July 18, 2008 at 7:15 pm (Canada, Damascus, Syria, friends, weather)
Exhilaration is the Breeze
That lifts us from
the Ground
And leaves us in another place
Whose statement is not found
Returns us not, but after time
We soberly descend
A little
newer for the term
Upon Enchanted Ground
-Emily Dickinson
It’s intolerably hot. At least, it is to me. Its so hot that my entire essence of being is sluggish. Its hard for me to believe that I’d actually forgotten how hot Damascus in July is. Was it ever really this unbearable when I was growing up? Probably it was and that’s the way it had always been. I knew nothing different so my memory doesn’t hold that information as it would something extraordinary. But now I do know.
Canadian summers are like Syria around the end of September. The temperature, even with the humidity, rarely rises above 34 degrees. The weather seems to work in cycles. One only has to tolerate the heat for three or four days at a time. Once you think that you can no longer bear the mugginess, the skies suddenly blacken. A magnificent thunderstorm rolls in, announcing its arrival with forceful booms and strikes of lightening that look as though they will split open the sky – an awe inspiring site. Once the storm moves off you can almost hear the entire region exhale a collective sigh of relief as the air behind the storm is cooler and clearer.
That sort of relief doesn’t exist here in Damascus in July. On some days as I look up at the blue skies and the searing sun, I’m reminded of the scenes from movies about the desert. The camera pans across the sands to the blazing sun and the orchestral music crescendos to a screech. This, of course, is normally followed by a scene starring a kettle of circling vultures. But I digress. Its almost as if we’re trapped on the inside of an enormous paper weight. Nary a breeze nor a rain drop can enter, only the rays of the sun.
Complaining to my fellow sufferers seems superfluous. Most of them seem less energetic than usual but no one seems to grumble much. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but let the odd grievance slip past my lips. To my surprise, they did not fall on deaf ears. Several days ago, I was whisked out the door by my gentleman friend to the shiny, leather seats of an old Mercedes convertible. After tearing, practically unyieldingly, through the narrow and busy streets of Damascus – God knows how we didn’t receive a single scratch or dent – we hit the highway. This is the point at which I released my death-like grip on the door handle and gave myself fully to the exhilaration of an open top car cruising at healthy clip.
I couldn’t help myself. As my hair swirled around me like flames fanned by a strong wind, I threw my head back and screamed with complete glee. I threw my arms in the air, catching as much wind as I possibly could, with perhaps a desire to take off in flight to the cooler skies high above the earth. I didn’t care that the highway was straight and boring, or that the wind was hot and dry. It was this feeling of utter freedom that I needed to lighten my spirit. My companion chuckled at my childlike expressions, seemingly pleased that his idea had been so successful. I am sure that he, too, felt the unencumbered joy of exhilaration.
8 Comments
July 10, 2008 at 9:52 pm (family, friends)
Abuse has a way of crushing trust and destroying confidence, to say the least. There came a time in my life when I discovered that I no longer had faith in my own judgement in nearly any situation. When I married my husband, I loved and trusted him. Not long into our marriage, I realized his disdain for me. Toward the end of our marriage, it appeared that he wanted to kill me. How could I not have seen this coming? How could I, entering the most important contract of my life, have made such an error of judgement? And how could someone who I believed loved me want to hurt me so badly?
Logic, close friends, and years and years of research in Anthropology, told me that not everyone is untrustworthy; not everyone is destructive and hateful. Emotionally and psychologically I had difficulty believing it, but I made a conscious decision to try to return to state of reserved trust and to allow myself to listen to my inner voice again. I scratched and clawed my way back to that point and by the time I returned to Syria, I was beginning to ease back into the pleasantness of life again; not worrying about the repercussions of every little decision or the hidden intentions of every stranger.
But now I find I’m slipping backwards again. Since my return home, my family has rallied around and supported me, but they’ve also become suffocatingly protective. As soon as an unfamiliar name slips from my tongue, the third degree is implemented. I can’t go many places on my own – someone always feels the need to escort me. I know their intentions are good but their actions are having negative results. When I complained to Sadeer, my eldest brother, he simply said “Each time I look at that scar above your eye, I swear to myself that I won’t allow anything bad to happen to you again.” Bless his heart. I reminded him that I was a survivor, that I was still alive, and I needed to live my life. I needed my family to trust me so that I could trust myself.
