this is not a return in spatial or temporal terms. It is a return in existential terms. The return to who I am. Traveling in life is so easy, and life is easy to take us and to drive us through its ups and downs, but it’s important to maintain a space of return at the end of the day to one’s self.
the return is going down a slope, to a tree, under which I sit and enjoy the shade on a warm day, and then a breeze breaks the monotony of sitting there, and as if responding to the breeze, the tree branch would shake, and to which the bird would be tickled and would chirp. I will listen to the sound of the bird and I will be content.
Oh how much I long for this return, after which there’s no return. It’s like a return to the womb: a place of safety and warmth.
I remember when I was in elementary school, I used to walk home from school. The cemented path leading to my house, which separates us from my uncle’s house and whose house is separated from my grandparents house with another street like an intricate maze of cement, trees and bonds, that street was dotted with dry fig leaves. My favorite activity in the world was that exact moment: pure relish and pleasure. I would step on the dry leaves, making that crunch sound that I still adore. This is return for me. Years later, I would look for dry fig leaves and dance like a small girl at the tune of their crunching under my bare feet. This is my return: a dance.
Sometimes my return is merely closing my eyes and breathing deeply. Life overwhelms me. There are too many things: too many languages to learn, and too many friends to meet and talk to. A relationship to pave with love and listening. There are too many hobbies and fantasies of future triumphs. There are too many battles and invasive thoughts that gather in the gutter of my soul and come gushing down my mind when I’m on the bus or walking down the street. There are too many cars and I’m stuck in traffic every single day, and too many responsibilities about liberation and saving the environment. There are too many too many faces to remember and greet when I enter the hospital. There are too many patients and too many doctors; each asking for attention.
There is just too many things, and my soul is overwhelmed. like a body stretched over a steep abyss, life pulls me towards many directions and I feel the physical pain of going all over the place and getting nowhere.
stop. press stop. restart.
nothing works. system is down. I’m down. too many things. too many songs and too may wars. too may positions and too many olive groves and pomegranate orchards.
There are just too many things, and amidst all of this chaos it is the return that takes me back to a space of serenity.
An open field. I see things from a far and proportion is balanced. An open field where the air is clear and the clouds’ silhouettes are defined against the bluness of the sky.
I return to the open field on a daily basis.
The route is hard and the trip is strenuous. I climb the steep mountain, duck under the spiky branches, run away from jackales and endure cold and heat until I get to this open field. Everyday I return.
My only hope in this life is to make this trip more accessible; more at hand. I don’t wish to dwell in that open field- it’s too dull and romantic. I just hope that the trip to get to that place of rest becomes easier with time and self-exploration.
AICHA BINT YUSIF 