I really am not sure how I would like to begin this post or what is really to come of it. I have lost track of the amount of days that I have let these thoughts simmer in the back of my mind and I believe that it is time I release them to record. As some of you know (or don't), I have begun my career and consequently my 'adult' life in Saskatoon, Canada. The trials and tribulations though overwhelmingly positive have certainly laid a foundation for many eye-opening observations and realizations that one may argue come only through the negative experiences that breed such a longing for separation from pain or misfortune.
Reaching back as far as the strings of my memory will allow - I cannot help but revision being outside our old accommodations situated in view of what was then the palace of the heir to the throne of Kuwait. A square apartment in a square building separated from royalty by a huge lot of sand crowned with walls. With the Iraqi invasion over, and with the dust settling into the ground, my parents had decided that they would return to Kuwait to work once again. We had survived the war, and had briefly escaped to Syria and Lebanon through the borders of Iraq. We were a part of the lucky few that were able to pass thanks to our Lebanese passport and the relative unimportance that we were granted as a result of being from a country that carried no weight or consideration. I will only add that though we had passed the borders, my parents were not of the complete fortune to have escaped completely the barrels of Iraqi guns ready to kill the escape of any opportunity presenting itself as a chance to salvage hidden treasures being carried by those in exodus.
My family slowly began to put our lives back together following the losses of war. I was enrolled in an American school that hung the carrots of equality and opportunity behind gates that opened only to those richer than 75% of the state. Ironically, uniforms were law under the pretense of eliminating the lines of class and economic status. Additionally, instructors lacking knowledge of our language left ample space to forgo many a chance to police the horrors lurking behind the veils of cultural ambiguity. For some of us, real values and ideas inherent in liberal Western society found their ways into our heads. Further, it was not difficult to divide us into three categories: those mentioned above, those who had a selective appreciation of ideas which weaved a shell worn inside the gates of a first-world education, and those who utterly rejected everything that was offered for the mere chance to terrorize all of which they found to be a threat and anyone associated with it (the rest of us). My heart still goes out to the young Ashley I knew who was sexually assaulted simply for being a soft-spoken beauty from Kentucky. I don't know where you are anymore Ashley though I hope that you were able to find peace, safety, and a home instead of the place of temporary residence that we shared albeit sometimes in horror.
As the years passed, we all found our different ways and niches much like youth anywhere else in the world. As foreigners - more commonly known as "expats" to the State - we found ways to forget the routine abuse, oppression, and hatred which was hurled at us at every turn and opportunity. Naturally, some had it worse than others. Interestingly enough, some of us expats even fell into the dream that we were a part of the winning team with the right to abuse the inferior cohabitants found within our environment. Those who did not participate but were designated as victims formed groups of solidarity, others designated enemies of their own, and the rest were confined to the darkness reserved for many an outcast. My first reflection now appears that our pasts as the expat youth was merely our preparation and training to assimilate into our 'designate' place within the State. For many fortunate enough to breath freedom through escape, a period of healing and truth is now here.
These words are not meant to be a brush of sin used to paint the place in which I used to reside. Instead they are a blade to pierce through what many will not engage to say out loud for fear of pride or retribution. I am of course like the others that share my past still afraid to speak. Though unlike most I will attempt to not let my fear rule me...
Having left the confines the State, I was thrust into a different prison this time constructed by those sharing the same blood, past, and papers as me. My few years in Lebanon moved me from being an outcast to being in center-light as one of the many that were forced to declare allegiance to this power or that for the sake of advancing and salvaging the new assigned designate. Being fortunate enough to have endured the 18 - odd years of the State, I found my solace in the Red Cross. Some of the sweetest moments of solace were found behind the walls of an organization adamant about tearing down walls. Soon enough, the drums of war beat once again and like the leaves on the grounds of autumn I wafted through the winds to a new place in an attempt to find home.
