Dearest,Â
How are you? I’m fairly miserable, on most counts that matter. I know that so many of you are as well.Â
Gazans, Israelis, and everyone suffering in the Middle East loom particularly large in my heart and mind right now.
I understand that the duality of our lives when there is large-scale suffering that isn’t directly impacting us is confusing. We watch videos of children dying in their mother’s arms right before getting into a work meeting. We narrow down a list of reliable organizations providing aid in unfathomable destruction, and then make ourselves lunch. We read books and articles to understand the situation better, and then step out for our run, for our groceries, for that saree blouse we need stitched, for that doctor’s appointment, for a concert, for a movie, to meet a friend. We speak up and protest about suffering, and then go to sleep, safe. So safe.Â
For what it’s worth, I don’t think we are meant to make sense of this. At least, not in a holistic, integrated way that should feel ‘normal’. We’re meant to retain this dissonance as a marker of our care, our compassion, our desire for fairness and freedom for all. It is what will keep us present and actively resisting.Â
That being said, simply witnessing without being able to do enough can lead to an overwhelming amount of guilt, shame, and despondency. So today, I want to share a few things I’ve been doing that have helped me to not shut down or look away (as I sometimes have in the past. And if you’re there, please take care of yourself and return when you’re better – no shame).Â
This list is a mix of things, personal, political, well, is there a difference?Â
1. On co-existing: I have been focused on loving my religious family.Â
Some context: I grew up in the church, and was a fiery, headstrong protestant myself until I hit 20. In my undergrad days, I’d have constant arguments with friends in defence of Jesus, having made up my mind about things before even listening to what they had to say. Yes, I was that person, and I know that person was a very scared one.
So when I left the faith, I naturally ran to the other extreme because being extreme was the only space I felt safe in. Now, I could no longer listen to or be around my still-religious family. Through my twenties, I kept them at a distance.
But in the past couple of years, I’ve understood that if our love and empathy are only reserved for those who reflect absolute sameness, we will gradually end up loving and empathizing with no one. We miss out on becoming and making our lives a whole lot more.
Keeping this in mind, I’ve started consciously engaging with my family. Occasionally, we have uncomfortable conversations rife with opposing views. There are conversations we do not know how to have without combusting. But for the most part, we cook and eat and watch TV and share pain meds and try to slip in words of encouragement where we can. Even though we are different, we are so much of each other, so much the same. Somehow, we empathize.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not proposing that everyone must work towards building a certain type of relationship with their families. What I’m saying is this – there is value in getting curious about how to hold space in your life for people with truths and beliefs that oppose yours. How to exist beside them without a fear of obliteration. How to allow them their reality and stop turning yours into a weapon that dehumanizes. This, I think, is increasingly crucial in the world today. So let’s just try, okay?
📚 Read: Why we must learn to exist in conflict
🎥 Watch: Palestinians and Israelis talk on Jubilee
2. On connection: I’ve tried to stay connected with my closest friends.Â
A vital thing I learnt during the pandemic was ‘do not emotionally isolate’. So right now, when my reality feels particularly gritty, I've been speaking uncomfortably and allowing my people to see me in my less-than-pretty moments. I voicenote quick updates, write long letters and emails, and make meeting friends a priority even when there’s nothing fun to say.Â
On the personal front, this sort of sharing dims shame, lessens the burden, and eases the strain on our mental health. Connection is the antidote to much distress. But there’s more.Â
On a larger level, the spirit of choosing togetherness/witnessing is also a practice of resistance. When we are vulnerable with or show up for someone, we accept our responsibility towards each other. We are saying that we do not have to do this alone, that we trust each other to hold what’s heavy without caving in. That even as flawed people, our pain is deserving of care and our imperfections, of compassion. That our lives are worth saving.
Amidst this pervasive misery, we must resist apathy towards our own lives. Because love and trust are muscles, and practicing them with ourselves and those close to us only strengthens how we feel about the world at large. It informs us on how to reach for people we've never met, how to hold strangers our hearts gravitate towards anyway. So please, please keep at it.
📚 Read: The power of fearing well
3. On hope: I’ve been thinking about nature.Â
Last month, I shared with you my new zine, I’m Not a Perfect Person. Conceptualizing the imagery for INAPP required me to hunt for the perfect metaphor for transformation. That’s how I came across the life of a dragonfly.Â
For those of you who may not be familiar, dragonflies are born underwater, where they live for over two years. During this period, they molt somewhere between 10-14 times. After a couple of years underwater, they emerge and molt one last time, transforming into the gorgeous net-winged beings we see fluttering about our lakes and parks.Â
The dragonflies we spot on land/in air are in the twilight phase of their lives, their last two to six weeks. During this time, they mate and lay eggs in a waterbody, where the process begins all over again. When I learnt this, I instantly knew I’d found the visual of evolution that I was looking for.Â
I still think of the dragonfly. I think of how nature is constantly reminding us that we are changing things, always a little new. I think of how long we can live underwater before we finally poke our heads into the air and decide that it’s time for a pair of wings. I believe that we are capable of great transformations – thinking of this gives me hope.Â
📚 Read: A few wonderful nature stories by Andrea Gibson (originally from their poem ‘Homesick: A Plea For Our Planet’)
4. On empathy: I’m allowing all the feelings.
Politics has always been personal – it’s about our lands, our homes, our faith, our bodies, our identities, and our love. So engaging with a long-standing political wound can bring up a lot of our own histories and feelings as well.Â
For instance, as I’ve been learning about Israel and Palestine, I’ve felt both guilty about being a part of oppressive systems and angry at how I’ve been subjugated and misinformed. My heart has broken over and over again at the homes my family has had to give up, the number of times we’ve been displaced by war and greed.
I used to think that it was self-centered to have such feelings at a time like this. But now I know that that’s not necessarily true.
On the contrary, dipping into our own canyons of loss and mourning can be a pathway to profound empathy. Understanding a broken system within another context can give us answers to political strife that feels confounding. Most importantly, it keeps this struggle centered around humanness, around actual lives, not just bodies.
So remain curious about and feel all of it. I promise it leads you towards a braver, fuller truth.
📚 Read: How watermelons became a symbol of Palestinian resistanceÂ
📚 Read: I wish you knew how magnificent Gaza isÂ
🎥 Watch: Digital embroidery as resistanceÂ
🎥 Watch: 9 Netflix films telling the story of Palestine
📚 And finally, at the cusp of World Kindness Day, I’d love to recommend the Kindness Boomerang book by my dear Israeli friend and mentor, Orly Wahba.Â
Let’s vow to stay stubbornly in love with this world.
To stay in love.
And to stay.
💌
Soumya
Jam 🎶
Thank you for reading! 💞
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