Please hold while I push away the virtual dust that has accumulated on my blog page. Give me a moment to find my comfortable writing place that I have left abandoned for quite some time. Allow me to take a second to take in the fact that I am returning to my writing again.
Now I hope that shows just how much I've missed my blog. I feel like I abandoned a person. The worst part is I stopped updating it when I was telling you all about my crazy-amazing-life-changing-self-enhancing summer journey to the other side of the world. So why did I come back? Because too many times these past few days, although I have returned to America and am no longer physically in the Occupied land, I've been visiting it mentally. I've tossed and turned in my bed tucked away beneath olive trees, hid under the shade of the fig tree, and when I felt myself losing inspiration to journal, I ended up returning to the window in my grandparents' old house that looked over the whole village.
Since this is my comeback post, I thought I'd tell you all about this window. This window led me to my comeback, gave me my inspiration, allowed me to breath when I thought I needed help doing so. It was in the last room of the house, which was technically a closed veranda with windows. Although it was surrounded by glass windows on three sides, there was only one I always returned to, it was THE window. I'm not going to go into poetic verse and call it THE window to the soul, THE window to freedom, all those cliches, even though I secretly think it is. Secretly.
The other two windows were different: one overlooked one side of the house, the neighborhood street, the neighbors and their patch of olive trees. The second window overlooked an old chicken coup, a battered old swing set my cousins and I demanded we get as children (no we were not the ones to break it-unless my mind is trying to protect me from remembering that), and the long patch of land full of different fruit trees. My parents told me stories of how much my grandmother took care of them, how she always made sure to pick them, that they were healthy. As you might guess, none of us children ever dared to ruin them. There is a kind of respect that parents need not teach their children, and that comes from watching the people who raised your parents work hard. They aren't your parents, but they're like your superparents, the ones you respect and obey without being told to. It's an unspeakable bond, but I would say that's what makes the relationship between children and their grandparents so precious.
Alas, though, that is not my favorite window. Not THE window. My window, THE window, looked over a few houses. They blocked the road, so you could not really see the street, but that was the point of it. You couldn't see the neighbors because they didn't come out of the house from the back. Therefore, no people. No cars. I know what you're thinking. Ummm, what is the point of this? Here it is. If you looked straight ahead in the middle of the day, the sun hit you straight in the eyes and you couldn't see anything clearly but the distant blur of buildings and figures in the distance. That was all you could see. The house was quite high, and the window gave you a view of the whole town. In the distance you'd see the middle of the town, which was the oldest part, where all the older families lived, where all the older women and men would be found with their families. It was where the roads were so small there was only room for one car, and the worn-down bricks of the houses looked as if they were going to cascade into a waterfall of the hope that built the old village. You could see the minaret of the mosque, which at night contained a green light that eliminated the rest of the town. And if you looked even farther, you'd see the tall buildings of the closest city, Ramallah. It was kind of like this other world behind a haven, a sign telling you that if you didn't dream big you wouldn't get anywhere.
THE window fostered my dreams and calmed my mind. It quieted the world for me when everything seemed too loud. And my favorite part about it was because it was at such a high point, when the window was opened, the curtains waltzed with the strong wind, as if they were trying to inspire you with their dance. When all I needed was a tinge of hope, love, compassion, beauty, etc, all I'd do was reach my hand out and open THE window, stick my head out in the wind, and listen...Listen until....THERE IT IS, the sound of the adhan in the distance. A calling, a warm calling reminding me that everything would be okay.
"Haya a'la al salaaaah. Haya a'ala al falaaah." Come to prayer. Come to success.
Here's a picture of THE window.
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Now I hope that shows just how much I've missed my blog. I feel like I abandoned a person. The worst part is I stopped updating it when I was telling you all about my crazy-amazing-life-changing-self-enhancing summer journey to the other side of the world. So why did I come back? Because too many times these past few days, although I have returned to America and am no longer physically in the Occupied land, I've been visiting it mentally. I've tossed and turned in my bed tucked away beneath olive trees, hid under the shade of the fig tree, and when I felt myself losing inspiration to journal, I ended up returning to the window in my grandparents' old house that looked over the whole village.
Since this is my comeback post, I thought I'd tell you all about this window. This window led me to my comeback, gave me my inspiration, allowed me to breath when I thought I needed help doing so. It was in the last room of the house, which was technically a closed veranda with windows. Although it was surrounded by glass windows on three sides, there was only one I always returned to, it was THE window. I'm not going to go into poetic verse and call it THE window to the soul, THE window to freedom, all those cliches, even though I secretly think it is. Secretly.
The other two windows were different: one overlooked one side of the house, the neighborhood street, the neighbors and their patch of olive trees. The second window overlooked an old chicken coup, a battered old swing set my cousins and I demanded we get as children (no we were not the ones to break it-unless my mind is trying to protect me from remembering that), and the long patch of land full of different fruit trees. My parents told me stories of how much my grandmother took care of them, how she always made sure to pick them, that they were healthy. As you might guess, none of us children ever dared to ruin them. There is a kind of respect that parents need not teach their children, and that comes from watching the people who raised your parents work hard. They aren't your parents, but they're like your superparents, the ones you respect and obey without being told to. It's an unspeakable bond, but I would say that's what makes the relationship between children and their grandparents so precious.
Alas, though, that is not my favorite window. Not THE window. My window, THE window, looked over a few houses. They blocked the road, so you could not really see the street, but that was the point of it. You couldn't see the neighbors because they didn't come out of the house from the back. Therefore, no people. No cars. I know what you're thinking. Ummm, what is the point of this? Here it is. If you looked straight ahead in the middle of the day, the sun hit you straight in the eyes and you couldn't see anything clearly but the distant blur of buildings and figures in the distance. That was all you could see. The house was quite high, and the window gave you a view of the whole town. In the distance you'd see the middle of the town, which was the oldest part, where all the older families lived, where all the older women and men would be found with their families. It was where the roads were so small there was only room for one car, and the worn-down bricks of the houses looked as if they were going to cascade into a waterfall of the hope that built the old village. You could see the minaret of the mosque, which at night contained a green light that eliminated the rest of the town. And if you looked even farther, you'd see the tall buildings of the closest city, Ramallah. It was kind of like this other world behind a haven, a sign telling you that if you didn't dream big you wouldn't get anywhere.
THE window fostered my dreams and calmed my mind. It quieted the world for me when everything seemed too loud. And my favorite part about it was because it was at such a high point, when the window was opened, the curtains waltzed with the strong wind, as if they were trying to inspire you with their dance. When all I needed was a tinge of hope, love, compassion, beauty, etc, all I'd do was reach my hand out and open THE window, stick my head out in the wind, and listen...Listen until....THERE IT IS, the sound of the adhan in the distance. A calling, a warm calling reminding me that everything would be okay.
"Haya a'la al salaaaah. Haya a'ala al falaaah." Come to prayer. Come to success.
Here's a picture of THE window.
Keeping dreaming big, my dreamers!
-Wishful Dreamer
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