Say Hello and Wave Goodbye

The death of the heart is the saddest thing that can happen to you. -Chinese Proverb

I have a certain fascination with suspended spaces and time(s), such as airports, train stations and in some instances hotel rooms. There is a lure to the revisited places that often witness pleasures, pains and heightened potentials, well at least for me there is. 

I have always been attracted to such spaces, every time I travel, and God knows I've had my share in the last two years ( I've traveled through airports more than 40 times), and yet every time I do, I make sure I go at least 4 hours before my flight departs so that I'd spend some time in a terminal filled with people either welcoming new stories, or ending long ones. I'd always sit on a chair either with a book that often masks my curious looks, or a notebook where I jolt down stories i'd imagine happening in the wandering minds of fellow travelers. 

Yes, I often also spend some time imagining or at times pushing visual images away in hotel rooms the moment I start occupying them, trying to understand what stories the walls have to tell, and what shames or pleasures the white clean sheets had to witness. 

Train stations however remained foreign to me because of the nature of transportation in the city I lived in most of my life, that was until I moved to London, and they became central to my life. My last recollected memory of a train station was in Baghdad, I don't remember the name of the station, but I was probably 7 years old, excited about having our private cabin with bunk-beds to share with my siblings on our trip to Kirkuk where my Aunt ( may she rest in peace) once lived. Was there a big clock in the station? That's how I remember it, but also that's how they are portrayed in hollywood films, so perhaps my memory is tainted with western stereotypes, and romantic associations with the industrial revolution as it is portrayed in books and films I read and watched growing up. 

Until I started traveling outside what was once the locus of my universe, I began observing train stations and my fascination with them grew even more. 

I've spent some ample time in stations during my time in London, sometimes in passing as means of commuting, and others saying my hello's and goodbyes. I always looked for the odd couple that fought before one of them boarded a train away, or the ones that did not cry but laughed trying to ease the separation. I was in love with my selections, and often imagined that I would also reclaim the space when the time came to say my goodbyes, and create a counter-argument to the usual tears shed while departing. 

But that never happened, instead I saw myself narrating in my head instances when I had to say goodbye to loved ones while it was happening! It was too intense, I'd hear a voice-over in my head describing the teary eyes, the shaking hands, and the embrace that truly suspends time. My mind also directs the whole scene where people move in time-lapse, while I am standing still feeling with every passing second, a life-time slipping away. My narrative in fact, became the most dramatic of them all. 

A week ago, I revisited a station that I hate and love by chance, not intended, I found myself somehow forced to take it to reach a hotel-room I then called home. I walked in with so much caution, pretending I was a horse, that I only saw what was in front of me, and that my human eyes could not comprehend the sideways. I wanted to avoid that seat outside the station where I sat not so long ago crying because I had to live that un-coveted goodbye. I avoided the gateway which saw both the arrival of my solace, and the farewell to the arms. I tried to avoid looking at the station I was now walking through so much, that I actually missed both my gate and the train. 

And then I looked behind, and saw that clock I have always imagined in the train station in Baghdad, and saw my little self crying because her daddy then could not travel with her to Kirkuk. I also saw that with every goodbye I said in the train stations of my life, I always shed rivers of tears because in their essence, farewells are hated by me. I stopped blaming myself for my overt sense of sensitivity, and accepted that my vulnerability to separation is rooted deep in losses I've lived through in my childhood and adult-life. I accepted then only that my sadness and fascination with train stations, airports and hotel rooms, comes from my continuous struggle with the temporality of it all: of life, moments, happiness and love. 

I waited for the next train on a bench close to the one that I avoided, and I saw me sitting there crying genuinely as I said goodbye there once, and It did not bother me, in fact, I smiled at me and prayed that I will never stop crying for those who matter, but then leave. I also closed my eyes a little and prayed that the next time I am here, I am saying hello not waving goodbye.

*Title of this post is a the title of David Gray's Song found here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bzdrabPpRE 

* Photographs are part of my collection of captured memories. 

On Brothers, Cousins and Strangers

Image of Iraqi car plate, with Kuwait listed as a city in Iraq. Image circulating heavily on facebook. 

Amidst the traffic of all the drama series competing for audience attention during Ramadan, couple of productions managed to catch, if not ignite the attention of Arabs and Muslims around the world. The famous Omar that narrates the historical significance of one of the most prominent figures in the Islamic history; Omar ibn AlKhattab, and another Kuwaiti series titled, ‘Saher Al Leil’ which takes place in Kuwait, during the Iraq-Kuwait war in 1990. 

Much has been written about Omar that I feel the only thing I want to say about it is that I am indeed watching it. It is interesting how the debate itself on the series has rested within two fixed positions, or rather statements: 

• I watch Omar 
• I don’t watch Omar

You can read statements as such on both twitter and facebook, with some offering explanations and others just sharing their decision; the main concern being the depiction of the companions of the Prophet (pbuh).