As a child I found peace through my day dreams and alternate realities. My biggest thrill was going into the stores that offered high class expats (or those who could afford it) the treasures that they could find in their real homes beyond the sea. Pb &J, poptarts, popcorn, plus clothing styles and brands that were all the rage. The luxury wasn't the lure however, it was the escape of being in different place through the items that didn't belong the in the State - much like the expats. My pb&j was my gate key not for its creamy goodness but for the fact that it let me dream that I wasn't a filthy expat but a real kid with real dreams and a right to be who I was. When my time came to fly across the sea at 21 I did not know if my dreams would prove to be real or if they were a part of the mirages that comforted me when I was desolate.
Step by step I learned what there was to learn about being in the Great White North. I had my share of love and hate although at least now I knew where I could hide from one and find the other. Temporary visits back to the State maintained the levels of oppression that one is fed to remain dormant and learn one's place. Though this too has come to an end now that I am an 'adult'. As I have begun to detox I am slowly able to breath and see more of that which had been denied to me all of my life. Experiencing a consistent feeling of self worth has provided for the ability to tear the bandages blinding my sight and to see for once the shell that was mine for a majority of my life. Though I fear that my family is in danger more with every letter I commit - I cannot help but feel my fingers become free. I am no longer a slave to a system that throws money in the face of anything that needs or wants but dares to be different or dreams to belong. I am a part of a place to wants me to be here and yet I almost dare not write these last few words for fear I would wake and realize that I am still sitting in a sandy yard eating pb&j.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Growth
Nightime falls, and so many are left to their thoughts.
Broken backs and dreams, shattered hopes and distant wishes.
The stars bear witness to those who tried and those who didn't.
As time wafts through the fabric of our being, we are given the seeds of change.
He sits there dreaming, living in his aspirations.
A prisoner of his ideals. His serial number that of his experiences.
His number defines him and is his treasure, yet the guards notice not.
They too carry numbers they value, and yet it is all the same.
Though he is free to wander cells they do not change from room to room.
Every hallway a blur, every wall grey, every door a maze...
Life began so simple, and so quickly things changed.
Fundamental values defined us, and love was what we learned,
And as fast as we grew certain things existed not.
They melted and flew and we remained alone.
Cast in darkness, burned in greed, we forgot the most important thing of all.
We forgot the value of togetherness, that only love and forgiveness can install.
A time in every life when it must return as it came,
A time in every journey when a path must be chosen.
A time for every prisoner to take the path to their redemption,
A time for every seed to grow upwards to a better invention.
Though he was marked, it was for no crime.
He was born this way, and many like him subscribed the same path.
Though they all travel in the same direction
The burdens they carry, warrant different afflictions.
To some a face, a name, or a word, can say it all.
In terms of reference, ideas, values, configurations overall.
This selfish greed of living cannot suffice.
How can you breathe when the air is plugged with vice?!
You hate and you choose
Those who win and those who lose.
You scream and you fight
When those who are lost need only light.
Rules, red lines, values, frustrations,
Races, religions equal emancipations.
Your wrong...
Where did we forget the most important thing of all?
What was given to humanity, the universal key?
HIS light to you, and to me.
I will not carry on in your fights and argumentations,
I will not lift my finger nor let loose my tongue
I admit I do not understand, nor do I want to.
If it means that I must aide in making the world blind and hungry.
He sat there and listened, to the most beautiful song,
It came from inside of him, loud, pure and strong.
His guards remained watching, they tried what they might.
They tried to hurt him - flesh, soul, and sight.
Him being imperfect was the perfect gift.
And he would guard them no more as they guarded him.
They key to this prison was simple and pure.
Embracing himself was the cure.
In living for others a higher price was to be gained,
No more blasphemy, universal love was what remained.
Though all the guards and their voices rose around him,
He served them all, through not serving them at all.
To start a new life connected with the old,
It was a move terrifying and bold.
The wager was on, and though the odds were good,
Only HIS light, can guide things to be where they should.
Broken backs and dreams, shattered hopes and distant wishes.
The stars bear witness to those who tried and those who didn't.
As time wafts through the fabric of our being, we are given the seeds of change.
He sits there dreaming, living in his aspirations.
A prisoner of his ideals. His serial number that of his experiences.
His number defines him and is his treasure, yet the guards notice not.
They too carry numbers they value, and yet it is all the same.
Though he is free to wander cells they do not change from room to room.
Every hallway a blur, every wall grey, every door a maze...
Life began so simple, and so quickly things changed.
