it is a fragment because it is a piece, whole in its own but connected to other pieces. It is a fragment and not a piece, because it comes uninterrupted and blazing- it asks for no permission and it doesn’t knock the door of consciousness, it merely comes in, takes off the jacket and gulps some water- sometimes it stays for a bit and other times it keeps walking in a straight trajectory towards the back door and leaves consciousness altogether.
return because: first the fragment itself returns to where it was born, to its cradle. and second, because it is a fragment of return- it returns because it would like to stop being a fragment scattered and running – refugee, but it would like to be in the full sense of being.
running in its mundane repetitiveness offers a fertile soil for fragments. I run in Haifa, and I am focusing on my breath: my measured inhales and exhales. I’m focusing on my posture: upright but not tooo straight. I’m looking at the surroundings around me, I am passing things- and for a moment i feel my body like a thought that travels across the canals, tunnels and nooks of my mind and soul. there’s a feeling that I’m familiar with hat comes whenever I’m getting tired while running: my nose burns a bit, and i can smell my own breath and the air feels thicker, I’m not saying it’s unpleasant, I’m saying it’s familiar. And this familiar feeling is familiar because it pushes me forwards, when I feel it I know I should keep going, which makeس me more alive in energy and power.
Climbing Granada’s steep hills produces the same feeling. And a fragment arises: i was running at 11pm in albaicin, i was upset, sad, confused so i went for a run. I am idealistic in that way that I think that maybe a run will make me feel better. It does, because it helps me organize my thoughts and ideas. Out of organized, fathomable thoughts, comes a sense of relief. I ran and I climbed the stony stairs up to Plaza Larga. The streets were almost empty because it was a weekday, only for some tourists filled with awe from this magical city. I run slowly. so i climbed the hill and i thought about running. This same thought crossed my mind while I was climbing the Carmel’s ups and downs.
crossing spatial and temporal boundaries, i was a bit bothered by this fragment. I’m in Haifa- I’m not in Granada, how can i live the feeling that Granada invokes in Haifa? No, each space has its own alignment, its own energy and its own memories. But such are the fragments of return, the barge in uninvited and they bridge between unexpected spaces. But here lies the beauty: in this minor muddle lies. Beauty is the cross spatial-temporal moments. The eternal. Another example of an eternal feeling: lying on my mom’s lap when the sun is going down under the vine arbor in our house. I swear that feeling is eternal. Or maybe the feeling that accompanies the realization of space and time- which requires a thorough contemplation, focus and meditation.
I kept running in Haifa, though i smelt the wisteria in Granada’s alleys. And I kept running, and i realized that such experiences of beauty, which i had in Granada, is compartmentalized in my heart, and resurfaces upon a recalling of physical resemblance or arriving at the same place in one’s soul.
I kept running in Haifa, and I smelt the rosemary and sage abundant in its Carmel. Haifa offered itself, and I offered myself- so we kept running, Haifa and I.
AICHA BINT YUSIF 