In the book I am currently reading about dreams there is this question:
“In a perfect world what would you like to be?”
I close the book and think… If the world is perfect, then does it really matter what you dream? I think the biggest dream itself is wishing for a perfect world.
I close my eyes and think… How many times did our dreams change? How many times we were forced to take detours and abandon our dreams? Something we wouldn’t have to do in a perfect world.
I am so upset by what’s happening in some parts of the world now. Especially in the Middle East. The fighting between Israel and the Palestinians. How many more innocent civilians have to die for the world to interfere to stop this madness? And what about Baghdad and Nigeria and Syria, to name just a few.
There was a time not that very long ago when we were living in Beirut during the civil war. We were living in West Beirut at a time when Beirut was divided into East and West. The two sectors fought each other for reasons that until now are unclear to me. The two sides would bomb each other and bombs would fall on us randomly. I used to be so scared and jittery that I used to hear the bombs the moment they were being sent and I used to tell my husband that “they’re coming” and a few minutes later they would explode near us.
Death and destruction were everywhere. And our main concern was survival. Many were the times when I wished I was born in a different part of the world. Many were the times when I wished my parents and grandparents hadn’t been displaced. While my friends dreamt of their future I dreamt of a home, not a house where I can live, but a home, a place where I could belong to.
And decades later when I finally achieved that dream, I lost so much that it doesn’t have the same meaning for me anymore. I keep asking was it worth the sacrifice? Because I don’t think I belong only to this place, Canada. My heart still aches by what’s happening in the Middle East. At night when I close my eyes I dream about that small village where I grew up and where my mom and brother and extended family live. I dream about my grandparent’s homes which I have never seen. About their childhood and how hard it must have been for my grandparents to leave their homes and become refugees in a foreign land. I dream about Dubai where my children were born and where it became possible for me to have other dreams. So who am I? Where do I belong?
Because it’s easy to kill people, destroy their homes, wipe out entire cities. But to use William Saroyan’s words:
“I should like to see any power of the world destroy this race, this small tribe of unimportant people, whose wars have all been fought and lost, whose structures have crumbled, literature is unread, music is unheard, and prayers are no more answered. Go ahead, destroy Armenia . See if you can do it. Send them into the desert without bread or water. Burn their homes and churches. Then see if they will not laugh, sing and pray again.”