Friday 1 February 2008

This must be Love.

I've spent the last three hours writing an article for the other blog.

Ok, I can understand you might have difficulty keeping up. But...

I am having great difficulties keeping up too. And it has nothing to do with blogs.

I just read this and having experienced it "All Iraqis will go to heaven, because we've all been to Hell." - I know there is never a good time to give up.

I am not a politician, am not a poet, nor am I a writer...Am just a survivor.

And like every survivor, we seek little things...

Sentences here and there. Maybe a poetry line, a piece of music, a work of art, the eyes of a stranger that bring on a sense of familiarity, a memory, a song, an embrace or a heartbeat...

A heartbeat and the heart breaks open and says "finally"

And the heart breaks open and sighs...or sheds a few silent tears.

Let your heart breathe - Open it.

I have to keep the lid on most of the time, because am a survivor.

Am a survivor of many things I will not share with you. I can't afford to unlock the bolted door. I need to keep going...but occasionally...

There is a popular saying that goes - you will never realize how much you love something/someone until you lose it, her, him.

This is very true. This is why I believe it is important not to take anyone or anything for granted. Especially, not those you love.

And I absolutely love Iraq. I never realized how much I loved Her until I lost Her.

This is so hard to explain. But those of you who feel the same will understand.

When I get very homesick, I watch pictures and videos. Most of them are of bad quality, but it does not matter...Love does not care about appearances.

I watch Dijla and Furat, (Tigris and Euphrates) and I need to say it in Arabic-Dijla and Furat...and I see them running in my veins - like my own blood.

Someone sent me several snapshots of palm trees. It has become our common symbol, our common bond...

We send each other palm trees with pictures of dates hanging loose, hanging in freedom, waiting to feed, waiting to give nourishment, waiting to be picked and savored...

And when we share those pictures, we understand everything we need to understand.

We don't need analysis, theories or political parties to define "it" for us...we just understand.

Because when we look at the pictures, we smell the same smells, feel the same sensations, smile the same smile, we become one again in our common memory of what it was like...good and bad, does not matter. We have a past reference...even the youngest amongst us, has it ingrained in him/her.

And I become that palm hair falling down, sometimes across my face, sometimes blown by the winds...and they become the leaves and the branches...

Th trunk is my spine, my backbone...Everytime I catch a glimpse of myself slouching, slouching under the weight of "it", I remember Her and redress myself...

Everytime I feel I have no fruits to give, I compose a few silly lines like these ones and hope they become nourishment...

Everytime I feel dried out, I remember Dijla and Furat running in my veins...

Everytime I feel lonely and cut off, in a world of indifference, I remember Her.
And I see images of my grand mothers, my great aunts, my grand fathers, my great uncles...

I see my father, my mother, my sister and my brother. I see my aunts, my uncles, my cousins- even those I dislike...I see my nephews, my nieces, my neighbors, my friends...

I see the men I loved and the men I hated...

I see them all running in my veins.

We have become part of one another.

Hell brought us closer, hell brought us together again.

And I start missing each single one of them.

I reach out to revive them, even though they are already dead.

And those that are alive, I reach out to keep them going...

Sometimes our fingers touch and sometimes it is too late... "Destiny" was quicker, faster than my grasp.

I don't even know if this will be published, we are having acute problems with our "servers" - nothing new here.

It took me ages to log in. And it will take me ages to give up and stop loving...Her.

I don't think it will ever be possible.

After all,

She is the rivers that quench me.
And She is the branches and leaves that cover me
And She the trunk that keeps me upright, free and proud.
And She is my memories etched on a tablet
And She is my life turned into an immortal Sumerian stone...

After all , She is my Beloved.

Yes, I think it must be Love after all.

Photographer: Iraqi, Nadhem Ramzi

Don't you just love Black & White? I do - for it contains all shades of gray.