My Mind Has Always Been Occupied

Recently, I moved out of my law school apartment back into my childhood home as I transition into the next period of my life. As I was cleaning out and organizing my computer, as one naturally does, I was going through old files tucked away under “Middle School”… call it nostalgia. I found this short story titled “Modern Apartheid” that I wrote for my eight grade advanced english class. The writing is gastly terrible, yes (I know), but I wanted to share it to show how for Palestinians, our identities, even in childhood in the diaspora, have been defined by the israeli strangulation of our people. We have always known this violence, and we will not stop working towards our freedom, and the freedom of all people.

Prologue

***

Blood. The very thought consumed every part of my memory for the past five years. Eating away at what I thought to be my life but what ultimately seemed to be an ever-growing nightmare, each night prospering with its intensity. It was not always like this – at one - point life was just more than surviving, it was living. Expanding my horizons with each breath, recently though things were not working in my favor though this story is to be told in a different situation. A situation that exposes the enemy for who they really are, “the enemy”, as for me, my story is true at its core, able to turn the roots of memory into a living forest of memory.

Chapter 1

***

Modern communication ceased to exist in my rural village near Jericho. Jericho in 1948 was sparse, we had a quite nugatory population – this pretty much meant that everybody knew everyone along with there whereabouts and such, surrounded by the trees of the Ramot Forest. Ramot was in a secluded part of town and only I had the knowledge of entrance as it was buried under the rubble from the recent explosions, its roots had been embedded within the rocks covering the sediment. The irony humored me; the very thing that halted the growth and blossoming of the trees was the very thing holding it in one piece, one could not exist without the other. Subsequently, the relationship between my mother and I was similar. With the passing of my father, my mother and I were alone, shielded to the rest of the world by our own ignorance, living without adequate food or water was seen as desperate, where we came from, though, we testified these beliefs and made it by with the money in our pockets and money in our hearts. My mothers name was Abia and I was Hakim (At least I thought I was). Recently I worked in my neighborhood shop, hustling innocent street – goers into a scam of expensive perfume that was essentially the cheap fragrance of lavender picked from the storeowner’s backyard. Adam, the storeowner, was cruel and naïve which only shadowed the fact that I was still willing to work for him, my means had justified my ends as it would have been illegal in my own mentality to not provide for my mother. My mother not only brought me into this world but also protected me from the harsh realities within it; when I was in grade school, kids used to make mockery of my clothes as we never had sufficient funds for “cool” clothing and my mother taught me that my actions speak louder than words; I would later go on to make humorous dialogue about their comments which only dismantled the reasoning behind it, my so – called jokes were childish but appropriate and allowed me to fit in.

Those days seemed to have drifted into the deepest part of my mind, snapping the bond between the neurons as only traumatic events filled me, leaving me… empty. It was a dreary existence that I was a part of and I knew that I was destined to fulfill a greater purpose and greater meaning. Though where would I start? This question had boggled my mind for quite some time until I came to the revelation that this greater purpose had essentially no purpose at all. It was to expose the truth for what it really is and venture into unknown areas to find it.

After the passing of my late father, I shut the rest of the world out, days had past when I would not even let out a breath to conceal my true emotions. A single picture was the only reminisce that I had left of him, it hung on top of the mantle of the fireplace; as a fire fueled by grief filled the room I would remember brief moments allowing me to transport to easier times, better times. My father, Abu Hakim, worked in the local factory, packing our local exports, one day though there was a forest fire and the factory was caught in the middle; my father frantically attempted to save the lives of the women and children in his vicinity ultimately costing him his own life. That was a long time ago, I moved on, experienced life for what it really is – crude.

Life passed by and I had not even paid attention, I missed the feeling of smiling when kids laughed or smelling the newly blossomed flowers covered in morning dew; now all I see when I pass by kids or flowers I see innocence and living here innocence means death. Death by the hands of a criminal that appears to be the victim to the rest of the world… Israel. They took everything accept my will to push forward though recently, I could feel myself succumbing to the changes of my surroundings.

