Let the Struggle for Palestinian Sovereignty Liberate You
The Settler Colonial Project Gone Rogue | Part 1
If you’re like myself, you may be concerned with finding the truth about what is happening in Gaza and how it has come to bear. That the mechanisms of international law and order have failed to work is what is truly frightening. From mainstream media bias to the interests and greed of the most powerful, Palestine has come to represent to me the very idea of what it means to be free and resist being trampled over, come what may.
Below, I start a short list of resources that I have utilized to arrive at a simple conclusion – Israel and the Zionist project was, and is, a settler colonial project in a post-colonial era. It has the backing of the only remaining superpower, the US, and with it, impunity to do what it pleases in blatant disregard for international law or popular public opinion the world over. The state was founded by the displacement of hundreds of thousands of indigenous people in 1948 and the imbalance between any sort of resistance from those indigenous people and the state of Israel has only grown in magnitude. What is playing out in Gaza now is the march towards the long held ambition of this project for there to be only one people on the land from the river to the Sea, and that is the people the state deems the right type. Seen from that frame, the decisions of the government may even appear rational. This is not a fight between two armies or entities as is mostly portrayed in traditional sources. It is that of oppressor vs the oppressed….
Books
The Hundred Years’ War on Palestine by Rashid Khalidi
The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine by Ilan Pappe
Articles
Military Strategy gone Mad – Who is the terrorist?
Settler Conference about Gaza settlement amidst ongoing Israeli offensive
The International Court of Justice Ruling
Interviews
Films/Documentaries
Short Film, The Present, The Mundanity of life under occupation
Persons
Noura Erakat
Motaz Hilal Azaiza,
Bisan Owda, Reporting from Gaza
https://www.instagram.com/wizard_bisan1/?hl=en
https://www.gofundme.com/f/rebuild-hope-in-gaza-support-bisan-and-families
Podcasts
Let’s Talk Palestine Pod
Music
From the River to the Sea…
Palestine will be Free.
If there is one thing to marvel at, if that’s even the right word, among the ongoings near the Eastern Mediterranean Sea, it is the courage of the Palestinian people in the face of devastating adversity. If nothing else, could we at least agree that children and women should not be bombed indiscriminately as has been the case for Gazans at the hands of the Israelis this last month?
I am new to the Palestinian cause and movement, if I may say so, not quite having known about the freedom struggle. For a couple of weekends, I have left the comfort of my North London life behind to join fellow Londoners demanding an end to the unfolding madness. Waves and waves of people, children and women in plenty, walking together to say, “Israel is a Terrorist state. In our thousands and our millions, we are all Palestinians.”
And in doing so, I have wondered who we have been saying this to – to the British government and MP’s, to the Israeli government, to onlookers abroad who may have seen news reports and images of the thousands walking London’s famed streets or to somebody else? Perhaps we were just saying this to one another, to those of us present on the streets, to acknowledge openly hey this hurts, I don’t stand for this.
Amidst the disillusion, I have also felt despair and disgust in plenty, knowing fully well that at the end of the day, I live a very comfortable life, with the privilege to distract myself and forget for a couple of hours, days, even weeks if I choose, if it gets too uncomfortable…. What possibly could my voice or participation accomplish anyway?
But when I am reminded and shown (mostly by Sana) the many courageous people speaking up, using their platforms and influence, to fight the mainstream narrative, that all too easily spills out of our screens, I am moved to action. Power works to consolidate power, to squash opposition, and in moments just like this to tell us to go do whatever it is that we were doing – travel, shop, drink, watch, consume… And so perhaps it’s important I engage in my own way, to help shed light where there is darkness, so I am able to look my own children in the eye and say to them that I didn’t just stand idly by when innocent children like them were being systematically wiped out because they were considered “human animals”.
From the age of about 10 to 16, I was fed a near constant stream of stories and lessons (in school etc.) about the gallant march of India towards its Independence from the Colonial British powers in 1947. I’d go as far as saying that in those days, a big part of the Indian identity seemed to be made up of this Britain beating view of things (mine was for example), irrespective of how much came before, or has since… And so immediately, somebody from South Asia (or perhaps from any other place that was under a colonial rule in the last couple centuries) may have a basis to understand the Palestinian resistance which continues today… A people who had been living in a certain geography for centuries in their own way, experience a gradual and continuos descent to second class citizenry, dehumanization, and violence. Might you also not get resentful of those who are subjecting you to such conditions? In this case the armed representatives of the state of Israel who hover over all aspects of your life.
