I am an orange

Tina Hayeb Habib || Fall 2025

This girl is sitting alone.

This girl is crying, she is sighing,

All because of me — my orange divine.

Catch someone and let the rest run.

It’s a song Persian kids sing during a playground game. One child stands in the middle, eyes closed, pretending to cry, while the others walk around her in a circle, singing. When the song ends, the girl in the center has to run — catch someone before they escape — and whoever she catches becomes the new one in the middle.

That was always the first thing I thought about when I cried. Strange, maybe, but it was the only game I ever joined. Stranger still, I didn’t like running or chasing people. But in that game, if I caught someone, I wouldn’t have to be the lonely girl anymore, the one in the center, the one everyone sang to. Just one chance not to be her.

When I was little, I never understood who was singing the song in my life. Then, one day, the world answered me. I was crying for God knows what reason...and she came.

“You look like a squeezed orange,” she said.

Orange...

It was unusual, but I loved crying when she was around. Or maybe she always appeared when I needed someone.

But she wasn’t mine. I wasn’t hers, either.

I was the orange again, the poor girl she sang for, giving her the courage to catch someone and be done with crying.

I think I’m still in the middle. I haven’t caught anyone yet.

I will, at some point; I guess we all do.

But until then, I don’t mind being an orange.

As long as she’s the one singing to me.

And I’m still her orange.

I am just an orange.