Chapter 2

***

The occupation of Palestine just began, we were freedom fighters in a pugnacious situation that the rest of the world stated as “terrorism”. It commenced last month, May 1948. The day started out as any other day would, I had the usual, fresh hard boiled egg alongside a glass of newly squeezed orange juice, though when I had begun to make my way out the door a brisk wind presented itself shivering my bones to a point where they started to crackle. The constant chattering of my teeth did not help the situation either; though the cold never really halted the progression of the black market. I proceeded to venture to work in spite of bearing the teeth-shattering weather. Though, when I made my way to Adam’s I saw him packing frantically, I questioned him,

“Maybe please answer as to why you are packing up the store?”,

As this was an unusual occurrence as profit was the only matter that was held dear to his heart.

“Something strange is happening, the store is not usually empty at this hour.”

He talked as if he was able to foretell our future dilemma.

“What do you prescribe this means?”

I had asked

“Not Sure, Not Sure”, As he shakes his head slowly – the swaying of the back and forth movement felt all too familiar though I did not question his methods until he had told me to get my mom and talk shelter.

“Why?”, I wondered in a tense manner

“There is the rumor that the zionist forces are planning an air and land raid within the next hour that will level the village.”

When those words were uttered I stood frozen in place, it was as if time stood still only progressing when I gave the matter an ounce of thought. My life was about to change and I had not even realized it until it occurred. Adam grabbed my shoulders and pushed me forward urging me to leave as soon as possible – it was as if my presence in this situation actually allowed the humanity to arise from his body. At this point, my mind was blank, I stared deep into the abyss that was my own body until “BOOM!”, the first bomb had touched the ground which cut off my connection to nothing sending me into panic mode.

Panic-stricken I made the uneducated decision to aid the surrounding families suffering from the damage of the first artillery. Besides the local bakery, Adam’s house was destroyed in the wreckage along with his wife and kids, my mind was still boggled by the bomb and my ears still ringing though I was able to retain enough strength to check for a pulse. As my fingers trembled and reached the meat of what used to be his daughter’s skin, Abia, I felt nothing, no breath, no movement, no life. This moment of sincere grief would only last a short while as I knew that this would not be the only force exerted onto our village. As the adrenaline rushed through my veins, I was only focused on a single thing, my mother. Passing the neighboring houses and stores and scattered through the rubble in search of any signs of life, and when there was none I eventually moved on up until the point at which my house stood before its demise.

“Mom”, “Mom”, I must have called out thousands of times before I reached the conclusion that there was no sign of life though as I persisted and pulled rocks throwing them at great lengths, there eventually came a point that I knew my mother was safe; she fled the scene as soon as she saw signs of trouble. The town was covered in dust and rubble from the preceding bombs that reached the ground of my village, this would soon be the least of my memories as I heard the roaring sound of Zionist tanks and soldiers approaching to finish the job. The men of the village stalled the impending forces by throwing rocks from the rubble or burning tires from previous tanks and hurling them at the enemy. Although this may have seemed to be redundant, it worked for the time being and provided the perfect opportunity for me to search down my mother. In my search for my family, there was a glimmer of hope that I had latched myself onto, if only the world knew of the monstrosities that occurred then maybe they would be more sympathetic to this cause. If only, they knew…

What seemed liked hours only took a course for a period of several minutes, I was about to move on until I heard a faint sound in the distant; as I drew closer I heard my name.

“Hakim, Hakim” as spoken by my mother. I finally found the thing most important to me, when I did though I was greeted by the devil’s friend – death. My mother was lying defenseless on the ground and I knew here time on this Earth was coming to an end.

“Mom, Mom”, I shook her from her unguided eyes.

“Yes, yes my son. As the hourglass of my life is losing its last grains of sand, I only wish for you to do something meaningful and to survive and do what I have failed – to protect you.”

“Please do not say that life is not fair, it is not and our experiences only ensured that our fates would intertwine”, I stated as tears drew down my face.

“Just promise me that you will figure out your own path and confront your own frontiers.”

