Some men repeated the names of the victims. His was the last of the six.
There was a shooting. He was outside a club. He was not part of the fight. His best friend was shot, too, and passed away minutes after.
How do I tell my mother her only child died?
“Her only?” My therapist interrupted.
It was these two words that finally removed the veneer, and explained the ending.
I rushed to my mother holding my grief of losing my beloved sibling and the protective instinct that wanted to rescue her.
She shut me down. She did not want to talk about it. And just like that she went to sleep.
And I woke from the dream.
Healing #1
Healing is not
Fast
Rational
Easy
Only about you
A tropical destination
Painless
Linear
Measurable
Sexy
Comparable
A side gig
Healing #2
Healing is
Generational
Compassionate
Challenging
Complicated
Courageous
Raw
A group effort
A choice
Endless
Worth it
Some of the most important work you can do in your lifetime
Healing #3
To heal is to sit in full presence with what aches. Once it feels seen, heard, honored, it will retire to the backseat, and only then can you drive
Healing #4
You cannot undo generations of pain with one self-help book, one dose of Molly, one long prayer
Healing takes time because it commands the respect of the many who came before
Healing takes time because, like every timeless art piece, it must last for generations to come
No one will give you the love you did not get
Because that love is dead
Between mourning and the love you find
You will get very far
Tattoo #1
He walked real slow and smiled gently
I did not have to explain much, he got it
He told me he struggles with PTSD
The oceans between Hawaii where he comes from and Beirut where I come from were suddenly one
Turned out we both survived wars
Him as a veteran, and I as a civilian
The tattoos branded both of us
Trauma does not separate
Trauma brought us together in its ruthless yet humble way
I wanted a tattoo of my little girl on my left arm, the side of the heart
My tattoo artist inked my arm and taught me that pain does not separate
Tattoo #2
I got an arm tattoo
You hanging on the edge of the moon
Staring into the depth of the unknown
So when you are ready
You can look up
See you are not alone
And finally jump
all I have been is a heart
pretending to be a wall
The new voice
I am needy, I am unpredictable, I am too emotional,
I am lovable
Forgiveness #1
And then I saw the child in you and you
Mama, Papa, you are hurting, too
Forgiveness #2
Forgiveness lies at the bottom of a mourning well
Forgiveness #3
I cried a sea to bring you back to the shore
It takes one human that makes us feel seen, heard, and safe
For us to get up and move the mountain in our way
Everybody needs somebody
Behind the moon there is a sun
News
The bad news is you can only heal yourself
The good news is you can only heal yourself
Underneath the trauma
I saw her aura
Bright like a desert sunrise
Colorful like a coast sunset ride
Nothing can dim her light
I tried
Nothing can mask her light
I tried
In her light
I saw the gift of trauma
To be of service to those like her whose light was buried
Always remember
Whether you get married or you don’t
Whether you have children or you don’t
Whether you buy a house or you don’t
Whether you go to college or you don’t
Whether you do work you love or you don’t
Whether you build wealth or you don’t
Whether you stay loyal or you don’t
Whether you have your shit together or you don’t
Whether you maintain healthy habits or you don’t
Whether you die old or you don’t
Whether you make your mama proud or you don’t
You still deserve to love
You still deserve to be loved
Always remember
I lost my faith during a Catholic mass
I found my faith sitting on the rooftop of a bullet-shelled building in Beirut
Drowning in tears I felt you near
You taught me that faith means you are never alone
Blood, yellow, blue, pink
No matter your colors your energy pulls me back from the edge of the brink
Waning, waxing, full, or new
No matter your shapes you wink at me when I am walking home alone, feeling blue
Beirut, New York, Paris, or San Francisco
No matter my location, your light reminds me that home is moments when I look up to you and take a deep breath
I tried to be happy I failed
I tried to be tough I failed
I tried to be positive I failed
I stopped trying and felt
Miserable, weak, negative
And then it did not matter whether I failed or succeeded
Sometimes you have to kill
Your mother
Your job
Your father
The system
The technology
The teachers
The mentors
The bosses
The schools
To find yourself deep down buried gasping for air
Unlimited vacation
We need trauma leave
We need to heal
you cannot
grieve the future
A paradox
Your emotions matter and your emotions are fleeting
They took your childhood
But you can claim your adulthood
You can start from scratch
And re-parent your heartbroken child
Until she will never doubt again
Whether love is safe
Whether her body is safe
Whether the world is safe
My body, my home
My body, my first, last, and only home
What would I do to nurture my home?
To scrub its floors
To offer it flowers, candles, and incense
To bring into it only the most wholehearted guests
To air it out on a bright sunny day
To long for it when I am away
My body is becoming my chosen home
Roots
You asked me why I have spent so many years kneeling and weeping
I was alternatin
g between floating in heaven when you approved and buried underground when you disapproved
Those ups and downs got me dizzy
I had no roots
I now spend waking nights planting roots, watering them with my tears and sweat, so I can one day rise unshaken whether you approve or disapprove
I am not mentally ill
My heart is ill
My chest burns so hard
I can’t breathe
Anxiety swipes me off my feet
I can’t speak
I am not mentally ill
My mind is ill
Harassing me with stories of shame and self-blame
This is how I survived the pain
I am not mentally ill
My soul is ill
Of the intergenerational trauma it carries
The overwhelming responsibility to heal
I am not mentally ill
I am emotionally healthy
I have easier access to feelings that our culture has repressed
Loss, despair, heartache
I am not mentally ill
I am mentally intelligent
To have kissed despair
And known that life has no meaning and then go and make some up
I am not mentally ill
My soul is resilient
To do all the work
With no upside but the healing of generations to come
I am not mentally ill
The world we live in is ill
War, abandonment, abuse, silence
Makes it unsafe to be present
So I defend I act out I escape I disassociate
If I am mentally ill
You must see
that our hearts are ill, our souls are ill
If one of us is ill
Our whole world is ill
The self-help books
The therapy manuals
The research papers
Written in black ink by white hands
While my brown hands
Hold my little body tight
Trying to appease its angst
So they can write the story of a brown girl
Who had to burn
The self-help books
The therapy manuals
The research papers
And make space on her shelf
For her book and the books of her sisters
Written in black ink by colored hands
what if you were the world?
would you still want to
save it?