Fundamental values defined us, and love was what we learned,
And as fast as we grew certain things existed not.
They melted and flew and we remained alone.
Cast in darkness, burned in greed, we forgot the most important thing of all.
We forgot the value of togetherness, that only love and forgiveness can install.
A time in every life when it must return as it came,
A time in every journey when a path must be chosen.
A time for every prisoner to take the path to their redemption,
A time for every seed to grow upwards to a better invention.
Though he was marked, it was for no crime.
He was born this way, and many like him subscribed the same path.
Though they all travel in the same direction
The burdens they carry, warrant different afflictions.
To some a face, a name, or a word, can say it all.
In terms of reference, ideas, values, configurations overall.
This selfish greed of living cannot suffice.
How can you breathe when the air is plugged with vice?!
You hate and you choose
Those who win and those who lose.
You scream and you fight
When those who are lost need only light.
Rules, red lines, values, frustrations,
Races, religions equal emancipations.
Your wrong...
Where did we forget the most important thing of all?
What was given to humanity, the universal key?
HIS light to you, and to me.
I will not carry on in your fights and argumentations,
I will not lift my finger nor let loose my tongue
I admit I do not understand, nor do I want to.
If it means that I must aide in making the world blind and hungry.
He sat there and listened, to the most beautiful song,
It came from inside of him, loud, pure and strong.
His guards remained watching, they tried what they might.
They tried to hurt him - flesh, soul, and sight.
Him being imperfect was the perfect gift.
And he would guard them no more as they guarded him.
They key to this prison was simple and pure.
Embracing himself was the cure.
In living for others a higher price was to be gained,
No more blasphemy, universal love was what remained.
Though all the guards and their voices rose around him,
He served them all, through not serving them at all.
To start a new life connected with the old,
It was a move terrifying and bold.
The wager was on, and though the odds were good,
Only HIS light, can guide things to be where they should.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Perfect
How I wish I was perfect,
How I wish that I could give you all you want.
How I wish that I could stop time,
To spend eternity with you.
How I wish the world was mine,
That creation listened when I spoke.
How I wish the moon would shine,
and the sun would know my address wherever I went.
How I wish.
How I wish that the past was sweet,
and the future known.
How I wish to protect you,
To save your heart from turning to stone.
If only things were different,
If only things were neat.
If only words mattered
Then you would hear my heart beat.
How I wish.
How I wish that I could give you all you want.
How I wish that I could stop time,
To spend eternity with you.
How I wish the world was mine,
That creation listened when I spoke.
How I wish the moon would shine,
and the sun would know my address wherever I went.
How I wish.
How I wish that the past was sweet,
and the future known.
How I wish to protect you,
To save your heart from turning to stone.
If only things were different,
If only things were neat.
If only words mattered
Then you would hear my heart beat.
How I wish.
New Day
Its just one of those days. Its hard to tell if you're awake or asleep. When soft raindrops caress the windows of your soul. Soft taps carrying you in an ocean of thought with no end in sight.
Staying afloat is hard enough at times but life really does go on. As we manage to learn how to swim the sun begins to shine her rays guiding us through the waves. Bright eyes smiling fuel the heart into beating once again. You will prevail.
Life is beautiful and it never stops. With every minute that passes a new experience begins to beat its wings ready to fly us into new potentials. Sweet piano music weaving stories that only my mind can see. Fingers willing to write and yet all I manage with these keystrokes are the following words.
If we learn to love and let go of what hurts then we have won. So many times the message of peace and understanding stands before us and yet that is the only thing we have learned to let go. Giant waves of emotion slowly sanding the rocks that stand in their way. Wave after wave a new face of rock appears to no avail in beating the very sea that harbors them. It is endless and so is their resilience.
Breathe, relax, and live. Separate from that which does not teach you. Even pain can teach you, but you must learn to accept it, not with love but with understanding: like the end of a song you will have taken your listeners on a journey. Only that which will separate you will be how you wish to end.
Staying afloat is hard enough at times but life really does go on. As we manage to learn how to swim the sun begins to shine her rays guiding us through the waves. Bright eyes smiling fuel the heart into beating once again. You will prevail.
