Rafah

The story starts with a girl Nouraa getting in trouble by her mother, and just like grandparents always do, her grandpa (or sidou) comes to the rescue and makes her feel better. He tells her his story about the Palestinian Exodus in 1948 and getting kicked out of his family village of Beit Mehsir. While her sidou is explaining what happened to him, she often interrupts and asks questions, reminding the reader it’s the telling of a story, as opposed to a flashback. It ends in a bit of a cliff hanger, but not in an abrupt way, because at the end Nouraa knows sidou somehow got out and raised a family.

     “Yasmin *HAHAHA* stop *HAHAHA* tickling *HAHAHA* meee” I snorted rolling all over the ground while my cousin dug her fingers on the side of my stomach, “or else mama is gonna make me sleep in another room!!” Welcome to my crazy family, where there’s currently 19 people under the same roof. Some may think that’s too many people (especially those of you living in America), but here in Jordan it’s quite normal to pack the house up to maximum capacity. However, I’ll admit there’s usually not this many people, but my twin sisters, Janna and Aliaa, are graduating university and my brother, Bilal, is getting married, so my uncle’s family decided to visit for a few weeks.
     “NOURAA” mama yelled as she entered the room to find six of us sprawled on the ground laughing, “you’re gonna wake the babies, quiet down!” First thing she closed the door on her way out my cousin, Mustafa, chucked a pillow at Yasmin’s head and she fell to the ground making a big thump noise. Mama and Auntie Halima rushed in the room to make sure everyone’s okay, and once we reassured them everything’s fine, they turned to leave.
     But mama stopped at the door, “Nouraa bring me your pillow and blanket” and so I handed her my pink fuzzy QUEEN comforter and matching pillow.
     “So does this mean I’ll just have to grab more from the basement?” I asked.
     “No you’re going to the basement and sleeping there” she responded.
     “WHAT?! WHY?! What did I even do??” I questioned while knitting my hands through my hair confused. Instantly, my cousins protested and insisted we all sleep in the same room. A few of them even threw out promises to stay quiet through the night, but I saw the look in mama’s face and just knew, there was no point in arguing over this. I didn’t want them to see my cheeks turning red and the tears forming in my eyes so I quickly said, “It’s fine, I’ll just see y’all tomorrow morning” and left the room. Five minutes later I was in the basement room curled up against a wall crying when sidou came in.

