ihath

My uncle in Baghdad thinks that I have become too western.
I live three blocks away from my parents, instead of living together in one big house.
My friends in Vancouver think that it is weird that I enjoy hanging out with my parents as much as I do. Strong family ties don’t reconcile with the individualism fetish.
Such are the dilemma’s of a wandering spirit. Not really belonging to either culture.
Living life in the awkward spaces in between.
Necessary compromises.

Ducking under a table at the sound of a bang. Anxiety sweats running down my thighs.
“Breathe deeply” I tell myself.
“Breathe deeply, you are now in Canada”, I remind myself.
The traumatizing effects of living in war zone.
One, maybe two years.
Sooner or later the body memory will be gone.
No longer anticipating a bullet.

Then comes the realization.
We were once a nation of culture.
We were once a nation of beauty.
I don’t see a trace of that when reading the daily news paper.
“Are you sunni or shea’a?” asks a friend.
We were once a proud nation.
And the sting of that never wears off.

There is a way between voice and presence where information flows. In disciplined silence it opens. With wandering talk it closes. .... Rumi