In my life so far, I had considered myself a pacifist, a person who believes that war and violence are unjustifiable. I am not so sure anymore… If you push somebody to the brink and make their existence miserable (what else is Gaza but an open air cage), what options do you leave such a people to express hope? And don’t tell me the likes of the US, UK, and Europe don’t have a role in creating the conditions which lead to the periodic surges in violence in the first place… And so we are all responsible, in some way, in our spheres of influence, even today.
And if nobody can claim innocence, where could we go? What about breaking down the walls Israel creates to segregate it’s citizens from the Palestinians, creating I imagine mistrust and hostility, not safety, even for their own people. I have visions ala the Berlin wall coming down but perhaps that’s too naive….. That would require ordinary Israeli’s to see through the bullshit the cunts in power peddle and take matters into their own hands. In fact it would take ordinary people everywhere to see through the bullshit the cunts in power, everywhere, peddle. It’s called Divide and Conquer, oldest trick in the book that.
I don’t believe for one moment that a genuine and sustainable solution which grants equal rights to Jews, Christians, Arabs, whomever lives today in the land of historic Palestine (pre the establishment of Israel) is not possible. One group of people in that land today enjoys an elevated status and the idea of giving up that privilege is what seems to be what the noise is all about. Including the literal noise the bombing of Gaza may be causing.
I learnt of a story about a Vietnamese chap during the years of the US invasion in Vietnam, who would go to the same spot each day to light a candle. Watching this happen over and over again, somebody accosts him to question whether this fella really believed that lighting a candle could make any difference to the desperate ongoings… He is understood to have responded by saying that he didn’t light the candle to change the world but instead, did so to prevent the world from changing him…
And so I stand. It is easy to become cynical, to promote hate and violence in the face of hate and violence… But that means losing one’s humanity. The very thing we need, and from the millions and the billions. People are people, that’s it. There aren’t any two ways about it.
I don’t condemn Hamas (not that anybody is asking me to) or the attacks on 7th October, but rather I condemn the people in power (in Europe, in the US, in Russia, in Israel, in Saudi Arabia, in Iran, wherever) who let this misery unfold, while making moral gesticulations of considerable effort from their safe havens, pitting ordinary people against one another – again and again and again.
Palestinians are teaching us all a lesson about what it means to resist, and to have courage. They are a brave people with little hope and I feel inspired by their cause. May those of them risking their lives to stand up to the powerful, realize dignity and azaadi within their lifetime.
There is no path to peace, peace is the only path.
Yo Israel, Cease-fucking-fire now.
“Trust, that you glow without Trying” @AmyAllen Poet
Around the block from where I live is a tree. This is no ordinary tree, it’s the Poet Tree (Poetreee?).
For as long as I can remember, I have gravitated towards trees – there’s a sentence I didn’t think I’d be saying/writing. Steadfast, ever-present, mostly unshakeable, and all around epic. Also they can’t be rude to you, and that’s got to count for something? Point being, I find them comforting.
And so I quite enjoy where I live for it’s replete with trees old and new, lining streets, and generally, you know, pumping the air around with that gas we can’t quite get enough off – Oxygen. So a fair few people, dogs, birds, and even fox seem to find our parts rather cozy. These are your local residents.
And just when these aforementioned residents thought it couldn’t get any better, some anonymous soul from round these parts did this…
After this nifty piece of carpentry appeared on the tree, sometime last year, not only could you enjoy the usual benefits of being around a tree, you could also now ponder some philosophy or laugh at a limerick while on your way to the local bus. How clever is that?
And so as we all got used to this new-old technology (public notice board meets pen and pencil, no sharing possible on the WWW) there was surprise and wonder to be had when you least expected it. The curator behind this, if I may call the person that, didn’t indicate what it might take to get ‘published’, and so different writings appeared. Locals dabbling in poetry but also some put forward by the wizard behind the idea. Sometime in the winter, I too put up a poem, written in Hindi; for the untrained eye to deal with as they figure best.
But the point isn’t that I put something up but rather how a simple intervention, made locals stop and ponder, and invited them to interact with the west facing side of this tree? There is no knowing what kind of foot traffic this tree sees or how many ‘likes’ or ‘followers’ it has, but those that come across writings on here take away a feeling with them. And perhaps that’s the magic of the Poet Tree. The mostly analog interconnectedness it forces upon those whose eyes land on it.