Life is beautiful and it never stops. With every minute that passes a new experience begins to beat its wings ready to fly us into new potentials. Sweet piano music weaving stories that only my mind can see. Fingers willing to write and yet all I manage with these keystrokes are the following words.
If we learn to love and let go of what hurts then we have won. So many times the message of peace and understanding stands before us and yet that is the only thing we have learned to let go. Giant waves of emotion slowly sanding the rocks that stand in their way. Wave after wave a new face of rock appears to no avail in beating the very sea that harbors them. It is endless and so is their resilience.
Breathe, relax, and live. Separate from that which does not teach you. Even pain can teach you, but you must learn to accept it, not with love but with understanding: like the end of a song you will have taken your listeners on a journey. Only that which will separate you will be how you wish to end.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
To Lebanon
What words can I use to say what has not been said,
What phrases come to mind when I sit here thinking of you.
How many deaths must come, how many souls bled,
To keep your mountains green, and your seas blue.
A land as old as time itself,
A prize coveted by all those that could see,
A place ripped away from peace, on a shelf
A trophy with pain and beautiful memory.
A land of scholars,
A place of war,
A nation of tyrants
A home now and before.
I love you dearly and yet I cannot stay,
I love you dearly, but they pushed me away.
Your flowers, your faces,
Your life and your blood.
If only it was a hurricane
If only it was a flood,
So I can use my hands to fix what was wrong.
Instead of living your essence through old dance and song.
Endless waves and seas along your shore,
Bringing back lost whispers of wishes for more,
To love and live in times of peace
Instead of living caged or worse on a leash.
To hold your leaves
To kiss the land
To let the wind breathe
Lost life into sand
I'm tired of fighting,
I cannot scream any more,
I'm tired of lighting their souls with gore
I want to come back,
And just live my dreams,
No more attack
Hold life at its seams
To kiss your sun,
To love your land
Violence shun
Only a helping hand
No more hatred,
Just love and calm
No more bigotry,
Your rain soothing balm.
They didn't push me away I left,
Call me a coward, I wept.
I cried for all of those that had to go away,
I ran because I was too scared to stay.
What do you want me to do,
How can I help?
What have they done to you
I want to DO, not yelp.
At this and that,
At him or her,
Enough with this bickering,
Just look at her.
She's dying,
We killed her,
She's crying,
We hurt her.
WE hurt her,
WE plunged the sword,
Ignorant WE were.
This is madness that WE stir
We forgot our words and reached for guns
We forgot how violence stuns
The soul, the mind,
The brain and the muscle
This wasn't just a friendly tustle
We paid the price,
The bill is huge,
No plague or lice
Just look you stooge
Remember the place your life was born
Remember the faces of our grandparents torn
Remember the land through the names we bore
Remember and don't forget Lebanon once more.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
An Arab with a Lebanese Passport
As this is my fifth month being back here in Kuwait. I thought I would sit back this morning and reflect on my summer. As it is my first post on this blog in this form, I truly hope it provides for interesting reading material. Currently, I am still stuck in Kuwait waiting on the Canadian authorities in Abu Dhabi to approve my application to return back to school. As of this Sunday it will be officially 10 weeks since I have mailed in my application. Naturally, I am already way behind in the way that I've planned but that's just the way things go for someone like me - more on that later though.
So much has happened on my visit here that I really don't know where to begin! I would imagine that the most important and most enlightening experience has been for me to learn the value of family over the days that I have been here. I could not have asked for better parents. Looking back, its hard to see why I thought they never understood. In retrospect I honestly think I was the one not paying attention to them. I haven't seen my father now for a couple of months, but perhaps as we Arabs say - this is just the way /wisdom of life [Hathihi Sunat Al Hayat]. I am reminded of how much I have to learn every time I think of him. That man was the best library I could have wished to visit.
I took the chance this year to attempt and assess what it is that makes me an Arab. For those of you that know me, I am Lebanese yet I have been born and raised in Kuwait. Though both of our countries are "Arab" in description and heritage; a deep insight into both societies shows us to be worlds apart. Kuwait for the most part has an ethnic mix that I have not seen in Lebanon. After the discovery of oil, many from all over the world have moved to this peaceful gulf state to find jobs and new opportunities in life. Those who move here, come knowing that opportunities and jobs will one day disappear and they will have to leave. My parents moved hear several decades ago, and it is the place that we for-the-most-part call home. If it had not been for life in Kuwait, they would have never met or married, and I would have never been alive to live the experience that I have.
