They asked me where I was from, so I took a trip to the back of my brain, I traveled through my veins, scanning my blood for an answer. I had to take a detour when I realized the answer might not be running through my veins per se. The Canadian in me wanted to apologize for not being able to answer right away. The Palestinian in me refused to apologize for that which it has not caused. Still scanning my body for an answer, I remembered the olive trees growing in Lebanon; I thought, will they feed my grandchildren once they have grown? My memory shifted to Syria, the land in which my grandmother, the reason my mother and I were brought to life, was born and raised.
I had so many options to choose from, and the longer I stretched my thoughts , the more answers I found; which of them was the most worthy? So many options, yet there I stood, unable to answer that question. The snake hiding at the sole of my shoe slithers up my spine and wraps around my neck,bringing me back to the present, cutting my journey through my heritage short. It hisses into my ear, as it always does, ” This question is unworthy of an answer; this human is unworthy of your time.” Today, I’m pushing my vulnerability snake away.
“I’m from Earth”.
I am from soil and plants and trees and life and death and rain and snow. I am diversity that’s not so diverse. I looked up to the stars and in rage yelled to them “ ANSWER ME where am I from?” All they they said was “earth”. You see, to the stars and the aliens and the planets we are all just from earth. We are not from America or Brazil or Greece or Russia or Australia or Ethiopia. The universe gives not one damn about how we humans butcher the earth and what we name each part, and it certainly does not give a flying star about which part each of us humans originates from.
I am diversity, and so are you. Your blood and mine is “contaminated” with all the different nationalities but we all have pure Earthly blood. They said all man is created equal, but where are you from? All man is created equal so tell me where are you from? I need to know how to treat you and how much to pay you and what to say about you behind your back.
My answer does not seem to quench their thirst for an answer, so I ask them a few questions of my own instead;
Will it matter where you’re from when the guns being made in Korea are the unmaking of an innocent child ten years from now? Will it matter when the Palestinian land stops witnessing the births of warrior babies? Will it matter when the islands of the Maldives have drowned in their own beauty? When the volcanoes have erupted and covered everyone in ash so you cant tell who is who? When all that’s left is you and your brother, and your brother happens to be from the other side of the world, will you end the life of yet another human when the world is ending?
I think not. I look up to the stars once more and they shine “Well done”.
About the Author:
Darah Freije is an outspoken aspiring writer in her early teens. She prefers “expressive writer” over “poet” because she believes the art lies in the expressiveness of oneself without conformity. She is still experimenting with different writing styles and often finds herself lost in the middle of a jumble of words that lack, yet carry so much meaning. She enjoys basketball, gymnastics, arts, and naps!
Follow her on Instagram here.
The Poetry Passport 