And today as I stepped out after 9 pm, still some light in the summer sky, a mild evening greeted me. I was in the mood for a gentle stroll, meandering in the familiar streets of around here, preparing my body for a typical night’s rest ahead. As I stopped at the tree, as is now customary on most walks, I found a poem that wasn’t up the last time I was here. And it left me with a feeling that eventually translated into a desire to share something forward via my blog…
(You may have to zoom in but have a read at the poem below. Thank you @AmyAllen Poet whoever you are, it’s brilliant this)
So my friends, whoever you are and however you have been feeling up to this point, as the poem goes on to say, “Let. It. All. Go………Trust, that you glow without trying.” Yikes, sometimes, it feels good to be alive.
My Dear Nani
First, a recent note from my journal, as is…
Wednesday, 26 April, Nighttime
Candlelight flickers with meaning… My Nani, and I feel the need to speak in the possessive, died on Monday night.
We had the simplest of simple interactions, but it filled me up, my life’s cup. I felt safe with her in a way I did not with anybody else. As a child, as an adult, and even as recently as in 2018 when I last was in her presence. From the safety and relative limits of her Delhi flat, she developed a wisdom greater than those who have traversed the globe and have glittering experiences to speak off.
She knew about love, and how selfless it must be. That hoarding it doesn’t make it grow larger or conversely that expressing it doesn’t make you poorer. That there cannot be an ego when it comes to love.
I feel a loss that she is now gone. I feel also an expansiveness. For her death led me to contemplate her legacy, the feeling of her growing larger within me, filling me with an abundance of joy, of being, of love… how strange that it’s her passing that does this...
If death has this effect on those who are left behind, then it makes me wonder, perhaps that’s how we live on… Through what remains or transfers of us to the next, and the next after, and so on. And If the desire to live is intrinsic, perhaps that’s all we manage – to pass that zest, the spark onto someone else. Like the last embers of a dying fire, throbbing gently and with a captivating glow, the essence is all that’s needed to keep it going…
I don’t quite know what purpose this act serves. The act of putting these words down publicly that is… Perhaps it’s to find a way to mourn my maternal grandmother’s loss, or to try and live by the adage that life is more pleasant if shared with others, or the fact that I didn’t get to see her transition from living to dead and so I am still stuck in disbelief, or perhaps a little bit of everything. That she died isn’t entirely the cause of the shock, because well that’s inevitable for us all, but because I am sat on a completely different continent, living a wildly different life to what this person was living, having to reconcile with the undeniable fact that she was a key caretaker of mine, whose sacrifices and nurturing paved the way for who I would grow up to become. I owe her plenty.
What to do? How to honour her, to do justice to her memory. A simple woman, a misunderstood woman, a courageous woman in her own right. Short and full of witticisms, doting on her small clan of family members, not one who thought twice before saying what was on her mind. But most importantly, sweet like honey; my enduring memory of speaking with her in the decade+ since I left Delhi is the, “I love you Siddharth“, followed by an innocent giggle, each time, without fail. If there is one thing that she never left me doubting is that above and over everything, she loved me.
There are days of being a parent myself, when I go to bed, being a little too harsh on myself. I didn’t quite get that right, or did I upset my child, or do they know I love them? On many days gone by, this grandmother of mine was my inspiration and silent guide – when I couldn’t feel the love for myself I so needed to get in touch with, I would think of her and feel a warmth envelope me;
And I suppose that’s her legacy. I felt her love towards me, and I have been able to channel that feeling towards my two little ones, enriching their lives, and seeing tangible and immediate results. I couldn’t arrange for them to meet her, or for her to meet them, and perhaps that’s a regret I may live with in time… It would have been brilliant, I so know that. It’s so real I can picture it vividly… we pull up in the car outside her home, where she’d been living for most of her life, mostly with my aunt/her elder daughter. She’d have been waiting anxiously in the living room on the first floor, peering out onto the quiet street that’s shaded by the colossal gulmohar tree. We would first see each other from behind the glasses – hers the floor to ceiling living room doors’, and mine the passenger window on the car, and we would exchange the first of many smiles for the day. As I would climb up the stairs she’d have gingerly moved from her sitting position to the doorway entrance, sticking her neck out to catch the first glimpse of those ascending. I’d accelerate up, moving quickly towards her, and hurtle towards a warm and infectious embrace – 6 foot me, and barely 5 foot her, perfect… this time I’d have my 2 little munchkins to introduce to her, and she’d tell us all the tasty foods she had prepared – rice kheer, cholle, samosas, freshly cut mangoes, and what not! The rest of the afternoon would be filled with laughter, gossip, and just running about up and down the two-story flat, dialling back the years right to when I was a little kid myself. We’d ask a few questions about one another but very quickly, it would move on to just spending some time, whatever time, in each other’s company, having my two boys experience for themselves where it is that there Baba gets his kindness and lightness of spirit…
My Dear Nani, I am sorry I couldn’t be with you in your last days…. A couple of weeks ago, when we spoke for what would be the last time, and it was a strain for you I could tell, we managed to say to one another, “I love you”… Is there really anything else to say? May you rest in peace.