In the specificity of Iraqi online groups on Facebook that I have been monitoring lately, the debate on Omar took a different shape given the nature of the sectarian sensitivities within the Iraqi community. Some of the members of the different Iraqi groups were posting images of the series, especially scenes in which the character of Omar Ibn AlKhattab and Ali ibn Abe Taleb are together, either to bring awareness to the desired unity between Sunni and Shia Muslim Iraqis, or sometimes even to poke fun at one sect. Some of the expressed views in the groups I monitored about Omar were in fact suggesting that watching the series is indeed a ‘strong’ political statement against the status quo in Iraq nowadays. 

I apologise to the non-informed reader about the nature of the dispute between the different sects in Islam, and the symbolism of both Omar Ibn AlKhattab and Ali ibn Abe Taleb to the sectarian politics, I wish not to indulge in such details in this post. I just wanted to share some of my observations on the initial reactions in both the Arab public sphere ( I use the term loosely here) and the Iraqi one. 

meme found in facebook page. 

Very interesting observations were made as well in regards to the Kuwaiti series Saher Al Leil which depicts life in Kuwait during the Invasion of Iraq in 1990. I have not watched the series, and so will not offer my opinion on what the show is about. However, what I believe is fascinating is the sense of unity this series has provided amongst Iraqis from different sects, ethnicities, and political backgrounds. I myself have received emails and facebook messages from different Iraqis I know, that hold very different political, religious and social views all critising the series, and bringing back a rhetoric that has not surfaced for almost 22 years now; images of Iraqi Car plates, with Kuwait listed as a city, and images mocking the borders between the two countries. In fact, the same groups that had very conflicting opinions on Omar Ibn AlKhattab’s role in Islam shared almost the same views against what they described as a false and unfair depiction of Iraq in the series. It actually reminded me of the famous Arab proverb أنا وأخي علي ابن عمي وأنا وأبن عمي علي الغريب

which roughly translates to: My brother and I against my cousin, and my cousin and I against the stranger. 

I have included images I found on facebook, published here for illustration purposes only.  

Accidental Seeds

No known Copyright Restrictions 

12 years ago, i said something: one sentence, a reactionary statement to a loved one that I probably did not even mean, or maybe I did. That 5-word sentence shaped both of our lives drastically. Good and bad changes came along on the different paths we led, but the truth is, it was that sentence that shifted the realms; sliding doors you can call it.

I never forgot that day, although i forgot everything and everyone that led me to it. It was a seed that I planted unknowingly in a distant past that I reap the fruits of today, and tomorrow. I had a conversation with my friend recently about those seeds we 'accidentally' plant and live/witness their bearings later on. I did not speak of the intentional actions we take in our lives to foolishly attempt to design a planned future we have no control of, but seeds that we sporadically scatter around, not aware of what consequences they bear.

Well that 12-years old statement that I take full responsibility of, is what led me 11 years later to research and examine the meaning of diaspora, and take interest in the dislocated. A sentence that I did not understand back then, led me, Maryam, to continue my education examining the meaning of being diasporic, and continue my search for the meaning of home. 

I wish not to indulge you in the private meandring of my mind, but I couldn't help but wonder today in the midst of all the unnecessary errands I was running, what seeds was I planting? What have I said and done that will ultimately decide how my tomorrow will look like? You see, I am a firm believer that we do not meet by accident, and that we each hold significant roles in each other's lives that will ultimately change our paths, or direct us to new ones that we are not aware of. This belief, agree or disagree with it, has led me to examine closely my relationships with people and events around me. I examine them with awe and wonder, mainly questioning the role(s) they played, or will eventually play in the shaping of my coming days. 

I recently met that person, who was kind enough to remind me about what I said 12 years ago, but with a hint of sarcasm and humor. He assured me that it was indeed part of a forgotten past, and that it had no bearings on any of us. But I knew then like I know now that this polite reminder was nothing but an attempt to shed light on the power of our words and actions, and how one slip of a tongue can possibly alter destinies.

I could write so much about this topic, about all the random things I've done or said in the last couple of years that led me where I am now. Perhaps I will, soon. But right now, I must admit that it is 

both scary and exciting to think of those accidental seeds. What might they be? Was it that book I just started reading, the email I decided to send today to an old friend, the smile I generously offered a stranger at the gas station this morning, or this very blog post I decided to write this late hour of the night?

Accidental seeds, indeed they are. 

An Idle Sunday

Photo found in Dr. El Sadek's memorial page. 