     When my grandpa saw my tears his face instantly tensed, “what’s wrong habibty” he asked as he crouched down beside me.
     “Mama kicked me out of room with Yasmin, *sniff* Mustafa, Bilal, *hiccup* Aliaa, and Janna because *hiccup* apparently I was being too loud, but sidou, *hiccup* everyone was laughing and she *hiccup* only made me leave, and that’s *hiccup* not fair!!” I cried as the tears kept flowing.
     “Ooofff it’s okay Nouraa you’ll see them tomorrow morning. How about I tell you a story instead, about how my family was kicked out of Palestine, would that make you happier?” sidou suggested.
     “Yeah, but be careful *sniff* lower your voice or else you’ll wake the babies *sniff* or mama’s gonna kick you to another room for ‘being too loud'’' I chuckled, and glanced to find my grandpa also tittering at my diss.
     “Well, habibty it all started in January 1947 when I was six years old, playing on a tree swing in my backyard when I accidentally fell and hit my head on the ground really hard. Blood was slowly coming out of the wound behind my ear, but my mom couldn’t do much other than trickle a bit of olive oil on it and keep wiping the blood with a cloth. Later when my baba came home, we got on the next bus that takes us to the next door village where the doctor was living. Some soldiers randomly stopped the bus and told everyone to get off, with no explanation. My father quickly hid me under a seat and covered me up with bags. I could hear--”
     “Wait why’d he hide you? Wouldn’t the weight of the bags hurt your head?” I interrupted.
     “Yes but it’d only hurt a little bit, my baba put the very light bags on my head. You know, at the time I also did not know why he hid me, but I just knew to listen to him. Later he explained that the soldiers would see blood and automatically assume I was injured by a knife, or some sort of weapon, and those were banned at the time. If they even thought you had a weapon, they would arrest you and throw you in jail with no proof, and the only way you can get out is if you spend time or pay. Anyway where was I? Oh yes, as the soldiers were searching the bus, I could see their shoes from under the seat, and they even stopped and took a few of the bags off the pile I was hiding under, but I further tucked myself under the seat. I remember blood was all over my shirt and I was silently crying, but they ended up leaving and did not find me. Another time I remember my baba’s friends telling us to--”
     “Hold on, what happened? Were you able to go to the doctor at the end?”
     “Oh yes, the doctor stitched me up and I was fine afterwards, but the point Nouraa was how I was taking a trip to the doctor and instead was stuck hiding in the bus for an hour. Even after the soldiers finished searching the bus, they still made everyone stand outside and do nothing for hours before they were allowed back on. Imagine your mama making you stand in the garage and not be able to do anything when you broke your elbow” he explained.
     “Owoww that was so painful, I couldn’t think straight the rest of that day” I winced as I thought about the agony from my broken bone years ago.
     “Anyway that was just some background information, just so you know how it was like before the Zionists really took over. So fast forward to when I was 6½ years old and the Zionist soldiers were getting more and more strict. My mom and sisters couldn’t leave the house alone without a male companion with them, or else soldiers would stop and harass them. The Palestinians couldn't handle the control anymore so they started making and buying old guns in secret, for self-defense. Once the Zionist soldiers found out, they got angry and started attacking random Palestinian villages and ordered those who had weapons turn themselves in, but of course no one really listened because they knew if they came clean they’d never see their families again.”
     “But this makes no sense, why were the soldiers so mean, like why were they mad in the first place?” I questioned, this just wasn’t making any sense in my mind.
     “Habibty that’s a story for another time, but just know it was a lot of politics, and in the end they were trying to take our land. Anyway, the soldiers couldn’t capture very many Palestinians because they did not know the geography of the land as well as we did. The Palestinian government asked for help from the Egyptian, Jordanian, Saudi Arabian, and Iraqi military. Those governments told Palestinian leaders not to fight because they’d send their own soldiers, but the Palestinian government was spectacle the countries would back out, so they asked them for the weapons and said the they’d get their own people to fight, especially because they would have an advantage of knowing the land. However, they refused. When the Arab leaders and their soldiers came, they didn’t do much damage because they didn’t know where to protect and where to target.”
     “Later I found out that The Egyptian leader betrayed his people. He gave his troops fake pistols, their weapons would literally backfire and hit the person who fired it. I remember I was at the market with my sisters when I saw a Zionist owned plane flying over our heads, getting ready to drop bombs on us. The Egyptian army stationed nearby hit the plane with a bomb before it could hit us. The Egyptian bomb exploded but it was very light and it did no damage--the plane kept flying. That day, I lost three friends because of the bombs from that plane.”
     “Sidou, why would the Egyptian leader kill his own soldiers? Why would he even agree to help if his troops were just going to their death?” I questioned.
     “It’s a lot of politics habibty, and even I sometimes have trouble understanding why some people do stuff, but apparently there was a lot of British influence in Egypt at the time.”
     “Hold on, what do the British have anything to do with this” I asked barely keeping up at this point.
     “Well, they say the British were helping the Zionists. When the Egyptian leader first agreed for his military to intervene and help the Palestinians, the British did not know, so when they found out, they bought a new shipment of the ‘newest equipment’ and the Egyptian leader distributed them to his troops. Clearly, they were duds. The Jordanian Army, however, was very powerful and took some cities that were occupied back from the Zionists. Unfortunately similar to the Egyptians, their general was a British man. After the British saw the damage the Jordanians could do, they ordered them to withdraw the Jordanian troops.”
     “I still don’t get it, why do the British care so much about what happens?” I pondered.
     “Politics--”
     “No!” I interrupted, “you keep saying politics but what do you mean by that? It’s all so confusing!”
     “That’s the thing my dear Nouraa, it’s extremely confusing, that even I don’t fully understand. In fact, I don’t know anyone who fully understands, but that is the thing about politics, someone is always hiding something. Anyway, do you want to hear more of the story, or should I stop here for now, we can continue tomorrow?” sidou asked.
     “No let’s keep going for a bit longer, I want to know more!” I begged.
     “Okay but just a bit longer, if your mama finds out you're still awake she’ll yell at me. It was March 1948 on the 2nd day of Ramadan, when someone got an anonymous heads-up, what is it called?”
     “A tip?” I answered unsure.
     “Yes, a tip. Someone got a tip saying my village of Beit Mahsir was going to be raided next. We were told to leave the village for a week so that we wouldn’t be hit with bombs and gunshots. I was scared, I didn’t know what to do and I’ve never seen my mama so terrified. Every time I’d ask her what’s happening, she would start crying and hugging me, so eventually I stopped asking her. For a week I was outside, used sand and leaves as my blankets and pillows, and slept under a tree, huddled up with my family. After a week, my baba returned to the village and again the leaders told him to stay away for another week, because the Zionists did not hit yet, but they were confident they were coming soon. My baba checked on the house and everything was fine. Same thing happened for the next 2 weeks--my baba would get sent back and report to my village to stay out because the Zionist soldiers were ‘for sure’ coming the following week. The fifth week when my baba went to the village, the leaders said it was fine to return, but everything was taken. Nouraa, when I say everything, I mean everything: from the food to my mom’s jewelry to even our birth certificates, literally everything. Imagine you come back from school one day and this house is blank, empty, vacant, everything just gone.”
     I could hear the hurt in his voice, even after all these years. “Was it just your family, or did everyone’s things get stolen too?” I was too shocked to process what my grandpa really just told me.
     “Of course it was the whole village, they did not leave a single thing. My family knew we couldn’t stay because we knew the Zionist soldiers would come back to claim the land, and if we were here when they got there, then they’d kill us, just like they did to the first six villages they took over. So we went and stayed with my baba’s business partner, who was living a few cities over. However, after a month the soldiers came and once again my family and I had to flee. I remember I wasn’t running fast enough and I lost my family. I was yelling their names, but no one would respond. As I was running, someone threw me on their back and I recognized him as one of my brother’s friends. Eventually, after stopping and continuing to migrate for a few weeks, we arrived at Rafah, a camp. I remember it was January 1949 and there was the United Nations Relief and Works Agency waiting for us. They gave us a tent to live in, but it was snowing outside and there was nothing to cover ourselves with, so it was very cold. There were 11 people living in my tent. The UNRWA gave us dried wood to start fires to cook and keep warm, but sometimes it didn’t even start. After the wood from UN was done, we were forced to use tree branches as wood, but it was not dried so it barely worked. But some survived, somehow.”
     “But how’d you even live, like didn’t you freeze to death and just how?!?” I questioned.
     “Looking back, I can’t even imagine it. I don’t even know how we lived like that. When someone is in a situation like that one, they will do everything they can to survive, and that’s what I did. Every night, for years, I would tell myself just to survive the next day.”
     “How’d you get out of Rafah, and make a life of yourself? I always hear stories about how people don’t ever get out of refugee camps” I asked.
     *very big yawn* “Ahh Nouraa, that’s a story for another day, perhaps tomorrow?” sidou responded while yawning another time. Seeing his exhaustion I reluctantly agreed and decided I also needed some rest, so I laid on the ground and drifted into a slumber.

