I lost another earring the other day. A faux-bijoux pearl-like adornment that I rescued from my grandma’s going-to-be-given away collection after her passing. It wasn’t supposed to hurt like it did, but I couldn’t help it, it just did. Another part of her lost. Another fuck up on my part. And yet, in the grand scheme of what is happening in the world, this tiny Sandkorn-small thing, does not matter one iota. It is just dust in the debris of what is going on in the world.

 It’s been almost 4 months. Three months since I last posted and more than three since Israel started its consistent and terrifying bombardment of Ghaza. These two things are not really related, and yet in some way they might be. Does the little cosmos in us shift when the big cosmos is affected? Do our personal woes get magnified when we see how much the world is suffering? I had intended to post this piece sometime in early November. As you may have already figured out for yourself (by virtue of my complete radio silence), I ended up going through a personal crisis instead, and so got derailed from much of my day-to-day life, including my writing. I did not anticipate that once I started to feel well enough to pick up where I left off, that the rest of the world would still be in the same place. I absolutely did not think that— after deciding to go back online after months of seclusion— that this horrifying atrocity would still be happening. I lack the words to correctly address a crime such as this. I have always lacked the words to explain and understand the more sinister and maleficent parts of human nature, but never as completely as I do now. Attempting to write about this, to find the right words to say, the right information to share has been an exercise in self-restraint and self-discovery. I would say, honestly, that I have failed. And yet, saying nothing to me seems infinitely worse than saying the wrong thing. So, for better or worse, here are some thoughts I penned on October 13^th, 2023 and still believe in today.

Today I woke up and went out into the balcony. This is a new thing I’m doing to get some light into my system and look at something beautiful. I drink my water, I gaze at the greenery and I try and let my mind let go of any expectations. Somewhere maybe five minutes in, I find myself beginning to smile, unintentionally. I had had really fitful dreams, had overslept my alarm, and woken up super groggy, but just in this moment connecting with nature, I felt like there was something bigger than me, that I was a part of something greater. And I didn’t understand why I didn’t feel that way all of the time. Why, we, collectively, as a society, do not make tapping into that our most essential preoccupation?

I’m sure you’re all following the news. I’m sure you’ve heard of the attacks on Ghaza, have followed the way things are being miscommunicated and skewed in the media and have had your heart broken by the countless lives and rights being lost and violated. The other day a friend of mine messaged in our group chat that she has been feeling stressed and depressed about this and doesn’t understand how we can be going out normally here, working normally (selling shoes) and just living our lives. “Fi haga 3’alat. Mesh arfa, I’m not okay. Bas we have to be okay, wala eh? Not sure how to think or deal.” None of us knew what to answer. And, of course, Palestine is not the only place that is under attack or the only place humans are living under poor conditions and continuous mistreatment. It happens— is happening— all over the world.

For my undergrad I studied Political Science (I may have already mentioned how this came about and that it was not my first choice, but that is irrelevant right now) In Poli Sci you have to take a lot of history classes. Middle East History, Russian History, American History, World History, History of the 20^th Century, Revolutionary History…etc etc. It all seems really different while you are studying it, but in the end, I realized it is all mostly the same: grabs for power and influence. I knew early on that this scene wasn’t for me. The political landscape. Changing the world through politics. I felt like it was a bunch of talking with very little action. I felt like the system was rigged in favour of some key players. I felt like, anyone who goes into it with an open heart and good intentions, eventually ends up either being taken advantage of or cast aside. I also didn’t really believe in these lines that were drawn up to differentiate peoples and maintain conflict between them. In institutions, in states, and ethnicities and religious allegiances (as a differentiator) and gender and the like. I felt like, choosing one cause, or rallying behind one thing, because I was born in a certain country or belonged to a certain religion or whatever, was kind of perpetuating the divide. It was sinking deeper into the narrative we had been indoctrinated in: that we are not the same, instead of helping to heal it.

Before this whole thing with Ghaza started, I was on a self-imposed Instagram break. I had decided that I was consuming too much media and needed to get away from the constant stream of people’s lives and opinions to feel more centered. So, I logged out of my personal account (the one where I actually follow people) and stayed on GW1E. I was late to hear about the Hamas attacks and the bombing of Palestine because, other than social media, I don’t really keep up with the news (call it a byproduct of studying politics for so long or an inability to be plugged in or whatever), so when a friend mentioned to me the whole situation in Palestine I was shook and immediately logged back into my account to see what was going on. Every story I opened was a share related to Palestine. Videos of children who had died or were in critical condition. Videos of Israelis shouting for the killing of the Arabs and Muslims. Videos of a city being decimated. Political persons or people with a platform speaking out about genocide, about settler colonialism, about what living conditions in Ghaza are like currently and what is likely to happen if the world doesn’t intervene. That horrible story with the Israelis pouring cement into the Palestinian water source (don’t ask me why seeing this affected me the most. So petty. So cruel). It was shocking. I was shocked. But I think— deep down— I wasn’t as shocked as I wanted to be. I have always believed that humanity is capable of terrible things and that human beings have an extreme capacity for hurting each other. 