“I promise… mom”

As the last breath escaped the body of my mother I noticed something shine in her in her hands. It was the single photo we had left, of my father. Slowly I reached and unlatched it from my mother’s cold, life – fewer hands and noticed a single outlying detail… a tear. My mother, before her final words, had managed to gather this photo and as an Israeli soldier shot her she was not afraid of dying alone. She had known that our family, in our prime state was encompassed in the photo, we were happy and free from any obstacles life presented. I rested the photo on my mother’s chest covering it with her right hand atop her left, as if it had sprung roots and attached to her hearts, I shielded her soul from the rest of the dead by covering eyes with the motion of my hands.

Time was of the essence and the only way to perform my mother’s dying request was to flee to the forest. As each passing bullet bolted through the air around me, my heart beat increased and I wiped the falling tears from my red eyes. The forest was near, I caught sight of the boulder concealed beneath the ever growing tree vines and roots. The spot at which I dug a hole beneath the rock was not buried by the rubble and I was to jump for joy if not in my epidemic circumstance. As I crossed the bridge into my new life, I took one last look at my city, Jericho, wondering what my future had in store though wondering would not do me any good; I needed to live life and dive into this problem and find my own solution, “my own way”.

Chapter 3

***

It was diverting to think that merely a year passed since I last seen my village, I matured and learned to use my surrounding as an extension of who I was. I hunted for food each day with my own bow and arrows carved with a knife – that I acquired at Adam’s shop. “I wonder what happened to him?” I thought to myself. Although shelter was limited, I could not complain. I flourished in the years that I was secluded from the rest of the world and I memorized the forest like the back of my hand, every square inch was accounted for. Though one night, I wandered off my usual course and the weather was detrimental, I took shelter of the leaves of a tall tree and rested upon an uncomfortable rock. When I woke to the vibrant colors of the orange sunrise I experienced a sensation of warmth that went throughout my body. This area was peculiar to me, though; I never discovered this portion of the forest.

The shrubbery was contrasting from what I have seen in the last year, I experienced a flashlight in my head. Just possibly, I may have crossed the border into Lebanon, this would alter my future in ways greater than one. If in Lebanon I could go to UN authorities and find myself shelter and describe the events that I experienced, the death of my family, friends, and me.

For several days proceeding my realization, I marked the path behind me to ensure I have a way back if things did not turn out in my favor, this occurred very much lately. At each cross or turn, I was unsure if my decision was correct, questioning everything I thought to be true and at one point I was completely covered in bites and sores; my feet were turning black from the great distance ventured by me in this forest. At one point I turned over a large leaf covering the pathway and found myself at the border of Sidon. Sidon was the city that bordered Palestine, we learned about this subject in geography last semester, before the war.

I fell to my knees, bursting into tears at this discovery. I was finally free from the ongoing occupation, a thousand miles in the other direction and I was able to move past the memories of blood, chains, and my family.

Some guards defending the borders found me in my jagged clothes torn up by the sands of time. They took me to one of the refugee camps where the rest of the Palestinian war survivors lived. I heard their stories, their lives and felt a throb in my heart. For instance, there was this one adult, Abbudin, he was twenty – three and came from Nablus. He was a father of a two-year-old boy and his wife died of cancer a few years back. The Israeli forces had taken power over the standing government and shot anybody in resistance or anybody weak, including his child. Hearing this story along with other just inspired me to push forward on my plan to expose the world to the truth, though what exactly is the truth.

Soon after, I traveled to the president’s office of Lebanon and decided to broadcast my story. I knew this would not start a world – wide cause but perhaps my words would be able to impact a few and that is all I need to spark a mundane fire! Though, I had to discover within myself what really was the truth that I must confess to the world, after years of searching I might have finally found what I have been yearning for.

The truth is that it is not the eyes that are blind, but the hearts of the world. As an individual, you must find it within yourself to discover your path your own way in which you find what is important to you. In my case, it was realizing this very thing, this realization. I remembered that once my father I exclaimed to me that I should never give up on my dreams as time will surely lead me to the discovery of my own destiny – I will free Palestine.

Share