I was born in one place, and my family moved to another place before I had a sense of place or time. There are so many ironies I could see in how mobile my life has been, coming from an already displaced race of people, but I'd rather not go down that spiral...
I have, though. Today, there was an over-dramatic quibble with the maid over some broken glass - and she flung the "No Egyptian would ever do that," statement at me. I literally held the door open for her. I did not want to hear it.
My sense of home is apparently more fragile than glass, because crying over it for hours seemed like a good idea. And if I poke at it, I'm sure I could prick out a few more tears. That is enjoyable and entertaining sometimes - feeling sorry for oneself.
But it has me thinking. I had disposed those questions of identity as outdated and 90s even earlier, when reading Camus was in fashion, and i was out-of-fashion (more lately it has recurred in The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri - and again, i remain behind the times).
Those questions remain - where do I belong? What do I call myself? I feel offended when people say I am not one identity - be it sindhi, or hindu, or egyptian, or muslim, or indian, or sufi, or whatever else i have elected myself to speak work act be...
And it bothers me, because others can break what has been after all forged by fire and breath - much like glass.
9 comments:
Identity is much like glass, it can take anything to its rim.
It's a matter of what one chooses to fill it with.
Stain glass for instance, may be of aesthetic value to someone; but for some other would be purposeful only in keeping out the heat from the sun.
(Yet again, glass has different purpose).
Identity is much like pajamas: some prefer the stripes and some the checks.
As long as you are comfortable wearing them, living with them, it's fine.
People who throw statement can go find their own!
Oops, typo: Stained*
I was reminded of this for some reason. But then again, why be a glass or a pajama when you can be a french beetch, giselle!
Keeping Things Whole
In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.
When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body's been.
We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.
- Mark Strand
So what kind of a pajama are you wani? I say leopard print, in view of an earlier conversation. LOL
sorry, I can't help myself. And if you misplace your pajamas, "disabbointed" as you may be there are schhhhhooooo many beachifool kaftans on the streets of Egypt. Palestinian aren't they?
My dear, I don't know anyone not challenged with identity crisis in this world where everyone somehow is blending into a bigger pot with no clear boundries from the next pot.
Very nice insight into the idea of HOME! Home is where the heart is .. so they say ... and that's the piece you are great at ... the heart!!
Congrats on going back online :) Will keep reading as long as you keep posting
Creola: i am the stripy ones...
i am chequered pajamas in pink / red / occasionally white.
I had guessed pink pajamas!
You are more than the some of your identities and that's richer than any one with a single identity can claim
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