It’s been slightly more than a week since I cycled 4Gaza and I still dream of riding bicycles.
For three days we endured on our metal steeds, our helmets: visor less, our banners: Palestinian flags. Through rain, cold winds, and lush green fields, through wet asphalt roads, warm cozy neighbourhoods, and busy highways, we pedaled. It wasn’t in Gaza; but it was Gaza on our minds.
It’s been slightly more than a year since the attack on Gaza, and its children still have nightmares.
The last leg of the ride was a straight 45 km cycle from Gouda to The Hague. It was raining and the temperatures dropped below usual winter temperatures for most of the cyclers who were there from The Arabian Gulf. We didn’t have jackets on us, for we started out sunny that day. Soon enough we ran out of snacks, most ran out of water. How we felt was not important anymore. We had transpired beyond our physicality and into something grander. Read the rest of this entry
The Day My Palestine Died
My grandparents were born in Palestine. All four of them. They lived there, got married there and had children there. They lived through the British Mandate of the region, revolted on it, got beaten down, witnessed the migration of Jews, saw the Jews revolt on the British Mandate, saw the British Mandate allowing it to happen and then withdrawing from Palestine. It was too theatrical to be considered a coincidence.
They never ceased talking about it though. Throughout their lives, Palestine was always on their minds. They would talk like they left yesterday, and that they will return tomorrow. I would hear them always say “May God return us to our homeland in peace.” Read the rest of this entry
I want you to know that your parents have tried everything they could so you do not end up being born in Iran. Nothing racists towards the country, but they felt being a Palestinian with a Syrian issued Travel Document born in Tehran will be a limiting factor to your movement.
We live in tough times with a lot of nations playing a game that most of us don’t understand, but leave us from that; I don’t really understand politics to care much about it. See your maternal grandfather, may God have mercy on his soul, had faith in the nation. When a certain lion was forming the Ministry of Electricity in the country your grandfather lived in after being dispersed from Palestine, your grandfather’s position at that time was to facilitate the planning done by a German company to the laying of the country’s electric power grid. They were so impressed with your grandfather’s capabilities that they offered him a position in their plant in Germany. A government employee to the Ministry of Electricity didn’t make much in those days, but he refused to leave, because he had faith. Read the rest of this entry
There is one thought that keeps biting at the back of my head that I cannot seem to silence no matter how hard I try to drown it through the daily performance I pull; the lack of belonging to anywhere.
I cannot silence out the nostalgia of missing out on a very intriguing reality. I find it lurking in my subconscious whenever I walk on the sidewalk of any city, or, strangely, the cold corridors of a mall, where people sit mesmerized at park benches around a fountain.
I do not belong anywhere. I barely knew my neighbors, for they change every few years or so. The markings of our heights on kitchen door frames seem to be distributed over the different “homes” we lived in growing up. In 30 years I’ve lived in 11 houses. It wasn’t out of poverty, far from it, we just didn’t have an anchor.
I find a dull sense of life. Everything is in a state of permanently temporary Read the rest of this entry