!", and then I figured, I can simply limit what I see to that patch of grass on the sidewalk to my right, and enjoy the freshness of the not-so-violent river running beside me.

I guess I was heading towards the park- I mean, that is the only place I find nature and a place to sit with my friend. A few hundred meters before the park, I passed by a church that’s under construction and thought about the ugliness of the sight, and how, despite the mechanical look and feel of this site, a place of holiness, virtue, purity, and transcendence would take the place of this machinery and give peace and prayers to its surroundings. Then, passing by a graveyard next to the park, I felt a weird attraction, a huge push... a strong drive to go to the final port of the dead. And, I followed the call.

This graveyard -at least in my eyes- is no ordinary graveyard; It sits on the cliffside of a mountain surrounded by trees and nature in the heart of a huge park. Perhaps, that was the source of that drive- or that is what I am trying to convince myself of.

Climbing up the cliff, I thought to myself: "Oh my god, I am becoming crazy…" Then I thought, “maybe that is the only way to live, or maybe not.” Then I decided to discard the entire idea; it was no time for philosophical discussion in my head- If I were truly crazy, it would only drive me crazier.

As I finally reached the graveyard, I noticed - and not for the first time- that this was no ordinary graveyard. Unlike graveyards in Palestine, where people are buried in artificial tombs built with bricks and asphalt, stacked on top of each other, and the dead are packed like in a hospital fridge. It is quite the contrary here. In this beautiful space, people are buried in the ground, in the soil, in connection with Earth. I thought to myself: "Ah, I love it!"

Walking across the graveyard on a dirt road, I looked to my left, and it seemed to me that the graveyard just keeps going up and up the mountain, extending through the forest with no paved roads, only pathways made by predecessors.

I -and for some reason and with no evident source of courage- decided to go up the mountain and into the graveyard, not noticing that the sun was setting down. The spaces got tighter and the forest grew thicker; I was trying to find my way between the scattered tombs and around the trees. It wasn't hard to notice the difference between these tombs and think of what the differences might suggest. Some were fancy, huge, and projected majesty. Something similar to a fortress, I guess. Others more frequently appeared with each step up the mountain, poor and less appealing tombs: Small, shy, and gave the sensation of sadness and sorrow. I cannot tell why but I associated with those shy tombs easier. "That’s the proper way to die." my unconsciousness whispered to me.

A portrait of the person was carved into a huge graphite brick on the fancy tombs -heck, some of them had sculptures of the head and even sculptures of the whole person. The less fancy tombs had a simple photograph in a wooden frame covered by glass, something you’d find in a dining room. And the least fancy ones were truly simple: a man in the ground with a rock over his head "Name - date of death," and maybe a few roses.

The drive grew stronger with every pause I took looking for possible paths between the close tombs, making sure no trees tore down my jacket more, and no (simple) tombs were being unnoticed and stepped on. I kept going and going and going until the sounds of humans interrupted the singing of the birds; the sound of my footsteps on the grass; the howling of the mountain winds; and the occasional echoing bark of a distant dog.

The sounds of laughs grew louder and louder as I approached, and then I started to think to myself: "That is unfortunate," but this time, I thought again and I said: "Aaaaaakh... This is unfortunate." And as I stood to evaluate my option, thinking whether I shall continue this walk that is of no obvious destination (neither a place I’m willing to reach neither a thought I need to finalize). The cracking of beer bottles startled me. I guess the sound was a satisfying answer. I turned around and looked for a way back between the trees.

I thought to myself, it is a pity, but weird.  It is "unfortunate," but interesting. It is interesting how a man could enjoy the company of the dead more than the company of the living.

As I approached the end of the cliff it seemed to me that perhaps, it is fine to be insane, maybe being crazy is the only way to truly be.

With the help of the singing of the birds, the rapidly dropping temperature, and the smell of wet grass, I sat down on the edge of the cliff that marks the beginning of the graveyard, facing the city, viewing the old houses from above, and wandered in my thoughts for a while - a long, cold while.  With the dead behind me, and the living in front... I write these words, I do not know why or for whom, but I had to.

The dead taught me something today, perhaps not; perhaps it is a life lesson, perhaps not; perhaps I am crazy, and perhaps… not; perhaps I want to be crazy, perhaps not.

Who am I anyway?