Hey you,
Hope you are well, and hope you can get uncomfortable. Because now is not the time for comfort.
I do not know what it must feel like to be a Palestinian right now.
I do not know what a tragedy of this magnitude does to you.
I do not know enough to explain to you everything being done to Gaza right now.
All I know is what it’s like to be me, a tiny droplet in the vast ocean of this cruel world right now.
I can hear children playing on the street. I get annoyed at them often, they scream at the top of their lungs, and they’re out often.
What a privilege.
I love this time of the year, this time of the day. The weather is beautiful. The sun is setting. The sky is orange.
What a privilege.
My coffee is warm, nutty, bitter. All the right tones.
What a privilege.
I’m wearing a soft button down. My cardigans are out. My shawl-cum-blanket follows me everyone. It’s officially socks season.
What a privilege.
I should plan the next few weeks. The end of the year is going to be busy, as it often is. I’m hoping to go see some family soon.
What a privilege.
My stomach makes a noise. I’m wondering what we’ll have for dinner today. There’s a grocery stock overdue.
What a privilege.
Tomorrow is going to be a long day. So much work. Some deadlines. I’m tired.
What a privilege.
I rage. I rage. I rage from behind a screen.
What a privilege.
I obsessively watch the news. I obsessively watch Gilmore girls. I scroll till I can’t scroll anymore. And I hide till I can’t hide anymore.
What a privilege.
My bed is soft, my blankets are warm, my water is running.
What a privilege.
I drop a message to my friends. I ask them how they’re doing. They ask me how I’m doing. It feels to hard to function right now. ‘My mental health is in shambles’, one of them says.
What a privilege.
There’s a call for a protest next. To gather. To mourn. To resist. To be witnessed.
What a privilege.
I must step away now. I must take a break. My boundaries, my mental health.
What a privilege.
You can’t fill from an empty cup. You can’t fight with a tired soul.
What a privilege.
How wretchedly human. How wretchedly inhuman. All this pain, all this privilege.
If you are wanting to learn and know more:
My Instagram is crammed with information.
Some I’m following with lots to say: Amy Mowafi, 2030mama, Fatima Bhutto and Fariha Roisin
This piece by Fariha Raisin, the gentlest, most educational take.
This interview, it’s wit, humour and pain.