Cultural colonization, when my mother thought that American names were better.
How come your name is Jessica and you are not from here?
Abla, Jalileh, Aida, Almaz . . . Jessica
When they colonize our culture we go from names that tell stories to names that have no meaning
Crossing
The room is familiar
I know it like the back of my hand
The corner is for my depressive episodes
The bed is for my unfulfilled dreams
The desk is for plotting my escape
The window is for snooping at my neighbors and comparing
I know this room so well
I also know I don’t belong here anymore
I am ready to leave my childhood room
And enter my adult house
The idea of living in many rooms seems overwhelming
Having to decorate from scratch seems daunting
I feel excitement rising like a geyser about to erupt
I feel ready
I don’t look back
I just do it
I leave the room
Where am I, I still don’t know
But this place smells like fresh baked bread
And I like that
Don’t trust anyone who cannot show you their anger, fear, or sadness. If they can’t be in the company of their shadow, they won’t have company for you when you are in yours
having no home to go back to,
I built one, one battle at a time
I became a better person only
when I saw I was a bad one, too
As a victim alone, I cannot lead
As a master alone, I cannot love
As a victim and a master I can lead with love
I numbed
Because I did not want to admit I hated
I screamed
Because I did not want to admit I silenced
I victimized
Because I did not want to admit I oppressed
I lied
Because I did not want to admit I messed up
I preached
Because I did not want to admit I did not know
I gossiped
Because I did not want to admit I envied
I acted out
Because I did not want to admit I betrayed
It’s too dark to see
It’s too bright to see
Sitting in the darkness by the light of the moon,
I can finally see
I am the abuser and the victim
But first I was the victim who mimicked her abuser
So she feels connected to him so she survives
The abuser invaded my body and brain
And now resides in me
Telling me I am nothing
I try to get him out
So I tell you, you are nothing
And when I wake up
I see that I created another victim of his
In the middle of the shame and the confusion
Between wondering if I am him or am I his victim
I realize I have become both
Trauma is a complex beast
That turns us into who we fear most
I closed my eyes and swallowed my abuser into my little being
Now I cannot get him out of me
He screams through my lungs
Speaks on my behalf
He is not me
But he is me
I survived him by swallowing him
Now I must purge him
Purge a part of me
Who never lies?
Nature
The body
The child
Trust your nature, your body, your child
The moon only brightens up when the night falls
Only in your darkness can you truly see your light
Moonrise
I sat there waiting for the sun to set
The day to end
To welcome the regrets
I turned around and from above Mount Lebanon
I saw the moon rising
And knew when one light sets another goes on
I must only ask and wait not to be alone
Don’t ask me why I am feeling this or that
I will tell you lies
Ask me how I am feeling this or that
I will tell you truth
Feeling seen brings the tears of grief
Of all the years when I thought I was invisible
Feeling seen brings the tears of relief
That I exist
The most precious of gifts
Standing Rock, 2016
When I returned to California after my year sabbatical, I was inundated with stories about a protest camp in South Dakota led by a group of Native American tribes to stop the building of a pipeline that would harm their water and violate the sacredness of their land. I knew I had to do something to support them.
The day I arrived was the day many vetera
ns joined to support the Native American cause. As I was volunteering in the kitchen in one of the tents, an old man in tears in his Army uniform caught my eye. People started gathering around him. He spoke softly of atonement. Of the pain he has lived since the war in Vietnam. Of the numerous veterans who killed themselves, who live with daily emotional and mental pain. The cost of unjust war has been transformed into trauma that the soldiers carry, along with the nations who have been abused, colonized, used. A Native American tribe leader sitting facing him said quietly: “Your trauma is our trauma.
And together we heal.”
Leila and Nour
Leila was born in the underworld. Leila means night in Arabic. She knew darkness so well, drank sadness from a well. Swam in shame. Feasted on anger. She was the wise woman of all, and often visited by both mortals and gods.
One night, Queen Nour, which means light in Arabic, reluctantly paid a visit to Leila. She had been flying for decades and in the process her legs, of no use, became limp. Now that she was tired and wanted to find her ground, her legs fell apart.
Leila bestowed her with a potion of despair and grief that brought her strong legs back. After days of weeping, Nour’s legs came back strong and healthy. She felt grounded again.
As a gift of gratitude, Nour offered Leila a visit to the world of light. Leila was scared, but also knew that if she declined, Nour could shine her light in the underworld and they would all have to fly and lose their legs.
She acquiesced and came to visit only to see that the world of light was empty, for everyone was flying. And only because she had the strongest of legs, she walked around, and tasted the plums of joy, and the nectar of gratitude.
To be a child of the moon
To be a child of the moon is to have the gift of pondering and sitting with life’s biggest questions
To intimately rise in death and therefore life
To intimately observe the unknown and therefore the known
To intimately experience loss and therefore love
To intimately swim in despair and therefore joy
Child of the Moon Page 3
