Behind You Is the Sea

by Susan Muaddi Darraj

Destiny put everyone on a stage, to play a role, and sometimes the spotlight slipped off you to give you a break. At other times, it burned into you directly, relentlessly, as you stumbled through a soliloquy of exhaustion.

“You’re our rock,” everyone told her, but that reputation didn’t feel like a compliment anymore. It felt like neglect.

That’s how you survive when you need white people to help you—you just keep all the shit inside and collect your paycheck and thank God you can see the dentist once a year.

“Behind you is the sea. Before you, the enemy.” I glance at him then continue. “You have left now only the hope of your courage and your constancy.”

Arabs are ridiculous; even if they live a dream life, they want to star in some tragedy. If there is no tragedy, they imagine one.

“Look,” she says, “sometimes people just have to take your word for it. It’s like someone stepping on your toes and not moving off. Do you really have to explain how the pressure is causing you pain?”

It had been quite a lesson—hurt could be neutralized with focus, with determination. Eyes on the prize, she reminded herself that night. One day, they will know what they have done to you. * * *

Dealing with the Israeli authorities was like dealing with an angry, suspicious girlfriend.

The Arabs were a people that knew life could be horrifically unjust and unfair—and yet they cherished it.