To the Village that Raised Me
To the village on the hill that raised me,
You won’t believe it, but I am on my own now! I’m independent and working my way through life in the big city, doing the things I always said I would do. It wasn’t that I
was lonely once I left you. In fact, I was leaving behind the loneliness of only ever knowing you as a silhouette of home, outlined with the marks of a loving family but obscured in every other way. I lived by your words that told me, “Do not wear certain clothes. Do not go out at night. Do not call your Palestinian roots home.” Words that told me to stay put and stay quiet, because in the Druze community, it is taboo to embrace being Palestinian, and even more so as a young woman.
You should know it was my mother’s words that broke me free. “I trust you,” she would say. The person who gave me everything and never gave up; who saved me and my three younger sisters from an abusive father; who raised us by herself, with all of the persistent struggles of doing so in a closed community. My mother is the blueprint of strength that I build from every day. And in this new place, this bustling and abundant city of Haifa, I trust myself too. I know what it feels like to belong. It is freedom. It’s going out at night, winding through lit-up streets, and bouncing between neighborhood bars and restaurants. It’s the warm embrace of Rai cafe, an oasis with full tables of friends I call the hipsters of Haifa. It’s the aroma of kebab and the lyrics of Fairouz dancing together through the air. It’s working two jobs and studying at university, escaping to the beaches to play sports and tan until sundown. It’s understanding everything that’s going on around me, not having to be told how to act or scrutinized for wanting more out of my life.
In this place, I follow the rules of the law. I pay my bills. I file my taxes. I have a cat called Foz and it’s just the two of us. She peers over the balcony at our dusty streets, perking up each time neighbors chase wild pigs out of our gardens. In this place, the shape of home is starting to fill in. My best friend. The face I’ve seen since eighth grade. The face at my apartment every day, whose eager expressions immediately match mine. She sees my unfiltered yearning for adventure in the city and ensures my spark stays aflame. You would have judged my decisions and said, “You’re behaving badly.” But she says, “You are fine. Yalla, let’s go.” In this place, I finally feel at home in myself and I can look back at you knowing exactly how I must move forward. So for now I’ll say, “Thank you.”
Sincerely,
The girl in Haifa making her own way
