inside out
i heard the saddest but also most alarming story today.
If there is a fear in my heart, it is this fear.
There is no greater fear than what one can do to others, for the demon lies within.
i remember being upset at my parents when i was child, and locking my room's door at night, fearing i would wake up and hurt them in my sleep.
This is what has happened.
This is where 1975 began.
When the hunted became the hunters and when we took our guns to protect our land...and suddenly decided, in a moment of despair , to point them at each other instead.
An old man, an old muslim man (and you will soon understand how he is defined by his religion), displaced from the South, came to find shelter in the town of Jounieh, a mainly christian town.
Having fled with only his soul and his weaker heart and limbs, this old man carried a green flag; and that is all he carried.
When politics are banned and discrimination is a fault , people turn to flags to reveal their natures.
In football, the chistians suddenly support Germany,
the Muslims support Brazil.
Nothing written, nothing generalized, yet a code everyone understands.
In colour language, the red symbolizes chistianity, and green symbolizes Islam.
And this old man, this old displaced and tired man, happened to carry a green flag.
It was not even the yellow flag with "Hizbollah are the conquerors", it was a simply green flag.
What did it mean?
What does it matter and why would anyone care!
old people project their tired souls into objects and simple presences.
Their beds become their backbones, their small cat becomes their only family...
I remember how tired and hopeless my grandmother became when the family decided, reckless to her soul, to change the living room furniture.
They took away her curtains, her old chair, her TV... everything it had taken her years to position in the exact confortable way to suit her soul...
With the last object being moved, she was already gone.
This old man had only this flag.
And it seems he was carrying his pride in his palm, after he had been deprived of all pride.
Yet, there are some who do not see souls, even crystallised.
Some young chistian men did not like his flag; symbolism apparently matters.
And symbols do not operate well in old tired faces and white beards...
They beat him. They beat him savagely. They broke his tired legs and his tired heart and took his green pride away.
This is how our war started.
When young men stopped seeing old people and start seeing coloured flags instead.
I am ashamed to be here.
I am horrified of being here.
I do not fear staying, but I fear for those who stay.
If there is a fear in my heart, it is this fear.
There is no greater fear than what one can do to others, for the demon lies within.
i remember being upset at my parents when i was child, and locking my room's door at night, fearing i would wake up and hurt them in my sleep.
This is what has happened.
This is where 1975 began.
When the hunted became the hunters and when we took our guns to protect our land...and suddenly decided, in a moment of despair , to point them at each other instead.
An old man, an old muslim man (and you will soon understand how he is defined by his religion), displaced from the South, came to find shelter in the town of Jounieh, a mainly christian town.
Having fled with only his soul and his weaker heart and limbs, this old man carried a green flag; and that is all he carried.
When politics are banned and discrimination is a fault , people turn to flags to reveal their natures.
In football, the chistians suddenly support Germany,
the Muslims support Brazil.
Nothing written, nothing generalized, yet a code everyone understands.
In colour language, the red symbolizes chistianity, and green symbolizes Islam.
And this old man, this old displaced and tired man, happened to carry a green flag.
It was not even the yellow flag with "Hizbollah are the conquerors", it was a simply green flag.
What did it mean?
What does it matter and why would anyone care!
old people project their tired souls into objects and simple presences.
Their beds become their backbones, their small cat becomes their only family...
I remember how tired and hopeless my grandmother became when the family decided, reckless to her soul, to change the living room furniture.
They took away her curtains, her old chair, her TV... everything it had taken her years to position in the exact confortable way to suit her soul...
With the last object being moved, she was already gone.
This old man had only this flag.
And it seems he was carrying his pride in his palm, after he had been deprived of all pride.
Yet, there are some who do not see souls, even crystallised.
Some young chistian men did not like his flag; symbolism apparently matters.
And symbols do not operate well in old tired faces and white beards...
They beat him. They beat him savagely. They broke his tired legs and his tired heart and took his green pride away.
This is how our war started.
When young men stopped seeing old people and start seeing coloured flags instead.
I am ashamed to be here.
I am horrified of being here.
I do not fear staying, but I fear for those who stay.
posted by RR at 9:14 AM
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