You Exist Too Much

by Zaina Arafat

The notion that everyone will eventually cease to exist brings me great comfort and temporary courage.

If my mother was Hamas—unpredictable, impulsive, and frustrated at being stifled—my father was Israel. He’d refuse to meet her most basic needs until she exploded. Then he would point at her and cry, “Look at what a monster she is, what a terror!” But never once did he consider why she had resorted to such extreme tactics, or his role in the matter.

“You’ll find that having someone who has a claim on you, and who you can claim, it’s one of the greater things in life.”

Until now, it’s never occurred to me that my mother was—my mother is—a child, forever stunted by her own traumas.