Lord, as time goes by it is hard to look back or reminisce upon anything. Maybe I try my best to avoid looking back or even peeking because it hurts to look back into a time that is no longer tangible, a life that is no longer ours. It is hard to move forth without -genuinely- moving forth. So, dear Lord I come here as your humble sinner asking you for the strength to endure these coming days, the power to see further than these simple minds. Enlighten me with your wisdom to see these men as more than what they utter; as humans, as wholes. It's becoming such a hard journey from darkness to light because dear Lord there is so much darkness encompassing my days. Lord, how can I see the good in the world, the future ahead with some glimpse of undecided hope? Where as I grow older I fear I won't be worth the wrinkles I’ll be wearing on my face if I haven't made a change, if I continue accepting their square shaped brains and raven black hearts. It has become a disgusting society to live in, dear Lord. I know you are here with us yet it gets lonely with their monotonous words and tuned laughter. War, death, and privileged entities, what an odd combination. What an odd reality. The rich get richer and continue complaining about every flaw in this land. Lord, somedays I doubt they deserve any of your light. Regardless, you guide them with signs of where the good is yet they continue to dwell in their imaginary despair cloaked in their so called "patriotism". Dear Lord, give me strength to turn my rage into something of worth.
Wednesday, January 3, 2018
It’s been a month since I began writing this blog, but it just became harder to post each day that passed. I can’t identify why I have this constant feeling of fatigue; the unwillingness to make any effort to do anything at all. That being said, I made a vow to continue blogging, so here’s my attempt to complete my unfinished piece.
Four. That’s all we are four helpless, defenseless women and a cat. My mother, her elder sister, my elder sister, and myself; the four of us in our 3 story home showered by rockets and missiles. We’ve had a tough week since Saturday, December 2 the day Tarek Saleh’s militias took over our neighborhood and placed a real live cannon on the ground and real live assassins on the rooftops. I genuinely believed I would die. Yes, I’ve been showered by missiles and rockets since march 25th, 2015, but in some absurd way assassins are much more alarming then rockets falling from the sky. So the first two days we were panicking because our fridge was near empty we intended to go grocery shopping on Saturday. It was horrible the feeling that you might starve, I promise you I’m not exaggerating.
Thankfully, my step-father came to the rescue after having to take another road to reach our house that was literally a red zone and took my sister grocery shopping. According to her it was like the apocalypse -I know it’s a psychological game to scare us into thinking it’s doomsday-, we had canned food the first two days not that I’m complaining. December 4th, Ali Saleh Yemen’s former president and well-known dictator is shot dead on his way to Mareb most likely leaving to Saudi as he has just declared on the 1st of December that he’s willing to start a new page with the countries who have been attacking us in all sorts of brutal inhumane ways. Then he declared his people to start a civil war which is what led to his Nephew Tarek Saleh’s assassins to appear. So honestly his death was well deserved and Ali Saleh’s crimes deserve an article on their own and I will be sure to get to that.
December 4th at 10 o’clock a series of missiles began attacking Ali Saleh’s house after it was taken over by Ansar Allah and his house is a few streets down from ours, so you can imagine how terrifying it was. Our cat Nono’s heart was beating so fast and his pupils were enlarged. It is terrible to see a small, fragile animal in so much fear, but what was even worse was the fact he ran away from us to his little frail home, for some reason he thought that his home was safer than our arms. I don’t know why but that spoke to me, he doesn’t think we are capable of protecting him.
So, here we are a month later and yesterday there were two horrifying missiles dropped on the mountain that is literally a few meters away from the university I study at. I thought I was done crying over missiles, but the tears overwhelmed me, the thought I might arrive home dead and if not dead then in need of a prosthetic. Once again for the third year I am beating the odds of death. Somedays I wake up weary. Somedays I am at the edge of just losing hope. Somedays I wish I wasn’t Yemeni, but then I remember this is my home. At the end of the day this is where I belong. This is the only place in the whole entire world I could be and feel as safe as I do when I am cuddled up in my bed in the safety -yes, safety- of my four walls.
Red, white, black; not my favorite color combo. Never was, my eye could never acquire to it, but when you fall in love everything looks different even the things you used to fringe at suddenly become your passion. The moment I fell in love with my country these three colors suddenly made so much sense. They had so much harmony. My heart was overwhelmed with how beautiful they are, as if I was blind and just saw the light for the very first time. My war torn country mesmerized me I fell in love with every last piece of collateral damage. The beauty that lies within the rubbles is much richer than that of plastic towns and plastic people.
Looking back at the past month, we are everything but helpless women. We made it through a civil war in one piece and stronger than ever. Maybe our cat gained some courage as well. In the end, you choose whether your experiences turn you into a defenseless being or a strong, invincible one. I chose and will continue to choose being strong even when I am weak. We are greater than we think. We are stronger than we believe. And we are not defenseless.
Here’s to another year of beating the odds. Here’s to falling in love with a land and its merciful God. Here’s to my beautiful country Yemen.