Bibliography
Abunaser, Abdulkader. Personal Interview. 2 May 2020.
Al-Taghriba Al-Filistinia, written by Walid Saif, directed by Hatem Ali, 2004. 

Matari, Enas. Personal Interview. 23 April 2020.
Steven Glazer. “The Palestinian Exodus in 1948.” Institute for Palestine Studies, 

     https://oldwebsite.palestine-studies.org/jps/fulltext/38640. Accessed 30 April 2020.

Did Rufus Really Deserve His Fate?

This has been on my mind for a while but is it just me or are some of y’all also bothered with how the novel ended?! Dana is a mysterious character. She doesn’t control her time travel, but she does control whether or not she actually saves Rufus when she gets there. Dana chooses to save Rufus every time she gets pulled into the early 1800s, she even goes out of her way to pack a bag with modern medicine to bring with her when she’s brought to Rufus. Granted, the first two times when Dana met Rufus, when he was drowning and later when he set the curtains on fire, she saved him without knowing who he was, but after that it was her choice. It’s weird how she’d spend so much time (months in the 1800s world) caring and tending to Rufus, and then just take his life at the end.

I know Rufus was no angel, but did he really deserve to die? Although Dana was only there for a fraction of his life, she was there during the most traumatic/memorable times, when Rufus was on the verge of death, and she must’ve influenced him a bit. Nevertheless, she gave up on him at the end. I know she was staying around because she needed to ensure Hagar was born (also it wasn’t her choice how long she stayed), but she must’ve developed an emotional attachment to Rufus. Throughout her time, Dana taught Rufus to be kinder and and how to act less like the stereotypical white slave owner. Dana killing Rufus at the end took me by shock because she seemed to truly care about him, at least she tried to really change and better him, which is why I’m thinking was her kind attitude towards Rufus all an act? Like did she stay around just to make sure Alice and Rufus get together and have Hagar, or did she really care about how Rufus is as a person?

Another side to this is yes, Dana killing Rufus is justifiable. He continuously (emotionally) abused her and took advantage of the fact that she was black, and with any other slave owner she’d be treated like any other slave, working on the field or in the house. Another big thing is that Rufus never mailed her letters to Kevin, and if it weren’t for Tom Weylin actually keeping his word to slaves, she probably wouldn’t have found Kevin and brought him back home. I think that instance really made Rufus lose Dana’s trust, because she realized that at the core maybe he’s just as bad as any other slave owner. Also, Dana maybe thought that the only way to break her connection to the 1800s was to kill Rufus, and she already got enough scars and injuries for her to handle. Either way, the ending of this novel has been on my mind and I really want to know y’alls opinions, do you think Dana is justified in murdering Rufus?