I don’t know if my words resounded with Sadeer or not. Only time will tell. I do know that I if I am to love again, it has to be fully and completely. I can’t have a “fortress around my heart” built of suspicion and doubt. Happily, the object of my affections is someone I have always trusted implicitly. It would break my heart to see him hurt by something that happened to me so many years ago and that is no longer part of my life, even though it still touches it. Of course everyone brings a little bit of baggage to every relationship. It’s only natural; but some bring more than others. I’m hoping to lighten my load in order to live and love more freely and unburdened.
8 Comments
July 8, 2008 at 3:21 am (friends, home, memories)
An unforeseen event that disrupts the normal course of things.
Its funny how things move along as you might expect and then one day something happens, something occurs to you that completely changes everything. It changes the way you think about things, the way you carry yourself, the way you react. I thought my life was going in a specific direction…one of healing and renewal. But shortly after my return, I was set on a course that I cannot turn away from. I haven’t written of it before now, because I wasn’t sure how to present it. Its deeply personal and yet I want to tell the world about it. Who would have thought at 38, I could feel like a silly teenager with a crush. But there it is.
I’ve known this man for years – since I was born actually. He, being best friends with my eldest brother, was always there, always part of my life…until our lives took us in different directions. He was like another brother – playful and teasing – yet more patient and more gentle. He walked back into my life the night of my return no longer a young man but a dignified, intriguing gentleman. Due to convention, acceptable behaviour, and years of separation our reunion was reserved but our shared fondness of one another was still evident. That had not surprised me, but what did was that I realized how attractive he is.
Suddenly he’s all I think about and he really doesn’t give me a reason not to. He’s frequently at my brother’s home in the evenings sipping coffee and chatting about politics and the like with Sadeer. When I’m not needed by the children, I join them. I often find my attentions straying from the discussion to admire the way his greying hair falls in waves at the nape of his neck, the way his eyes change from a smoky quartz to midnight when he’s passionate about the conversation, or the way his elegant hands caress his coffee cup. His manner of speaking is sophisticated and intelligent – captivating actually. His voice lingers in my ears for hours after he has departed.
He doesn’t leave me pining. In fact, his gestures reveal an affection for me that leaves me with a feeling of comfort. He still calls me Beeseh, which he has since I was small and rambunctious. He has always said it with a gentle smile but the softness that was in his eyes then has now been replaced with an intensity that I can’t ignore. It feels as though we’re in this dance bringing us closer but not close enough to say that we were dancing together. Either way, it’s a beautiful dance and one that I hope to continue enjoying.
6 Comments
July 3, 2008 at 3:51 pm (Canada, Damascus, exercise)
It all starts with the food. Lots and lots of good food. Since I’ve been back in Damascus, I just can’t get enough. Thus, the need for exercise has increased dramatically! Back in Canada, I spent a lot of time walking – a lot of people did. I’m not talking about strolling, I’m talking about a good brisk walk as a form of exercise. Walking, running, biking, rollerblading were a common pastime for many people in Canada. In Damascus it’s a bit of a rarity. Sure, people stroll leisurely or run to cross four lanes of traffic but you don’t see a lot of people out for a “jog”. That being said, there may be a good reason for this. The streets are not overly accommodating to this sort of activity.
Nevertheless, in the evenings, after dinner, I pull on a tank-top, my yoga pants, and strap on my big, white running shoes, plug myself into my MP3 player and hit the streets and the alleys of my neighbourhood. I’ve managed to map out an eight kilometre route for myself and have been able to avoid most of the areas of large amounts of traffic. It’s a bit of a hazard wearing earphones when walking the streets. Its difficult to hear the cars and motorbikes coming up behind me. So I try to stay as close to the side as possible – while avoiding getting poked in the eye by numerous, healthy vines. Do I get looks? Oh yes. Do I trip over kids playing in the alleys? Oh yes. Do I enjoy it? Oh yes.