Yours, Siddharth.
Dil Dil Pakistan
“Yeh toh masla ho gaya” (that’s going to be an issue) said the supervising immigration officer out loud & involuntarily, at a sleepy Jinnah International airport, a little past 6 am on an early February’s day..
The masla (or problem) at hand was that of yours truly, Indian passport holding 6 feet giant I, having arrived on Pakistani land – this isn’t supposed to be, this doesn’t be on most days and at most times, until it very occasionally does. But how did you get a visa yaaar and why you here, and why now?
Going to Pakistan, and Karachi in this instance, has been a fascination of mine since even before I can remember. As a young teenager back in the dull days of 2006, I happened to be travelling on a bus with a dozen or so other school classmates from Delhi to Lahore, via the famous/infamous Wagah Border gates. I don’t remember being cognizant of the politics of the day but looking back, my school benefited from the warm diplomacy and exchanges that were the preference of the two governments at the time. And for that very rare of experiences, I would find myself chasing that sensation of thrill in all pursuits thereon…
You can take the South Asian out of South Asia but you can’t take South Asia out of the South Asian… That was very much the feeling I was sitting with leading up to the most recent visit. Parenthood, and the Pandemic meant I had last visited India on a hurried visit in 2018, having never gone longer without a visit since I left in the first place, in 2007. Since then, a planned trip had to be cancelled just at the start of the Coronavirous lockdown period and as it happens, Sana, my Pakistani partner, hasn’t been able to apply for an Indian visa – some silly old directive from the Indian government preventing us from making an application… And so it means, India and the city of my childhood remains a no-go for the timebeing…
My paternal grandparents were from Sindh, one of the major states of Pakistan, and the state Karachi is in. Growing up, I heard the tale of how they left at the time the two nations – India & Pakistan, were separated. They spoke Sindhi, they remembered some detail of what their elders did in the town (Sukkur) they left, and how their families started afresh across the Arabian sea in Bombay and so on… These were stories that would enrapture anybody, what chance did an 8-9 year old me stand… I reckon that was the root of my curiosity. To know my ancestry, even if my own didn’t want anything to do with it anymore…
So much of what people from the subcontinent carry is trauma of a yesteryear, of violent separation, of othering, of hate for somebody where there was once love. I unknowingly inherited the same… Little did I know that the choice of partner I was making (and she was I) at 19, 20, 25, 30 and continue to make today, was going to remain as much an internal struggle as anything outwardly. We have two beautiful little boys. As we learn HindiUrduEnglish, celebrate HoliEidDiwaliRamadan, make our own traditions, and ask questions about our shared past, we heal together… Occasionally, I sit quietly and marvel at my good fortune to be part of the family that I am part of.
So what was the visit to Karachi like…. you know that feeling of going to a restaurant you have visited plenty of times before only to find the management has changed since you were last there? It’s really all the same, but not quite? That’s sort of what stepping into the seaside metropolis felt like… The sounds of the street, the language of the day to day, the stories and nostalgia, all drawing from similar roots… Perhaps it’s the romanticism, perhaps it’s something else, it felt as though I had never left. Funny thing is, Karachi is not where I grew up….
