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SUNDARA; xvii
I never thought I would crave the feeling of waking up next to someone, relishing in the heat radiating from the cocoon of faded wash blankets. The feel of my fingertips as they skim over the tensed knots held hostage on their back and shoulders, connecting the freckles littered across the expanse and creating my own unique constellations. I always thought I wasn't made for that. Domesticity was not for me. The only love in my life swam in the bottom of the bottles that shattered my teeth and blank faces lying next to me. For long, love was a forgotten word, no longer in my dictionary. That page had been ripped out long ago, along with my heart.
But I can't help craving love in the upcoming year, even though I know that love
is a trivial, silly thing.
I did not know it back then but the worst events of my life happened during my childhood living in Syria. There were many good times, surrounded by my friends and family; but the light did not overlook the darkness lurking behind every corner.
For seven years, fear resided in my house. One day, fear found a comfortable room and settled in and it did not leave until it kicked me out of my own home. Don't let the so called war between Muslims and Christians fool you. It's just a rumor. Just a hoax the government fabricated to blind people to what really happens behind the curtains. I did not walk down the street, clutching my house keys in between my knuckles with the jagged part bared because I was afraid a muslim would hurt me. I was afraid a RAPIST might. Don't get me wrong, the tension between religions in the middle east is very real and very serious but really, it's just the "government" covering up the fact that the wrongfully prisoned are suffering and the real criminals patrol the streets like kings. In the underground world of crime, there is no religion. There is criminal and victim, period.
During those seven years, I went over countless drills in case of an exploding bomb. I stocked up on canned foods, water bottles, and candles for the numerous nights without electricity or water. Those nights usually lasted from a few hours to a couple of days. I learned to not jump at the sound of gunshots. They were nothing but background noise.
I was bullied severely during those seven years, but that is a story for another day.
Despite all that, I never want to forget my life in Syria. I sometimes wish I could go back to the weeknights, walking down the streets at 12 am in pjs on my uncle's back. Every few steps, a kind shop keeper would stop us and give us samples or invite us into their shop. People would sit on rocky chairs and crooked tables, playing backgammon or draughts and sipping on hot cardamom tea; in the middle of the goddamn night. It wasn't just a shop or two, no no, the entire street was lit with twinkling lights and flashing red 'open' signs. I remember the streets closing during the holidays so that the people celebrating could march and sing and dance however they please. Every holiday, easter, Christmas, Ramadan. Everyone participated, no exception.
The memories I hold dear have taught me to live simply, to love the bare minimum. I will never trade those memories. I've had a few wild years, and there is so much more that I have seen, witnessed, and done in Syria, good and bad... but that's a story for another day.
Nothing hurts me more than the fact that you don't care anymore. My best friend of seven years. I thought you would always be there. But I guess your definition of always is something that we look at differently. But I hope you're happy right now. And I hope you have found everything you were looking for. No matter what you do to hurt me, I will always wish the best for you.
"YOU ARE A WOMAN. YOU DO NOT NEED TO
*get an ivy league education- your brains are too small
*use birth control- you need your husband's permission
*refuse to have sex with your husband- you gave consent for life when you married
*have a job when you're pregnant- your man can take care of you
*get a credit card- you do not make much money anyways
*go to a good collage- you can't take the placement reserved for a man
*serve on a jury- you are too irrational and overemotional, not too trustworthy
*take computer classes- only boys need to know how to do that"
This is what they mean when they say "make America great again." When was it ever really great? When Spaniards and Europeans waged war on natives for riches? When millions of Africans were shackled in inhumane ways? When thousands of innocent immigrants were tortured for the green dollar?
98 years ago, women were finally allowed to vote. But they continued to face oppression several years later. Today, I don't know a single woman who doesn't admit to being fearful of the night. IT SHOULD MEAN SOMETHING WHEN A WOMAN HAS TO CLUTCH HER CAR KEYS IN HER HAND WHEN WALKING DOWN THE STREET WITH THE JAGGED PART BARED IN SELF DEFENSE. IT SHOULD MEAN SOMETHING WHEN A WOMAN HAS TO ASK A FRIEND TO ACCOMPANY HER TO THE STORE.
IT SHOULD MEAN SOMETHING WHEN A WOMAN IS BLAMED AFTER SHE WAS RAPED. IT SHOULD MEAN SOMETHING WHEN CLOTHING AND "BOYS WILL BE BOYS" ARE USED AS EXCUSES. IT SHOULD MEAN SOMETHING WHEN WOMEN HAVE TO BE THE ONES WHO MOVE ASIDE WHAN A MAN WALKS DOWN THE SIDEWALK. Our fight is not over yet. Women of all cultures and races, never let anyone oppress you ever again.
Happy Women's March everyone.
