Beautiful, and so glad Sultan shared this letter:
It gives us all hope, faith in life and love, and a desire to pay it forward.
An excellent article:
“What I do know, or at least believe to be true, is that disability remains invisible and/or hard for able-bodied people to look at, because unlike racial, cultural, or sexual identities, it is an identity that any able-bodied person could possibly face. And let’s be honest, that’s scary. Most identities are set in stone. You are heterosexual or you are not. You are a person of color or you are not. Disability is something that can happen to any person at any time — and that’s a reality that’s hard to face. It’s hard to face when you are disabled, why wouldn’t it be hard to face when you are able-bodied and aware that you could become disabled?”
In a society that continues to dictate to us how to live our lives, what to wear, how to be a “good” wife/mother/daughter, how to be an ideal woman, it becomes increasingly difficult to maintain a sense of identity, without being swayed and confused by excessive demands. I grew up in an environment that attempted to control, regulate, and tell me how to be “me.” It was difficult in a mixed American school, where kids tried to blend, mixing a Kuwaiti culture with American ideals and identities. To be considered “cool” was not easy, and to be branded “cool” did not mean that you were to stay “cool” forever, you had to please the majority, follow a certain code of conduct (or misconduct), and of course, the social class you were born in set the stage for all the rest of the demands.
Even today, it remains difficult to remain true to who you really are. I know so many people who have lost themselves, and to try and recover yourself is the hardest thing you have to do. You may end up in a relationship where you cannot remember who you were before that person, you may end up working at a job where you change your work ethics, or you may end up trying to please the Beast. The Beast comes in all forms: parent, partner, boss, colleague, an illness, age, anything at all that threatens your sense of well-being, your inner peace. To maintain this “self” is important but we also need to know what exactly is this “self” in question.
At times, I get overwhelmed with it all. I get comments that confuse me sometimes, for example, I am told that I have perpetually sleepy/tired eyes. Sometimes it gives off a lazy impression, when it is simply a neurological imbalance. It can be frustrating to say the least. I said this a few days ago to my mother, a woman who has taught me to accept the physical body as lacking, to accept society as constantly critical, and to accept myself as an evolving being, but mainly, she taught me that there are no losses in life that should kill me- except, the loss of self. And the biggest struggle, the struggle of fighting to maintain that self, that is the cause. That is the cause- if we talk about feminism, if we talk about disability rights, identity studies, healthy relationships and boundaries, all of it- it’s the same cause. To remain you, at the end of the day.
This is a random conversation this morning, her reminding me of what it means to embrace myself, even at the age of thirty, one can never do without Mom’s unconditional love and wisdom.
And that’s all for now.
“When I was leaving Paris on that fateful 10 June, I felt as though I were being wrenched away for the last time from yourself in the flesh… I’ve thought of you almost always as yourself, separated from me- but also, as the essential, undefined condition of my own life… My love, I’ll recover you, concretely- on a street corner, with your face, your smiles, your little body and your determined step.”
A very interesting read:
Six. Six years ago, my coffee cup in hand, a cafe that closed down, Java. Waiting for that first meeting. Nervously anticipating conversation, what you’d have to drink, and where it would go with us. I was young, afraid, and, in retrospect, didn’t think it was the meeting that would’ve changed my world. We had our coffee, the nice chill of February’s breeze announcing its presence. Unlike strangers, we talked about our futures, where we were each going and how we would get there. Baby steps into the world of adulthood.
I saw you six months later, a coincidence. We smiled politely at each other, and walked away, aware that we were entangled with others.
Six. The day of that certain month. Six. Six years later. I am older, I have shorter hair, more wrinkles, and you have lost weight, you have less playful eyes, and yet we still feel as nervous and confused. “Do you remember six years ago, you never called back?”
I was waiting for you to do it. I was young and foolish.
Six weeks later- you’re gone forever, and I look at my calendar, and there is six again.
They say that the number six has a divine meaning. The Ancient Greeks recognized four perfect numbers: 6 – 28 – 496 – 8,128. Throughout history perfect numbers have fascinated mathematicians and more perfect numbers have been discovered.
“Six is a number perfect in itself, not because God created all things in six days; rather, the convert is true God created all things in six days because the number is perfect.” Saint Augustine (The City of God)
عجبتُ منك و منـّـي يا مُنـْيـَةَ المُتـَمَنّـِي
أدنيتـَني منك حتـّـى ظننتُ أنـّك أنـّــي
وغبتُ في الوجد حتـّى أفنيتنـَي بك عنـّــي
يا نعمتي في حياتــي و راحتي بعد دفنـــي
ما لي بغيرك أُنــسٌ من حيث خوفي وأمنـي
يا من رياض معانيـهْ قد حّويْـت كل فنـّـي
وإن تمنيْت شيْــــاً فأنت كل التمنـّـــي