2 weeks in Karachi in the care of Mr. Najeeb Ji, Sana’s uncle was perfection. Of unda parantha-nasthas, drives to bakeries and fruit sellers, khaybans’ and baghbans, kababs and chai’s, of 20km Saturday morning bike rides by the seafront, of the good slow life, a vacation doesn’t get any better… Of unexpected companionship, of love and belonging, of respect… For this eternally confused soul, there could not have been a higher honor…
So was there a masla at any point during the trip? Not really. The papers were in order and barring the initial surprise and curiosity, I was quickly on my way to becoming part of the furniture. The agenda wasn’t particularly ambitious either so hours on end were spent in the garden, under the shade of the tall coconut trees, basking in the warmth of a relatively cool sunshine, the two little ones making their own merry around as well…
Perhaps this trip was the start of something, of becoming more comfortable with who I am and what my family represents. A pilgrimage of sorts, a narrow personal looking tunnel into the past, to gleam something novel for the future? Or perhaps it was the lure of belonging that strikes in the most unexpected of places. Of belonging beyond borders, beyond you and I. Of that purity of being, of oneness with one another….
Among a sea of humanity by the Arabian sea, I felt something. I believe it was peace.
राही
ज़िन्दगी का नया मोड़ आया।
कुछ हिसाब से,
ज़्यादा ख़ूबसूरती लाया।
मेरा भी है परीवार,
यह तेह हो गया।
पहली बार, किस्सी दिशा
में दौड़ नहीं रहा।
बस हर पल को,
उस पल के लिए जी रहा।
आखिर राही मुस्कुराता दिखा।
सब्र Monsieur
I am at my wits end. In a no-man’s land between what is, and what will be. Anxious to leap and make changes, but having to play the waiting game instead. Luxuriating in the possibilities of what will be, but only so far as in my head, with little to show for it. It’s a really terrible period this, the wait for your baby to be born.
The weather is more amenable so that’s a silver lining. But I like rainy days, so that’s not entirely consolation either.
I might not be the one with a gestating being in me, but hibernate I want to do as well. Perhaps it’s a hangover from the relative comfort of the pandemic rules, where being told to stay at home for everyone’s sake suited my nerves, for I find the possibilities of an open society dizzying now.
This is not to say that I think we need big government or business to dictate our life, quite the contrary – for I think it is now well documented that they exhibit disproportionate influence over our days already. It’s rather that freedom, true freedom, is quite frightening in all it’s vast expansiveness. Should I just keep resting under the blue sky, or do something while I still have the vitality and vigor. Or why bother at all, isn’t true luxury about not having to fuss about the dailies of work, food et. all?
What I suffer from is quite a recent phenomenon of believing and thinking many different lives possible for oneself, all existing conveniently within the head, free from constraint of time, space, or resource. Having explored a few possibilities early in my life, I now sit mostly wondering, what is the cause worth truly dedicating my next years to?
For one there is parenthood, and as rewarding a pursuit as that is, one can’t help but know that, that too will run it’s course, when the child is self sufficient. In a way, it’s a bit of a double edged sword – do a good job, and you set your child free, only to wish for those days of dependence all over again; don’t do a good job, and you find yourself doing the role longer than is healthy for either side? Or perhaps there is a middle ground, I can’t quite know yet. What I do know is that I am still in the early days of my role as parent so there is a lot more to be learnt on that front.
And perhaps it’s the addition of the new role relatively recently, that has seemingly diminished other identities – the partner, the worker, the friend, the child… To be seen as a ‘dad’ myself and to know I was doing a decent job at it, above and over everything has been such a visceral desire of mine that it has overshadowed many of my relationships. And it’s because I felt this responsibility of being a caregiver so intensely, the only way to handle it without burning relationships, or worse myself, was to extricate myself from most contexts.
To say that at the start, my self-belief was low would be an understatement – I was practically useless, my inner critic not doing me any favors either. Becoming a parent is hard enough in-and-itself, anything less than sugar coated platitudes and I had my defenses up, quicker than it would take you to tweet (or what’s app) an apology my way…
But apology note this is not. Pity party this ain’t. In fact, I don’t quite know what this is but a feeling of sanguine comings. Hope is a bitch. Hope is all there is.
I suppose there is only one thing to say to myself, “सब्र (patience) Monsieur”
Parenthood 2.0
It’s been a weird month this. I went out of my way not to acknowledge the changing of the years, as is the norm, for I told myself, that change is continuous, and each day – moment really, is an opportunity to do something differently; and what is TimeAnywayButAConstruct. No NYE parties or wishing happy new year into January etc. Just another day folks, let’s crack on. And a whole month has passed in a relative blur in this mentality.
Another strange experiment is afoot. I am resisting work. For the first time in my working life, I am going against what had become an instinct – to take on more, and to strive further. I don’t need to tell you, it’s a hamster wheel that. And drawing boundaries, closing up early, working on one thing at a time and for as long as it takes, it is challenging me. For there is a voice in my head, “you are being left behind”.
