God, Friendship and Poetry
Dearest gentle subscribers ( hahahaha, Yes, I have watched Bridgerton and should like to address everyone with Regency period language. I have stopped myself from responding to work emails just because I was starting every sentence with I should like to, and ending it with should I not? Should we not? Are we not?…);
I should like to share with you this week my inner thoughts on God, friendship and poetry. More short stories are in the works so as you put up with this week’s ramblings, I will continue to work hard to finalize the next short story.
God
It is no secret that I have been on a spiritual journey that essentially started a very long time ago, but may have gathered more pace and urgency over the last few years only to reach a precipice as the war in Gaza started and continues.
I think when one is faced with disaster and devastation, faith and God are the only refuge we have. That, along with many other reasons that I share with you in my responses to the Touching the Elephant questionnaire, led me to where I am today. We are the sum total of our experiences, but we are also the sum total of our own reflections, vulnerabilities and willingness to share our stories without any hindrance.
If you choose not to finish reading this newsletter, please make sure to at least click on the link and read my answers in Touching the Elephant .
A special thank you to my friend Kendall who invited me to answer the questions. She is nothing short of a genius and a brave soul in opening up such an important conversation. Thank you Kendall. You can find her here on Substack and on instagram @touching.the.elephant
I believe that God is present in everything we do. I believe that the more we listen, the more we are led. And I believe that God is the Love that pushes us to do the work we are called to do, so we may finally see the Light.
Friendship
Since the war started back in October, I have kept in touch with my friends and colleagues in Gaza on a daily basis. I am in awe at their steadfastness, their faith and their humanity. I am humbled by their willingness to share their pain, a pain that is now chronic on all accounts.
In medicine any pain that persists beyond the period of recovery (which on average is around 6-8 weeks), is considered chronic pain. My friends are chronically displaced, chronically in pain, chronically thirsty and chronically starving. Yet even when I speak to them they have generosity of spirit, and strength of faith and character. They gracefully entertain my most trivial of questions and recount their most painful of experiences. They are patient and kind in describing the level of destruction and explaining how much time it takes to fetch water or find flour. They are truly out of this world…I will always be amazed with them.
As selfish as this may sound, I will always be inspired by them. You have no idea how much I wish that their inspiration sprouted of happy times, happy things. And if there is anything I want, in the most naive romantic way possible, is a happy ending for all of them. An ending that suits their resilience, their patience, their steadfastness. A movie-like ending of this war where people find justice not oppression, not killing, not kidnapping and torture. A simplistic view indeed, but in the midst of ugliness, in the midst of savagery, this naiveté may be the string that keeps me, and any one who wishes to join me in this romantic line of thought, sane and hopeful.
My friends have shown me a new kind of friendship, a connection that is forged between people just because they are human. Some of them have only been my friends because we work together. Yet this connection between us has become stronger than war, and continues to flourish and grow in the most beautiful possible ways. If anything these friendships are a true witness to how connected we are as humans, and should we choose our humanity over savagery, we may just make this world a better place.
My friends are chronically displaced, chronically in pain, chronically thirsty and chronically starving. Yet even when I speak to them they have grace and generosity of spirit, and strength of faith and character.
Poetry
Poetry is personal, intimate and holds depths of thought and feeling in abbreviated sentences and rhythms. This week I am sharing with you a poem I wrote at the beginning of war after my friend’s home was bombed and came crashing down on them. They survived and that night was the start of endless displacements from one location to the other. I have only played with poetry, limiting my writing to love poems. I do not consider myself a poet at all. But on that day, well formed paragraphs seemed useless to write, instead the stanza’s you are about to read formed in my head first, then on my screen.
You will also find that I write a lot about our boys and men. While women in conflict always pay a bigger price than their male counter parts. And while I think that all feminist groups have failed Palestinian women, I find that our men, Palestinian men have been tainted with such savage dehumanizations. They are depicted as either terrorists, angry violent husbands/brothers/fathers or faceless blindfolded detainees. And because I am raising a boy and doing my best to turn him into a kind, loving, human being first and foremost, I write about our men to give them a human voice, again. In the end, we will need to carry on, and a society that wishes to recover and build a future needs its men to be kindly, tenderly humanized so that they may continue to be able to love, build families, raise children, produce knowledge, uplift their girls, respect their wives, and value their mothers.
A Boy’s Wish Come look for me if I don’t pop up on your feed or in your DM…. I may be under a pile of cement Still breathing Maybe not But come look for me anyways Don’t let me depart this world a statistic Tell them my name What I loved to eat My favorite Emoji How late I was to work How I sent you whatsapp messages During meetings and made you laugh How much I loved Shawerma with hot Shatta Come look for me or my remains And confess to my beloved That I loved her And that I am sorry I did not have the courage To tell her Tell my mom I am sorry I never cleaned my room And tell my father that I loved him And tell the world I was killed I did not just die And that on my last night I was hungry and thirsty But mostly Disappointed That none of my dreams I was able to achieve That I counted my age In wars not years Tell them That I was just a boy Then a teenager Then a young man With a desire to live But the world Did not think I deserved it I was killed I did not just die And I left earth Angry And tell them I will tell God EVERYTHING
If you are still reading, thank you for your time. I truly appreciate that you are willing to spend it with my thoughts. I hope that I spoke to your heart and soul and added a finite value to your day.
See you next week.
Riyam