Death is a funny business, indeed it is. At some point it becomes less about the 'loss' of the deceased and more about how 'we' feel about the space he/she leaves behind. We keep thinking about how 'we' are going to survive the next minute, day or even year without him/her,how we will be able to champion our next smile, hold back the tears, and go on with our daily pursuits of happiness and eternal greatness.

Death indeed is a funny business. 

Yesterday, I and I can only speak about myself with such certainty lost the possibility of walking into the office of a man I've always respected and loved. I lost the chance of engaging with him in a conversation about education in the Middle East and what I, the once scared, almost-crying student that walked into his office in 2001, think of the world post-graduation. 

I, lost a potential of a good conversation and a warm smile that could have possibly renewed my faith in the education system. 

Like the university's buildings, and strong concrete pillars, I've taken Dr. El Sadek's presence for granted, at the back of my head, there he was with my friends and loved one. Granted! That's what he was, yes I did plan to go see him again once I am done with my crazy schedule, perhaps this week, or the week after. Or maybe, I wanted to visit AUS again during the fall, when the weather was more tolerable. 

Yes, I planned to visit Dr. El Sadek at some point in the near future, without even considering for a spilt of a second that this plan might not fall through. 

Death is a funny business because it remains to be the one uncontested truth in our lives, everything else seems to be debatable, even GOD is debatable nowadays amongst the enlightened  elites, but death is never argued, not for, and not against. 

Death, the one constant in our lives, the truth that never changes, never evolves, is always denied and ignored. We have a beautiful and scary way of ignoring this truth, striving hard to achieve immortality, be it through our words, our photographs or our work, we all ignore death so well that when the news of one of us passing 'away' comes, it shakes us to the core. 

I have been blessed and cursed with the daily reminder of this truth through personal losses of my own that have shaped my whole being. Every night I sleep scared that I would wake up to a quit(er) house, a phone number that is no longer in use, and a Facebook page that is no longer active. Every day I wake up naively rushing to the living room to make sure that both my parents are healthy and awake, and that my phone is buzzing with messages and missed calls from siblings and friends.

But in the midst of all this traffic of ideas and fears, I forget to worry about a person or two, and then comes an idle sunday when you wake up on the news of their passing. 

No matter how good I think I am in preparing myself, Death comes and reminds me that we are indeed, never really prepared. 

So here is to my naiveity, and to all the people I lost along the way. 

And here is to Dr. El Sadek, may you rest in peace and forgive me for forgetting to worry about losing you as well. 

on kitkats, Kirkuk and the meaning of Iraqiness

Speaking on my complicated relationship with kitkats, and Iraqiness. 

on sound bytes, baghdad and first times

Below, is my first attempt at speaking my own words. I am quite new at this 'embedding' thing, but here goes everything.

The Poet & The Scientist 1.1

They left their foreign cities, and forged digital alliances to meet in the epicenter of their colonised past. She packed the innocence of her scarred life, the poetry of her ancestral belonging, and he traveled light, burdened with his manufactured convictions.

He came with numbers and diamonds, and she welcomed him with extremes of veiled chocolates, cigarettes, and her words.

In the express train, there it was: collisions of shock and anticipated pleasures as they waited to reach the centre of what they once both called home. The conversation was just about to start, but the debates were silenced, the binaries were resting, and the potentials heightened.

The conversation continued, and foreign music played in the background to remind them once again, that it was indeed all foreign, all but their coveted explosion.

Laughter, tears and music all seemed wordless at a moment when her words were silenced and his numbers were subtracted to zero. Musky scents of occupied pasts in a room that witnessed the death of poetry and the abortion of science.

He tasted pleasure, she suppressed pain and both surrendered to a moment they knew will last for as long as… a moment does.

He watched her words fall asleep, and her defenses fall as his lips stretched with a small victory that he concurred her lands, and claimed them his. She slept to dream of her words again.

Outside the small window was the remains of an empire that insisted on stealing their belonging. They denied it with the smell of coffee, fresh bread and cigarettes stealing with pleasure moments of their lives. Outside that window, was the empire, but inside the room was Baghdad.

Baghdad: loved, hated and coveted stood uncontested in her eyes, Tigris flowing signaling him to taste home, and begging her to quench her thirst.. They both swallowed home to the point of rejection.

In Baghdad, the explosions went silent too, and the unfamiliar sound of peace alarmed them that it was too, coming to an end.

The music faded away, and the conversation rested to give space for a debate that mocked the rivers and the sweaty palms. His numbers increased, as her poetry resurrected: Words he tried to erase, and softness that suffocated his resistance. He screamed for proofs, as she scribbled words on sheets that witnessed her demise.

She wore her contradictions and he fixed his emptiness as they left for the train. Quite they were, but the silence has left them. He took a glance back at the building that welcomed their wreckage, while she held his hands preparing to let them go.

She was the poet, and he was the scientist.