But of course I ain’t being left behind. It’s the conditioning, it’s how my peers and their work related anxieties function, it’s the ideas of success that I have imbibed from my surroundings, it’s how most of society is engineered and behaves.
Perhaps the most important aspect of my life today has less to do with the seemingly pointless successes of the business domain, but with biology, and this is terrifying me. My partner and I are expecting another child this summer – our second! What I found hard the first time, and I am continuing to the second time around, is that I can’t relate to it at all. It’s not like it’s growing inside me you know! And no amount of talking to my partner or the baby quite does the trick.
Now, unlike the first time, I am not suffering from a confidence crisis. Quite the contrary, I feel secure in my role as dad. But despite the experience, and the top notch dad jokes ; ), I still feel lost, unable to comprehend the change that I am hurtling toward…
A few years ago, I vividly remember feeling a sense of pride at being a modern day man – willing to take on my share to support my partner, at home, work, and in all facets of life. And yet this has proven to be much harder to practice, for our societies remain unfavorable to women. It’s everything from discrepancies in parental leave, an absence of value attributed to home work and child raising, a lack of role models for working dad’s – or at least a space where there is open dialogue about this, to the very basics of home-keeping that I was ill prepared and frankly oblivious to. So the last few years have been a slow counterbalancing of priorities to ensure I truly take on a worthy share in an equal partnership….
You have to lose some to gain some, it goes. And so what I have been less prepared for are the feelings of inadequacy and unfulfillment that arise as I step off the career accelerator, a move so foreign to me, I could have sworn it wasn’t possible. Yet, I find myself trying , finding the process of disengaging unsatisfying, like a delicious supper tasted, but left far from full. I keep wondering, how do you show up to do something, and not do it wholeheartedly?
Ah, the answer lies right there. For choosing to be a family man, and it is a choice believe you me, doesn’t come with the unfettered support of your employer or the economy, and so every choice where you pick doing right by your child, or your partner, a feeling of doubt arises regardless. Perhaps this is my predicament and not yours, and I get that. The challenge I face is to continue to remind myself that the path that I am taking now is unknown to me, and that it is okay to go slowly and with caution. And importantly, to trust myself.
Parenthood 2.0 awaits in the not so distant future. I am bloody excited if i was being honest, and pretty darn happy too. Project FamilyManSid remains a work in progress but one that is trending in the right direction. Armaan’s arrival was life affirming…. I can only imagine that the arrival of another baby will push me further along the transformation journey I have been on these last few years. Ah the winds of change. Time to set sail friends.
Goodnight xoxo
I Miss You
Strange, yet familiar. Mundane, yet intriguing. Random, yet expected.
But of course, I am talking about the business of getting back to doing whatever it is that our species does on a daily.
Nothing really ever changes does it? What perhaps happens is a heightened consciousness among us as a whole. All this talk, and for what I wonder.
I am not without my share of blame. Where I claim I have fundamentally changed my ways, one look in the mirror, and the shame comes flooding back. Who am I to judge another. Who is anyone to judge anyone really.
The penny only really dropped for me a week or so ago. The pandemic and the subsequent relative isolation impacted me more than I first grasped. And it’s not the usual stuff, it’s in fact the re-integration I have found particularly challenging.
I don’t know about you, but I seem to have lost all sense of how to be around others? What are the cues, what are the norms, how do we actually come together again, restoratively, after what has been a traumatic period.
The stay at home orders suited me, because for the first time, I was able to get up close and personal with this wound I have been carrying. In the safety of my home, I broke down, again and again and again and again and again. Just like the sun and moon follow one another, again and again and again and again.
What plagues me is what I believe plagues anyone that carries trauma in their body. Experiences that are passed from one generation to another, in subtle ways, unbeknownst to the sender and receiver, the DNA of trauma if you will. How to be today, unburdened by this. I am told reliably, the body must heal first.
Never before have I been so acutely aware of my strangeness as I am now. The quirks, the habits, and if I may say so, the bodily functions, that make you you, and me me, well they appear to be magnified in isolation.
This in itself is a strange collection of sentences, and perhaps by leaving it unedited for you, I can offer a glimpse into my own peculiar way of being this evening.
I missed you – you strange, beautiful, human you 😀
Armaan 