A Reflection on the Future

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.