To stay in the loop, I half-plugged back in to my personal Instagram and began sharing and watching whenever I could. I’m not gonna lie, I did feel some peer pressure to be a part of the movement. To stand up for my Arab brothers and sisters. To represent “our” story. Normally, I do not make it a habit to post stories of any kind. They remind me of Facebook statuses, and I do not really see the point of keeping people up to date on my minute-by-minute happenings. But somehow, this felt different. I felt like if I didn’t say anything— on this topic that I knew some things about and felt strongly about— it would be like encouraging it. I wanted to speak up for what was right. While I do believe that we are inherently all the same, I also believe that there have been systems put into place that have given privileges to certain groups over others. I don’t yet know what the best way to resolve this is, but I guess one of them is to call it out and hope that by educating others you are sparking the beginnings of change. And I am sensing a change in the narrative. People who had never really questioned the roots and history of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict (for lack of a better term) are beginning to question what they have been taught, especially in the West. Many have made it a point to clarify that regardless of politics, human lives are a red line. You don’t kill children, regardless of what you think the “justification” is.

A long time ago I decided that the way that I would contribute to healing the world would be to begin by healing myself. That I would try to work on being the type of human I wanted to be and that everything else would fall into place based on that.I deeply believe that getting in touch with our own humanity, our own “truth”, is what allows us to connect to others (and thus understand their pain and circumstances). But this genocide has schooled me into how important it often is to step outside of ourselves, firstly. I’m not gonna lie. I haven’t completed a single one of the videos of children in body bags, or fathers crying over the remains of their sons. I can’t handle it. I imagine if it were one of my brothers or my parents and immediately my chest tightens. If I can’t even look at this carnage, what about the people going through it? How can a person’s life be deemed so trivial by someone else? And yet, to some extent, maybe I must look at it. Not consistently, not all the time, but enough to know that a) I am truly blessed and b) there is so much work left to be done.

While I would love to go into a detailed history of what led up to the events we are currently witnessing in Ghaza, in Sudan, in the Congo, I am not well-versed enough, nor does it align with the purposes of this blog. Instead, I want to employ you- dear reader- to not let time and the preponderance of images, de-sensitize and de-humanize you. I don’t think it is everyone’s job to do everything. I don’t think you should uninformedly share content about an issue you don’t understand, just because everyone else is. But I do think it is our job to educate ourselves, wherever we can make a difference (and yes, I do believe we will know where we can make a difference). To give back. To pay it forward. There will come a point where consciousness is ripe for change and we must work up to it and seize on it.

I don’t know to what extent I believe in nationalism, but I do believe in memories, in love. When I think about the Ghazans and what they are going through, what they have gone through (often in the name of Palestine) I imagine that Ghaza is a place I care about and have had important moments or experiences in (Sinai for example). I imagine what I would do if someone did to it what the Israelis are doing in Palestine at the moment. I wonder how I would react. If I would fight, or if I would adapt and attempt to preserve what threads of my humanity that I can. Closely following the annihilation of this people, seeing their dead, seeing their screams, hearing their pleas (even just through a screen) has re-woken me to the depths of (purposeless?) suffering around the world. To the importance of bearing witness to that when you can and letting it change you. If nothing else, let all of these deaths be a reminder that— if you are reading this— you are likely still safe. You likely have access to electricity and internet and hopefully food and shelter. Things are better than they could be.

This post was not originally supposed to be about Ghaza. I pivoted a little when I realized how intertwined my original topic and what is going on in the world are. Since I could not keep Ghaza off my mind, I would bring it to the page. I decided to keep my original title, though, and let you make of it what you will. An alternative title, or direction, would have been “what can we do?” as I feel like that is what is actually on everyone’s mind. I have spent a lot of time discussing this with friends and seeing different ideas and advice on social media. The only answer I have reached is: whatever you can do. Whatever feels right to you. Whatever calls to your heart. It can be activism, it can be aid, it can be prayer, it can be art, it can be anything. As for me, just like my friend said “I am not okay”. But I know that I will be –because I have to be.

Lovingly yours,

Girl With One Earring

Photo Credit: Akram Reda @akramareda