Ethnic Kuwaitis (those being the folks that actually have citizenship) are made up of people who came from Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Iran, Bilad Al Sham (an area which pre-colonial times made up for Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, and Palestine), along with of course those families and tribes that inhabited the geographical area of Kuwait long before it was "Kuwait". Kuwait's national language is Arabic, though English is widely spoken. I've read somewhere that Alexander the Great also conquered one of the Kuwaiti islands thousands of years ago, so we might even be able to add that to the cultural mix! Kuwait's native population is made up of a majority of Sunni Muslims, although there are some Shiites, along with 2 or 3 Christian Kuwait families as well.
Lebanon on the other hand is a nation with 17 religions, and 2 official languages (Arabic and French - though you could probably survive knowing only English as well). Although Lebanon is not rich with resources, it is a country rich in geographical beauty and a wonderful people with a multitude of cultures that have meshed over the years to create the nation that they all belong to today. Off the top of my mind the Lebanese can claim Roman, Greek, Ottoman, French, Bilad al Sham (not the actual Syrian nation once again, but an area comprising of Palestine, Jordan, and Lebanon once upon a time), and Armenian cultures at present to say the very least. Through my studies at the American University of Beirut - which is about 200 years old by the way - I discovered not only more about my heritage but about how Lebanon as it is known became "Arab".
After the French mandate over Lebanon expired, the French decided they would leave a recommendation as to how the Lebanese should govern themselves. To this day, the Lebanese constitution and even the architecture of some places is still notoriously French in design. Within this "recommendation" the French set forth a proposal that was agreed on by the Lebanese representatives (those with the best education, and more importantly - with the most money). Maronite Christians being the most affluent, educated, and closest in relation to the French rulers were given the post of presidency within the republic. Sunni Muslims were given the prime minister position, and the Shiaa Muslims being "third best" were given the post of Parliamentary Speaker. After the Lebanese Civil War, the powers and responsibilities of these posts did change, though the religious requirement for them to be occupied did not. The Lebanese leaders decided in their first years to craft Lebanon into a multicultural nation that claims an "Arab" past and present without any reference to a main religion. Consequently, Lebanese could claim to be Arab regardless of their style of prayer and set of beliefs. Though some may not agree, I personally attribute this description of being "Arab" without falling into a stereo-type to the Lebanese - at least in an official government declaration.
I have come to love and hate everything about who I am - in reference to being Arab not to who I am as a person. My father's family traces its heritage back to being one of the first families to settle in Lebanon. Al Subayta (our specific tribal branch) in reality hails from what is now known as Yemen. Over a thousand years ago, a dam within Yemen ruptured which led to the mass immigration of many "Arab" tribes. Our tribe, which claims linkage to the Enizi tribe (to which some "Arabian" royal families descended from) ended up settling in Lebanon. As time progressed Islam witness a rupture in ideology which led to the losing side being expelled and dispelled all over the "Arabian" world. As you may have guessed, the losing side was the Shiites, and one of those men to arrive to Lebanon was the man to convert a large number of Arab into the Shiites they are today - his name was Abu Tharr Al Ghafarri. Our family was one of the first, and we are what history called the Shiites of Jabal Amel ( Jabal Amel being a geographical area within Lebanon).
At present day it seems that while this history is kept in books, it is not kept in our hearts. As Arabs, narrow definitions even from within the nations themselves constitute who is "in" and who is not. In the most typical sense of an "Arab", I will confess that I do not fit the mold. Many in my generation will claim the same, though some have more right to this than others. Through not living in a place that I can permanently call "home", it becomes almost impossible to imagine not living out of a suitcase. My mother constantly get works up discussing how the Canadian Embassy is holding my passport as part of the process of renewing my visa. Our "vulnerable" position within a land that we don't belong does allow for us to be without identification. I agree. As much as I have come to love this place, I am afraid of calling it or any other place within the Arab world home - Lebanon's lack of opportunity and corruption coupled with internal ethnic-bias removes it as an option even though it is legally "home". So where does one like me go?
