our day will surely come
notes from the unknown
Today, for the first time in 15 months, the warplanes and drones in Gaza’s skies have been replaced by a quiet and radiant sunset. Today, for the first time in 15 months, I can take a full, deep breath.
I spent the morning scrolling through footage from Gaza—the jubilance of its people taking to shattered streets, the civil defense forces – those who pulled their kin from rubble – placing their foreheads on the earth in an act of deep gratitude, the laughter of children being raised to the sky on the shoulders of their elders. Though it’s known that this ceasefire is fragile and was brokered by nefarious forces who have surely made dirty deals behind the scenes, I allow myself the experience of reveling in the unbridled joy, gratitude, and relief of the people of Gaza.
Witnessing genocide for 15 straight months made it the hardest chapter of my life. Also, the most powerful of my life. Holding Gaza’s hand through its deepest pain, never letting go even when I was at my weakest and most pained emotional and mental state, was a portal that transported me to a more whole version of myself.
I learned so much about my own capacity for resilience. In my deepest pain, I moved cities and created a home of my own. I launched an initiative that connected allies around the world with families in Gaza, an initiative that got Palestinian lives out of harm’s way and kept others afloat through their darkest days. I started a new chapter of my career with BuildPalestine, an organization that is actively building a Palestine where its people’s ingenuity and creativity can flourish. I built community, made friends, and dismissed those with unreconcilable values. I wrote more than I've ever written in my life, honing a voice that embodies vulnerability and bravery in equal measure, that has prepared me for the feat of crafting a book-length love letter to Gaza.
These 15 months also birthed a love for myself I have never experienced before. It showed me my brilliance, courage, and capacity for deep love—as an artist, leader, comrade, and friend. In a world that’s actively erasing a Muslim-majority population, I feel emboldened to be seen and heard as a brown Muslim woman.
What I value most about at this time is that I can say with full certainty that I am no coward — that I am someone who chooses emotional bravery over emotional convenience. I am someone whose heart is enormous enough to hold both beauty and brutality in equal parts and even in my deepest rage, I bring light into this world.
Celine Semaan, the founder of Slow Factory, shared some words today. She said:
This past two years have shown us who are the cowards and who are the heroes – a time of deep contrast. In spite of billions sent to kill and silence us, erase us from the face of the Earth, we countered it with little to no budget; whilst being defunded, smeared, and lied about, we made the world sing “Free Palestine.” It showed us who was courageous and who was a coward. Writing our stories in spite of the censorship we faced was proof that creative resistance matters.
I am who I am because Palestine is my north star. It offers me a framework for clarity and truth. It makes me strive to reduce hypocrisy among my worldview and personal life. It makes me brave and bold. It makes me beautiful.
I see the world around me with renewed clarity. I see the ways I oppressed myself—giving my energy to people whose intentions, actions, and behaviors have no continuity—and mistakenly deriving my sense of self from them. I forgive myself for those missteps by raising my standards. I pity those who hide behind cynicism, default to avoidance, and resist accountability— to themselves and the world around them.
What comes next for Palestine is fragile and uncertain. It is unknown. I had a conversation with my therapist this week about being scared to put my faith into the unknown, both for Palestine and for myself. Will the people of Gaza get the chance to rebuild? Is recovery even possible? Will I ever find true love? Do I have what it takes to finally write this book?
She responded:
There are no guarantees in life, yet at the same time the unknown offers the guarantee of boundless possibility. We have a choice to fear the unknown or have faith in it. Fear is a dead end that leads to paralysis. Faith is a portal that leads to endless paths.
Her perspective rewired my brain. Palestine’s future is uncertain, yet full of boundless possibility. My future is uncertain, yet full of boundless possibility.
I receive messages like this from Gaza and choose to share in the faith these words embody:
Today, January 19th, is a manifestation of an answered prayer. The people of Gaza return to their homes, most of them reduced to rubble, and they see a chance to begin again. They see the reward of being steadfast in their commitment to live in dignity on their land, on our earth.
Loving Palestine makes me want to take up more space in this world. It makes me want to be louder and turn the dial up on my radiance. It makes me want to rebuild and replant, over and over again.
May we all bend towards the unknown like a sunflower worshipping the sun. May we all root out cowardice in our day-to-day lives and in our worldviews. May we know more days like today. Moments that show us that for those who believe, for those who are brave—our day will surely come.
Felt all of this so deeply, thank you!
An unbridgeable devide has emerged between those who perceive themselves as humans in outward form ?