Brushing Over the Small Stuff

The first time I read “so it goes” in Slaughterhouse-Five I was very confused because I was like, what goes?? I then noticed that’s Vonnegut’s way of basically moving on and not bringing any further attention to the thing that “left.” After I realized it was the catchphrase of the book, I noticed it more whenever it’d pop up and would read a few sentences back to clarify what died. It was really eye opening because some of the times it wasn’t even a person who was passing, but an object that was destroyed. I never thought of objects as having living attributes, because they don’t really, but Vonnegut still treated them like they had real life and emotion by using his infamous “so it goes” phrase. It gave attention to the fact that this object will never be the same as it was before, and the “so it goes” part shows the turning point of it being unchangeable back to its initial form.

One example of this happening is on page 129, when Vonnegut is describing Billy’s bedside while he is in the veterans hospital, and says, “two pills, an ashtray with three lipstick-stained cigarettes in it, one cigarette still burning, and a glass of water. The water was dead. So it goes.” This sentence in specific was shocking to me because I’d never heard or thought about describing water as “dead.” Sure, I understand that old water doesn’t taste great, so many people throw it out and get some new water. Using “so it goes” to describe the state of the water was a different perspective I’ve never seen. If there was anything from the things that were listed that I think would make sense to describe as “dead” it would be the cigarettes. This is because you can’t use them anymore and they lost their value, they are unreusable. However, I think the water itself is drinkable, it may not taste great, but it’s still functional and does it’s job, which is to hydrate.

When Billy talked about the “silliness or murder” shows airing on the TV on page 255, I imagined someone curled up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and burrito-wrapped in a blanket. But once I read the “so it goes” sentence directly afterwards, it hit me that the shows are talking about death. This just shows how much the three-worded sentence snaps me into reality and gives me a different perspective to look at. Another place Vonnegut does this is on page 143 when Billy’s describing the Earth exhibit in the Tralfamadorian zoo. Billy says, “There was a stereophonic phonograph. The phonograph worked. The television didn’t. There was a picture of one cowboy killing another one pasted to the television tube. So it goes.” I initially just imagined a picture, similar to how people have family photos placed on their mantels nowadays. The “so it goes” in this sentence shifted my view, instead of focusing on the layout of the exhibit and how/where things were placed, I now focused on the cowboys, and the fact that there was such a disturbing photo on display.

Hidden References

Something I found really interesting (but also made it more difficult to understand) in Mumbo Jumbo is the intricate writing style and hidden references Ishmael Reed uses throughout the novel. Oftentimes while I was reading I felt as though there was supposed to be a different meaning behind the “face” of the words--like there was a hidden message between the lines. Later I realized that is mainly just Reed’s style, but there are still some concealed references and ideas throughout the book, and you wouldn’t really recognize them unless you spoke fluent Arabic.

My parents were both born and raised in Arab-speaking countries, and my mom is an Arabic teacher, which is why I speak Arabic very well. The references Ishmael Reed makes are something that someone who hasn't spoken Arabic for most of their lives and doesn't know the inside jokes within the language and the history behind the culture, would understand. Similar to how in English some words have slang versions and if you told someone who isn’t fluent in the language the word, then they wouldn’t be able to tell you the definition used in that context. For example the word dough technically means “a thick, malleable mixture of flour and liquid, used for baking into bread or pastry” but someone can say “it’s hard work but it’s worth it cause I get a lot of dough” or something along those lines. It’s clear that the narrator doesn’t actually mean bread dough, but means “money” when referring to dough in the second sentence.

One example of Ishmael Reed doing this is on page 68 when he uses the word hashish. In Arabic, this word literally translates to “grass” but the more colloquial definition is “weed”. Going even deeper, the younger kids (more like teenagers) often joke around with each other and refer to someone who’s smoking hashish as someone who’s smoking when they’re already high and delusional. In a sense you can describe it as someone who’s digging themselves a hole and sitting in it, and as they’re sitting in it they continue digging--so basically they got themselves into a situation and they’re just making it worse.

Another example of Ishmael Reed making a hidden reference is on page 71, when he mentions 1917 and the Holy Land so casually. He says it as if the reader was supposed to just know about the Balfour Declaration and the events that took place following the release of the document. Right now as you’re reading this blog you’re probably still confused about what happened in 1917, but the truth is, I’ve offered you if not the same, then more information than Reed did in Mumbo Jumbo. Since I have an Arab background I caught these subtle comments, but this has me thinking, does Ishmael Reed make references and connections to other cultures throughout the book, and no one really catches them all because no one knows enough of all cultures and ways of life?