In 2006 I found myself applying for a student visa in Canada. During the Lebanese-Israeli war, I decided that I would no longer continue my studies in Lebanon. I had found solace and limited acceptance within the Lebanese Red Cross, though I could never say I fit in due to growing up far from home. Canada was a new frontier and it was a chance to put all the hurtful past and start fresh. I loved Canada, I still do. I find myself learning something new everyday. The disconnect from where I was to where I am however has proven to be bigger than I imagined.
Currently I am in week 9 going-on 10 of a visa-saga that will not end. The place I would like to call "home" is taking forever to grant me a key to the gates. Who knows what will happen in the weeks to come. One thing for certain is that I will make the best of it with family and try to learn some more about all that's happening. Its all one giant visa-filled ride, for an Arab with a Lebanese passport.
So much has happened on my visit here that I really don't know where to begin! I would imagine that the most important and most enlightening experience has been for me to learn the value of family over the days that I have been here. I could not have asked for better parents. Looking back, its hard to see why I thought they never understood. In retrospect I honestly think I was the one not paying attention to them. I haven't seen my father now for a couple of months, but perhaps as we Arabs say - this is just the way /wisdom of life [Hathihi Sunat Al Hayat]. I am reminded of how much I have to learn every time I think of him. That man was the best library I could have wished to visit.
I took the chance this year to attempt and assess what it is that makes me an Arab. For those of you that know me, I am Lebanese yet I have been born and raised in Kuwait. Though both of our countries are "Arab" in description and heritage; a deep insight into both societies shows us to be worlds apart. Kuwait for the most part has an ethnic mix that I have not seen in Lebanon. After the discovery of oil, many from all over the world have moved to this peaceful gulf state to find jobs and new opportunities in life. Those who move here, come knowing that opportunities and jobs will one day disappear and they will have to leave. My parents moved hear several decades ago, and it is the place that we for-the-most-part call home. If it had not been for life in Kuwait, they would have never met or married, and I would have never been alive to live the experience that I have.
Ethnic Kuwaitis (those being the folks that actually have citizenship) are made up of people who came from Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Iran, Bilad Al Sham (an area which pre-colonial times made up for Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, and Palestine), along with of course those families and tribes that inhabited the geographical area of Kuwait long before it was "Kuwait". Kuwait's national language is Arabic, though English is widely spoken. I've read somewhere that Alexander the Great also conquered one of the Kuwaiti islands thousands of years ago, so we might even be able to add that to the cultural mix! Kuwait's native population is made up of a majority of Sunni Muslims, although there are some Shiites, along with 2 or 3 Christian Kuwait families as well.
Lebanon on the other hand is a nation with 17 religions, and 2 official languages (Arabic and French - though you could probably survive knowing only English as well). Although Lebanon is not rich with resources, it is a country rich in geographical beauty and a wonderful people with a multitude of cultures that have meshed over the years to create the nation that they all belong to today. Off the top of my mind the Lebanese can claim Roman, Greek, Ottoman, French, Bilad al Sham (not the actual Syrian nation once again, but an area comprising of Palestine, Jordan, and Lebanon once upon a time), and Armenian cultures at present to say the very least. Through my studies at the American University of Beirut - which is about 200 years old by the way - I discovered not only more about my heritage but about how Lebanon as it is known became "Arab".
After the French mandate over Lebanon expired, the French decided they would leave a recommendation as to how the Lebanese should govern themselves. To this day, the Lebanese constitution and even the architecture of some places is still notoriously French in design. Within this "recommendation" the French set forth a proposal that was agreed on by the Lebanese representatives (those with the best education, and more importantly - with the most money). Maronite Christians being the most affluent, educated, and closest in relation to the French rulers were given the post of presidency within the republic. Sunni Muslims were given the prime minister position, and the Shiaa Muslims being "third best" were given the post of Parliamentary Speaker. After the Lebanese Civil War, the powers and responsibilities of these posts did change, though the religious requirement for them to be occupied did not. The Lebanese leaders decided in their first years to craft Lebanon into a multicultural nation that claims an "Arab" past and present without any reference to a main religion. Consequently, Lebanese could claim to be Arab regardless of their style of prayer and set of beliefs. Though some may not agree, I personally attribute this description of being "Arab" without falling into a stereo-type to the Lebanese - at least in an official government declaration.