Normally, I listen to dance music because its tempo is quite fast and it gets the adrenalin pumping. Something like Can’t Fight the Moonlight. I blaze a trail up and down the streets completely in a trance. I don’t really think about anything or notice anything except maybe a pleasant breeze. Last night, however, I decided to try something different. I put on the album by Fadl Shaker – Allah We’allam. Its slow and melodic. I had to work a bit harder to keep my pace up, but there were too many advantages to ignore.
As Mr. Fadl crooned away in my ear, I became very aware of my surroundings and my mind started whirring. I noticed the way awnings fluttered in the breeze, people talking and smiling at one another, the sweet faces of small children playing, and the way the sun caught the edges of flower petals and leaves. I enthusiastically composed this and other posts for my blog. I thought about friends and family. It was kind of the same effect that music in a movie has on you. You could look at the same scene twice, each with different music and come away with two completely different feelings from the scene.
I returned home before I knew it, hot and tired, but relaxed. The dance music always left me high – I had a difficult time coming down but last night, I had no trouble settling down and slept like a log! This isn’t to say that I’ll never listen to my dance music again, but now I’ll not shy away from a little variety.
4 Comments
July 1, 2008 at 6:38 pm (Damascus, Saladin, Salah al-Din, Syria, memories)
It has been years since I visited the shrine of Salah al-Din, the great Sultan of the Ayyubid dynasty – currently made famous in the West by the film “Kingdom of Heaven”. In the East, Syria in particular, he has always been a hero. His memory is larger than life. Many, who feel hopeless in today’s conflicts, have prayed for a leader with the wisdom and strength of conviction of Salah al-Din to lead them out of hardship. As a child, I was in awe of his statue which looms larger than life outside of the citadel, not far from the tomb. I also remember visiting his tomb numerous times as a child and a teenager. None of these visits, however, held the magic or sombreness that my recent visit did. Perhaps now I have more of an appreciation of who he was and what he accomplished. Or perhaps it was because I was alone in the tomb – a feat which is almost unheard of – that I was able to absorb fully my surroundings.
The tomb, on the surface, is nothing more than a tomb. Its construction is a combination of stone, metal, glass, and wood, illuminated by small windows and fluorescent lights. The wooden crypt, draped in a shroud, stands, almost humbly, next to its German, marble counterpart. But as I entered the mausoleum, every inch of my body was covered in goose bumps. The idea that the great Salah al-Din’s remains were before me, was almost overwhelming. This was as close as I could possibly ever come to the man, which was closer than many had a chance to get – maybe even closer than those warriors who fought in his armies. But it wasn’t as though I could observe his chivalrous actions, or listen to his wise words – my only real reference were the stories I’d read of him, the words from which now fed my imagination and filled my soul with such delight.
As I stood motionless in front of his sarcophagus, I tried to imagine what he would think of today’s world. Many thoughts crossed my mind. But in the end, I thought if he were standing next to me, he would likely look at me with his intense, dark eyes, and smile softly. Then, before I could utter a word he would say something far more astute than I could ever conceive. That daydream ended abruptly in the kind of tears that well out of frustration and then gently caress the cheeks in streams of sadness. When I finally became aware that my frequent sniffing sounds were echoing in the chamber, I felt ashamed. I was glad that no one was there to hear me snivelling like a child. I wiped my face with a tissue and placed my hand on the wooden frame of his crypt. The words “Remember who you are.” filled my head.
I exited the building with my chin held high and a renewed sense of purpose. This, the need to recapture my sense of self, was entirely the reason I’d returned home. A visit to the great Salah al-Din proved to bring me one step closer to my goal – that little nudge to keep going – something I was not really expecting when I set out earlier that day. I walked by the citadel and stood for a while longer at the base of his statue and smiled up at him. Allah yirhamu – God rest his soul.
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I couldn’t help myself. As my hair swirled around me like flames fanned by a strong wind, I threw my head back and screamed with complete glee. I threw my arms in the air, catching as much wind as I possibly could, with perhaps a desire to take off in flight to the cooler skies high above the earth. I didn’t care that the highway was straight and boring, or that the wind was hot and dry. It was this feeling of utter freedom that I needed to lighten my spirit. My companion chuckled at my childlike expressions, seemingly pleased that his idea had been so successful. I am sure that he, too, felt the unencumbered joy of exhilaration.
Mariyah
abufares