"Fitting" in Society

One interesting theme in Ragtime that I see some correlation to today’s world is when you change your name to “better fit society.” We see this with Harry Houdini, who changed his name to fit in more, which works because we somewhat associate him with living the American Dream. But also as a reader I still think of him as the complete opposite, and the scene when he was escaping the cell adjacent to Harry K. Thaw really reminded me of that. On one side, you have the guy who is supposed to be living a good life (especially with his wealth inherited, so he didn’t have to work hard for it) but instead gets himself locked up, and the other side reflects an immigrant who had to work hard and push his way up. By Harry Houdini changing his name, he gives himself a stage name that he uses to integrate himself into society and build his life up from there.

Most immigrant parents will often continue to give their children names that are common in their home country. That usually results in names that are hard to pronounce for people who don’t speak the native language, and especially at school the name getting butchered up. Take me for example, my name is Raneem and in the “American” it’s pronounced with a soft r sound, but it’s actually supposed to have a rougher, single-tongue-rolled r sound. Although my name occasionally gets butchered up, there are no unfamiliar letters that cause people to pronounce it in an unrecognizable way. For example, one of the most common names in the world is Muhammad, and although it’s well-known, most people don’t say it the correct way because the deep sound hha is not part of the alphabet, so its unfamiliar. This leads to many Muhammads shortening their name to Moe or Hamad to make it more convenient for themselves and others and to fit in.

In Ragtime, we see this type of transformation from Tateh, who changes his name to be Baron Ashkenazy. Afterwards, he feels like he “fits in society” and gets remarried to Mother and gets a job at a company. This shows he leaves behind his immigrant identity and having this “stage name” is more convenient because he’s not as different in society and therefore can fit in more. I honestly think that it’s a sad trend that someone’s name can determine whether or not they are a normal member in society. We see this in Tateh and Harry Houdini when Ragtime was released in the 70’s, and it’s still something that is relevant to today’s world.

The Land of Fiction

At the beginning of the semester, we talked about the relation between postmodernism and history as fiction. The idea about how fiction can be used as a form of entertainment was brought up, and I agree. When I was in elementary school and especially middle school I would spend countless hours entertaining myself with fictional books. There are the classics that everyone loved, the Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, and Hunger Games series’. A less popular series, The Land of Stories, was one that I was obsessed with. It started when I read all of the books assigned in my 6th grade English class, and was left with a month of class time to spare. My English teacher gave me the first book, and because I had so much free time, I finished it in a weekend. After that I was a machine, just constantly reading the books so that I could finish them before summer vacation started. At the end of the school year, my teacher recommended the Sisters Grimm series, and from there my love for fiction blossomed.

Although I now love reading, it was not always this way. I started to read chapter books as a 1st grader and one book series that almost ruined the world of fiction is Dork Diaries. The majority of my friends at the time were obsessed with the main character, Nikki, and were talking about how they wanted to be like her and thought she was hilarious. So I decided to check out the first two books from the library. I read them over a course of a few weeks and I did not enjoy them, to say the least. I strongly disliked Nikki, and in my opinion she read too much into everything. For example, if her archnemesis blinks her way during lunch, she’d go home that night and write about her “encounter” in her diary. Nonetheless, I kept up and read each book as it was released, until 5th grade when I snapped out of this hypnotism. It was Nikki’s petty attitude and lack of character development that drove me away from reading fiction at the beginning of my literate life. Even now, I was visiting my younger cousins over break and I saw a Dork Diaries book on their shelf, and that left me speechless. For the sake of it, I decided to read it and I was furious! This book, which is the 12th in the series, is almost identical to the ones I was reading as a kid, Nikki still hasn’t changed! Honestly, I’m just happy that as a young child, my love for fiction was able to recover after reading this series.

This summer I worked as an overnight camp counselor, and as the other counselors would hang out and talk at night, I’d hang in a hammock and read a book on my phone. One of my co-workers saw my love of reading and told me she’s never any book for leisure. After our conversation, she started the Divergent series, and so I decided to read them with her, so we could talk about the plot and obsess over the characters together. Even at school, one of my favorite things to do is talk with Courtney, the SSO Office Manager, about the books she’s been reading (because she’s also a bookworm!). Unfortunately because of all the work I get from school, I don’t have much time to read for fun anymore. Although, I will give Ragtime some props for being an assigned book for school because the plot is actually really interesting, and unlike most other fiction books I’ve ever read.

All posts from here on out will be for History as Fiction

Omar and Deema!!

I love taking pictures, so whenever my extended family gets together, I’m always sure to have a camera in my hand to capture all the precious moments. There’s always so much to photograph--the older grandma’s playing with their newborn grandchildren, the younger kids attempting to play a board game, the older kids making movies and small skits, the men doing the dishes in the kitchen as the women are preparing the dessert, and the list goes on. These pictures are some of the very few that are golden. The girl is Deema and the boy is Omar--they’re both siblings. Part of me feels bad for putting these pictures out, but the other part knows it’s necessary so that everyone reading this blog post can put a smile on their face, and can (hopefully) feel the happiness that fills my heart everytime I see them.