I have come to love and hate everything about who I am - in reference to being Arab not to who I am as a person. My father's family traces its heritage back to being one of the first families to settle in Lebanon. Al Subayta (our specific tribal branch) in reality hails from what is now known as Yemen. Over a thousand years ago, a dam within Yemen ruptured which led to the mass immigration of many "Arab" tribes. Our tribe, which claims linkage to the Enizi tribe (to which some "Arabian" royal families descended from) ended up settling in Lebanon. As time progressed Islam witness a rupture in ideology which led to the losing side being expelled and dispelled all over the "Arabian" world. As you may have guessed, the losing side was the Shiites, and one of those men to arrive to Lebanon was the man to convert a large number of Arab into the Shiites they are today - his name was Abu Tharr Al Ghafarri. Our family was one of the first, and we are what history called the Shiites of Jabal Amel ( Jabal Amel being a geographical area within Lebanon).
At present day it seems that while this history is kept in books, it is not kept in our hearts. As Arabs, narrow definitions even from within the nations themselves constitute who is "in" and who is not. In the most typical sense of an "Arab", I will confess that I do not fit the mold. Many in my generation will claim the same, though some have more right to this than others. Through not living in a place that I can permanently call "home", it becomes almost impossible to imagine not living out of a suitcase. My mother constantly get works up discussing how the Canadian Embassy is holding my passport as part of the process of renewing my visa. Our "vulnerable" position within a land that we don't belong does allow for us to be without identification. I agree. As much as I have come to love this place, I am afraid of calling it or any other place within the Arab world home - Lebanon's lack of opportunity and corruption coupled with internal ethnic-bias removes it as an option even though it is legally "home". So where does one like me go?
In 2006 I found myself applying for a student visa in Canada. During the Lebanese-Israeli war, I decided that I would no longer continue my studies in Lebanon. I had found solace and limited acceptance within the Lebanese Red Cross, though I could never say I fit in due to growing up far from home. Canada was a new frontier and it was a chance to put all the hurtful past and start fresh. I loved Canada, I still do. I find myself learning something new everyday. The disconnect from where I was to where I am however has proven to be bigger than I imagined.
Currently I am in week 9 going-on 10 of a visa-saga that will not end. The place I would like to call "home" is taking forever to grant me a key to the gates. Who knows what will happen in the weeks to come. One thing for certain is that I will make the best of it with family and try to learn some more about all that's happening. Its all one giant visa-filled ride, for an Arab with a Lebanese passport.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Reflection - Visions III
Standing in front of the mirror he took it all in. Looking at himself through the reflective glass he studied his features and his looks. Five minutes later he decided to look in his own eyes. They were the saddest pearls of brown he had ever seen. Probably because he understood them more than anyone ever would.
Thoughts were blowing through his head as he picked up the razor and lathered his head in soap. There was no exact words to describe how he felt. Inside he felt numb, and stupid. There were no numbers he could think of to dial, no faces that came to his mind as he stood looking at himself - into those empty pools of brown nothing looked like it lived anymore. Even though he didn't care, thoughts of what people would think still fluttered by. A sad cold wave of realization rolled up his spine, no one did care.
As his dreams shattered, he could almost hear them breaking. A stranger in a strange land, he never did belong anywhere he went. Coming to this place did nothing to magically find his place. The feelings inside didn't go away. Everything was still the same. Ironically maybe they were worse now than they were before. No progress had been made.
"If your not first, then you're dead"...the words echoed through his head as he made the first stroke. The sink was screaming how water and the steam surrounded the room as if it was trying to escape from the air itself. "I bred you to be a winner"...the voice went on, "In this life all you have is yourself and if your not on top then your not anywhere"....
There were so many things he had to do and so many places he had to be...as he thought of himself and the responsibilities that others expected from him, it all started to pile up. He cleaned the blade under the water and just kept going....More and more voices found their way into his ears through the steam....