Saturday, November 11, 2017
Why did this happen? How did we grow so numb to all the damage happening? When did we become so passive? Yemen is on the brink of the world’s worst famine. We are isolated due to the Saudi led coalition’s decision to block our access to the world. Fuel has risen up to 60%. The dollar is escalating rapidly. People are out of jobs. Children are hungry. There is a cholera outbreak. What more is left? this is by all means genocide.
We’ve been under a constant shower of air raids for the past 962 days. We wake up every day and defy death, but now not only do we fear death by a missile now we fear death by starvation. Saudi has no right to isolate us from the world. And the world has no right to turn the other cheek to what’s happening in Yemen. You are all held accountable for every death happening here. Every soul. Every martyr. Every orphan. You are all taking part in this brutal, inhumane war.
Wednesday, November 8, 2017
In my tender, brutal days I’ve come to learn that connections can’t be enforced, some things are inherent, a natural reflex. We grow up believing that emotions are always two sided, that even the dark days aren’t that dark, to some extent that might be true, but as we evolve mentally we realize that life is far from fair. As we move forth we conclude that our connections may reach a certain depth then break off, and that is ok. It’s okay to end a link even if it’s a blood link. Nothing is worth than enforcing emotions, enforcing a connection. Blood links are the hardest to surpass but sometimes they are the most toxic ties we have. Letting go of that string is scary, but in time you’ll learn how to fly. Be brave and have faith in your strength; most importantly have faith in your self, even if you feel like your frail and weak. You have so much more to give back to this world as you stand solely at the top of your summit about to take off. You don’t need those chains to rise, cut them loose, break through.
Saturday, August 26, 2017
It is one thing to state you love yourself and a whole different thing to literally love yourself. At eighteen I’ve learned that loving yourself is such a hard battle, yes, a battle. A battle between the taste you’ve acquired and the tang you deserve. You can’t transcend into a higher level if you are held back by all the expectations. No, this can’t be blamed on society this is us. We chose to let our happiness constantly be a verdict made by whoever we have grown fond of. It is time we arise from the rubble we have created subconsciously. What we have become is our own doing. Playing the blame game takes us nowhere and I know this very well, I’ve been playing it for as long as I can remember. I know writing how strong I wish to be won’t actually make me strong, and I know actions speak louder than words, but I believe having my words visible to the world might pressure me to pressure me. We are stronger than we think we are and yes, maybe we’ve long lost who we truly are, but nothing is completely unrepairable all we need is a little faith in ourselves and if you can’t find that faith, trust me. Trust that you just need to dig a little deeper till you reach your goldmine. I haven’t reached my mine, yet I know at some point, at some time I will. You deserve to believe in yourself just as much as I do. I know it’s hard, so very hard to believe in yourself if you’ve been beaten to the ground, but you are strong enough to dust yourself and reach the finish line even if you fall down again after you’ve risen.
“Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game. __Babe Ruth”
Wednesday, August 23, 2017
I have learned that a fresh start must start at your mind before any other place. Trust me the decisions that are made from the inside are so much harder than those externally edited yet much less visible. It takes 21 days for an action to become a habit, that's 21 days too long. It will take me 21 days to be me again but this void is so compelling to continue living in. I am trying to motivate myself, to create an illusion of a finish line but I know too fondly that there is nothing. I mean doing the bare minimum drains me, how will I push myself forward? I genuinely do not know, and from some perspective I pity myself for letting myself fall this low and even worse not pushing myself back up. So I am sorry me but the days are too long and we're together for 24 hours too long and I can't think of more escapes from me. I am sorry for all the years I pushed me past my limits to only land us here. I am sorry for selling myself out. I am sorry for the way this turned out. I am sorry for not being my own hero. I am sorry for raising your hopes up far too many times. I hope one day I can make it up to me even if it takes 21 days.
Monday, August 21, 2017
I see you there. I see you there breathing. I see you there being. I see you with my eyes closed shut and my room all dark. I see you not through sight but through every other sense. I see you passing by untouched. I see you being unmoved. I see you seeing me yet not acknowledging me at all. That’s the thing about the past it grips on to us and refuses to let go. I’ve been running in a loop for too long and I am impatiently waiting for the end of this to come. I am waiting for the day I no longer stare blankly at the wall reliving those treacherous memories. I know that day will come eventually but I need eventually to be right now because I can’t bear one more nightmare, one more false hope. I hope that the choices I am making in the now won’t haunt me like my earlier choices that elevated to mistakes that bruised my mind. I hope I don’t let myself down again. I hope I can gain back my lost strength to carry myself to my desk to open my journal to write down my prolonged voyage with pain. I wish I could get myself to read my false hopes but I know my destined reaction will be yet another breakdown. Even typing words into this keyboard has turned into a burden which hurts me. I hate how one mistake can make every fruitful thing seem so vain, so bland. In the end, we are our mistakes; without them our ambiguous odyssey wouldn't be so ambiguous for hurt only hurts because it is so unexpected. When my "eventually" arrives I will stitch my wounds together and watch them heal then rise to be the me I deserve to be.