Deema is 7 years old. She’s quiet and sweet when she’s around people she doesn’t know, but at home she’s aggressive and sassy. Deema also thinks she’s a princess and goes around acting like it, so, naturally, all the adults treat her like one and leave the other cousins to fend for themselves--she has everyone twisted around her 1st grade finger. This picture was taken at my house on Eid. Eid is a Muslim holiday, and it’s tradition for my family to all get together and celebrate, so I usually have the camera out. Deema had been whining for someone to put her dessert because she couldn’t reach the table and put it for herself. I saw my perfect opportunity to snap a picture when all the other cousins were playing a game of hide and seek and Deema was stuffing her face with as much food her mouth would hold, in hopes of getting done quickly and joining the game. 

Omar is a year older than Deema, so he’s 8 and in 2nd grade. Omar is literally the younger brother I never had. He and I both like playing with the younger babies, raiding the pantry at night when everyone else is asleep, and going on intense movie marathons without getting tired. But the one thing that makes us most similar is that we both wrestle and fight each other without crying or whining afterwards. Omar is the only boy out of his 4 siblings, and even though he’s really young, he’s already started playing the “overprotective brother” role for his sisters. I remember once Deema was complaining about how a boy in her class kept blowing in her face and moving her chair. The next day Omar yelled at him to stop messing with her, and Deema came back and said he was quiet the whole time.

All in all, my cousins are literally the best thing ever--they’re my best friends. Because I don’t live near them, I treasure every minute I get to hang out with them. Even though they’re all younger than me, I genuinely enjoy hanging out with them more than I do with the adults. In specific, I’m thankful for Omar and Deema. They’re both hilarious and they always make me laugh until it hurts my stomach. I remember one time my cousins were all begging my brother to drive them to the theaters in Chicago, but with my aunt's huge van. In the midst of all the chaos, Deema says, “surprisingly Bara (my brother) is a good driver.” My brother questioned, “what do you mean surprisingly” and she responds, “I’ve played Mario Kart with you suck, but you drove once and you were ok.” After this happened, I was dying of laughter for minutes, and I still remember this encounter until this day. I’m grateful because I know I hit the jackpot with my cousins, and I’m thankful for all the memories I make with them!

My Best Friend

“Truth” I answered to my friends as it was my turn for ‘Truth or Dare.’ There were six of my closest friends, all crammed into a van on our way to SkyZone, which was a three hour drive. We were half way through when we started playing ‘Truth or Dare,’ which soon became ‘Truth or Truth’ because there was no room to dare anyone. “Who’s your best friend?” was the question I was faced with. Great, I’m in a car filled with my friends and I have to choose between them I thought to myself. “Malaak” I answered. A few of them protested with my response, as they didn’t think answering my sister was fair.

At the time, Malaak was my safe answer, because surely none of them could get offended I chose my sister over them. In reality, Malaak and I argued a ton and she wasn’t my best friend. Maybe it was the fact that we shared a room or were only a year and a half apart that sparked our fighting. Or maybe it was because we were sparring partners in taekwondo, so our fighting spirits naturally carried over to the house. But as time passed, Malaak and I argued less and got closer. Whenever we’d plan to hang out, I started to look forward to it, instead of dreading going along for the sake of it.

This change happened after I started attending a different school than her, and I think that’s because we didn’t see each other as often. Before, we went to the same school, participated in the same sports, and had the same friends; which meant we were always in each other’s faces. But once I started at Uni, I’d stay on campus until my dad could pick my up around 7, made friends with a different group, quit practicing martial arts and instead joined the swim and soccer team. These drastic schedule changes barely allowed me to see and talk with Malaak. I started to miss her snarky comments that always put my in my place if I was getting too full of myself, or her sassiness that would lighten up the mood. 

As we got older, we both had more work to do and less time to hang, so we naturally became study buddies; which is the best and worst thing to ever happen. It's good because we’re both hardworking, so when we’re in the zone, we get our work done. Also, if either of us starts talking, we aggressively shush each other and ignore them. We’re not perfect in no way, so sometimes we do get off topic. The downside is that when we get distracted, we talk for HOURS, so our library trip that was only supposed to be 3 hours, turns into 8 hours because we spend so much time talking. 