"I'm only trying to be there for you...why are you pushing me away"........"I can't be there for you, if you don't tell me, I don't know what you want"....."I'm sorry you had to hear about this in this way...can I hug you?".....
The piano music coming out of his laptop kept playing the same crescendo of notes over and over....how he loved that song and how he could write so much to it, no matter how he felt....
As he cleaned the razor for the third time, he felt his stomach go weak like its been doing for weeks now...."I'll just have some yogurt later"...he said to himself...how he wished for so many things...how there were so many things he wanted to do, and wanted to imagine for himself....
The pressure inside his head reached a point where he could almost hear his skull whistle...."I gave you the best years of my life so you could do what you want, the least you can do is succeed, this is how you repay me? If they can do it why can't you?"...
He closed his eyes and listened to the music and the water play together...."Its just tough love bro...you need to hear it...you're just making excuses...pull this shit together now...come on"....
He looked up into the mirror again..."What's my plan to get out of this?" he told himself...."Where do I go from here?"....the sink just kept on screaming....looking at it he wondered what she would say if she could speak...
"I think I've fucked things up big time"....he thought to himself as he took another stroke...by this time he just lost count like he had lost so many things....his eyes started to feel alive again...he blinked a couple of times and felt himself come out of the daze...inside the dark coals still glimmered, he felt them burn through his body waiting for him to realize they were there again....
He shook himself out of the daze again and tried to force the thoughts out his head...
He managed to let out just enough steam to keep that vault shut...once again.
Thoughts were blowing through his head as he picked up the razor and lathered his head in soap. There was no exact words to describe how he felt. Inside he felt numb, and stupid. There were no numbers he could think of to dial, no faces that came to his mind as he stood looking at himself - into those empty pools of brown nothing looked like it lived anymore. Even though he didn't care, thoughts of what people would think still fluttered by. A sad cold wave of realization rolled up his spine, no one did care.
As his dreams shattered, he could almost hear them breaking. A stranger in a strange land, he never did belong anywhere he went. Coming to this place did nothing to magically find his place. The feelings inside didn't go away. Everything was still the same. Ironically maybe they were worse now than they were before. No progress had been made.
"If your not first, then you're dead"...the words echoed through his head as he made the first stroke. The sink was screaming how water and the steam surrounded the room as if it was trying to escape from the air itself. "I bred you to be a winner"...the voice went on, "In this life all you have is yourself and if your not on top then your not anywhere"....
There were so many things he had to do and so many places he had to be...as he thought of himself and the responsibilities that others expected from him, it all started to pile up. He cleaned the blade under the water and just kept going....More and more voices found their way into his ears through the steam....
"I'm only trying to be there for you...why are you pushing me away"........"I can't be there for you, if you don't tell me, I don't know what you want"....."I'm sorry you had to hear about this in this way...can I hug you?".....
The piano music coming out of his laptop kept playing the same crescendo of notes over and over....how he loved that song and how he could write so much to it, no matter how he felt....
As he cleaned the razor for the third time, he felt his stomach go weak like its been doing for weeks now...."I'll just have some yogurt later"...he said to himself...how he wished for so many things...how there were so many things he wanted to do, and wanted to imagine for himself....
The pressure inside his head reached a point where he could almost hear his skull whistle...."I gave you the best years of my life so you could do what you want, the least you can do is succeed, this is how you repay me? If they can do it why can't you?"...
He closed his eyes and listened to the music and the water play together...."Its just tough love bro...you need to hear it...you're just making excuses...pull this shit together now...come on"....
He looked up into the mirror again..."What's my plan to get out of this?" he told himself...."Where do I go from here?"....the sink just kept on screaming....looking at it he wondered what she would say if she could speak...
"I think I've fucked things up big time"....he thought to himself as he took another stroke...by this time he just lost count like he had lost so many things....his eyes started to feel alive again...he blinked a couple of times and felt himself come out of the daze...inside the dark coals still glimmered, he felt them burn through his body waiting for him to realize they were there again....
He shook himself out of the daze again and tried to force the thoughts out his head...
He managed to let out just enough steam to keep that vault shut...once again.
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