One thing I’m always grateful about Malaak is that she doesn’t get annoyed when I hang with her and her friends. Maybe it’s a cliche in the movies that I watch, that the older sibling hates when the younger sibling tags along, but Malaak is always inviting me to hang with her friends. Honestly, it’s probably because she knows I’m not the most social person, so she pushes me to interact with others than my usual 4 friends. Another thing I really appreciate about Malaak is that she’s been my roommate for the past 16 years, and she puts up with my weird schedule. She’s never complained about my alarm clock going off 3 times before I finally get up at 5am on some days, or me sleeping at 3 in the morning on other days. My brother, who’s room is at the other end of the hall, complains about my routine and scolds my habits. So Melooka, thank you for putting up with me, I appreciate you <3 .="" 3="" nbsp="" span="">

My Dream Vacation

If a year ago you asked what my dream vacation is, I would’ve responded Turkey; but that was only because all of my family members visited it and talk about how heavenly it is. More recently though, I’ve done some of my own research and I REALLY want to travel to Bali, an island in Indonesia. Yes, Turkey seems interesting but I enjoy doing activities and going on crazy adventures. From what I’ve researched and heard, Turkey’s beauty comes from its architecture and history, so there aren’t many activities to do there, and I don’t think I’d enjoy it as much.

My interest in Bali sparked when my sister was taking a gap year and wanted to take a trip with her friends. I was helping her find destinations, and we came across Bali, Indonesia. She ended up visiting Malaysia, but I was still interested in Bali, and what it has to offer so I continued to look into the activities. The first thing the internet showed me that really interested me is the hiking opportunities. Mount Batur is a volcano in Indonesia that many people hike up, and it has a beautiful view from the top. Another really cool hiking activity you can do in Bali is a scavenger hunt to a secret waterfall. Basically, you start with a clue and it tells you a general direction to walk in, and it explains the scenery that should lead you to the next clue. After following all of the clues, you are supposed to find yourself at a majestic waterfall.

Due to the geological location of Bali, it offers a lot of activities you can’t do in the US. Yes, the US also have zoos, but something about just viewing the animals is restricting. In Bali, they have certain zoos that people are allowed to interact with the animals. They also have something called “monkey forests,” where it’s a jungle-area filled with monkeys that you can feed (with food provided) and play with. I love monkeys, they are literally my favorite animal of all time and it pains me that it’s illegal to own a monkey in the US, because I’d definitely have one as a pet and can imagine being best friends. So when I heard about monkey forests, I knew Bali was my dream place to be. Also, Bali is known for having one of the best snorkeling locations in the world. They have calm bodies of water that make it easy to clearly see what’s ahead. 

When I was helping my sister find places to travel to, she mentioned she wanted to go ATVing, so we used that to narrow our options. There are many places in Bali to ride ATV’s and even multiple places allow you to go water rafting afterwards (they come in a package). The last thing that attracted me to Bali is the giant swing. I see instagram posts with people riding a swing in the middle of nowhere and I always assumed they were photoshopped, because it looked too good to be true. Turns out, Bali has a giant swing that’s in the middle of the jungle, and it overlooks trees and surrounding nature. Other than taking a picture, the swing looks like it would be good to free yourself and just enjoy the moment. I think the rush in me would be different than anything I’ve ever experienced because although I know it’s safe, it doesn’t appear to be (as opposed to roller coasters, for example, that have seat buckles). Lastly, Bali would be completely different than any other place I’ve ever visited, so I think even learning about the different lifestyle of the people living there would be an adventure in and of itself. 

12 Middle Names!?

Raneem Janine Abdul-Karim Othman Muhammad Ali Salah Isa Musa Yousef Dawud Harb Saadah. That is what I wrote on the full name line on the worksheet my 2nd grade teacher gave me. Until this day, I still don’t know how to respond when someone asks me what my middle name is. Do I say Janine? Or do I include my other 11 names and educate the person on Palestinian customs? It’s common in Palestinian culture to know your genealogy by adding your fathers name to the already-existing trail of names, of his father, his fathers father, and so on. In this case, Janine is an additional name my parents gave me, Abdul-Karim is my father, Othman is my grandfather, Muhammad is my great-grandfather, and so on.

When I was younger, I didn’t understand why we needed to track our heritage; wasn’t Saadah enough for tracing back family? As I got older, I realized the answer is no. I found out when my dad was younger, his village alone had more than 100,000 Palestinian Saadah, and that didn’t include any extended relatives living outside of Beit Mahseer. Because of the huge numbers, we identify ourselves from earlier parts in the family line; in my case, I’m from the Ali Salah part. I remember a few years ago when I was at a wedding and my dad recognized the grooms sisters last name (she’s married, so the siblings don’t have the same last name). Next thing I knew, my dad was talking with the grooms brother-in-law about his family line and they were each recalling names from generations before. I saw them reach a name they both had in common and continue the list with the same names--turns out the groom's brother-in-law was from Mohsen-Salah line, so we’re related 5 generations back.

My family and I go to a Palestinian activism convention every year and I remember when I was in 6th grade I became really good friends with these two girls, Lemma and Shadin, who were cousins. It just happened that they had the same last name as I did, Saadeh, but they spell it with an -eh not -ah at the end. I didn’t think much of it at first, I figured it was like Jones where just because you have the same last name doesn’t mean you’re related. But curiosity took over my 12 year old self and I asked them if, by any chance, they knew their family line and surprisingly enough, they listed all 12 names. When they reached Salah their line became identical to mine, and that’s when I realized we were distant cousins.

Later as my dad was picking me up from the young youth program, I made him wait until Lemma or Shadin’s dad picked them up so they could meet. When Lemma’s dad came, my dad greeted him like old friends; they were hugging and obnoxiously talk-yelling. Once they were done, Lemma, Shadin and I explained to them our detective skills--how we said all of our names to find out if we were related. They looked at each other and started laughing. Turns out, my dad has been knowing Lemma’s dad since he was born and they’ve been in contact since. I think about this memory a lot, it represents how important each name is, and what the family line really means: relationships. I was in 6th grade when I made my first connection, and until this day my dad tells me stories about running into Saadah’s at the randomest places--in restaurants, on vacation, even at the mosque. So I can’t wait and can only imagine how many more people I’ll meet and find out I’m related to. I also realize how fortunate I am to meet someone with the same last name as me and, most of the time, be able to trace how far back we’re related and form relationships with them.

Roomy's White Coat Ceremony

I could not believe that was Mariam on the stage! I was so happy to see her finally achieve her dreams. Mariam (aka Roomy) moved out and started dental school in Chicago about a month ago, and today was the day of her white coat ceremony. My sister struggled through many different trials throughout her high school and undergraduate career. Through this she has inspired me to keep fighting no matter what barriers are in my way. Mariam started off at the University of Illinois, studying bioengineering. She was extremely happy to have been accepted, however, I saw her struggle through most of the classes and feel like giving up a lot of the times. Nevertheless, she never gave up. She inspired me - no matter what course she was having difficulty with, she stuck with it until the very end (unlike my brother who’d take easier online classes for the tough courses). And through this, while her grades weren’t the best, she was able to get into dental school. 

After Mariam graduated undergrad in the spring of 2018, she had no idea she wanted to do - so she took a gap year. Me, being a young freshman who runs off of schedules and routines, was really nervous for her, but I was also ecstatic to actually be able to hang out with her. While Mariam was in college she would spend most of her days in the library and would get home really late, which meant I barely got to spend time with her. After I started sophomore year and she was in her gap year, I really felt her presence in the house. We started hanging out - we did many DIY crafts together, went on spontaneous weekend getaways, cooked together, and she saved me from the burden of taking the bus home everyday after school. She was always there, which sometimes became annoying - her constantly being in my ear about cleaning, or doing my homework, but it was mainly all fun and games with Roomy :) 

It was February when I heard Mariam squealing from her room. The whole family, my parents, brother, sister, and I, all rushed to see what had happened. At first, I thought there was a bug, but then realized Mariam wouldn’t yell - she was usually very calm in most situations, and it was weird hearing her squeal. Once we were in her room, she told us she got accepted into her top choice dental school, and that’s when the whole family erupted in cheering and yelling. It was chaotic, but happy chaos. We all knew how hard she worked. Even though this gap year was technically supposed to be her “relaxation year”, she never complained when we asked her for a huge favor or to do an energy and time-consuming task. Roomy really deserved this, and we all knew it - my mom was crying tears of happiness and everyone else was bombarding Mariam with big bear hugs. For me, it was a bittersweet feeling. I was so incredibly happy and proud of Mariam, but part of me was also sad because I knew that meant she was going to move out.

Fast forward a few months, after she left to Chicago and already started graduate school, I received a message on our family group chat that was an invitation to a “White Coat Ceremony”. At first I was confused, Mariam just started dental school, how’s she already getting her white coat, isn’t that something they get when they graduate? After some clarification on the ceremony, and what a white coat ceremony is, I was so excited and I couldn’t believe it. A few weeks before the event, Mariam asked me if I can take pictures of her so she could have “professional” looking photos. I immediately borrowed a school camera and practiced portrait photography, taking pictures of anyone who would agree to it.

Before I knew it, I was in the car driving to downtown Chicago to take photos for Roomy. My family and I met with Mariam and had a photoshoot where we took bomb photos of her. Soon after, we met up with my uncles, aunts, and cousins and the ceremony started. They had some opening remarks and then started calling off names, and the students would wear their white coats - but something felt off. After thinking about it for a while, I realized it was oddly quiet. When a name would get called, there was only clapping - no cheering, which sounded dull. My family, being naturally rowdy, was already counting down until we could all stand and cheer for Roomy. All of my cousins were planning what phrase they were going to yell (they decided on the classic, “proud of you Roomy”) and my uncle was urging my dad to do his obnoxiously loud whistle. A few minutes later, I was on the stairs in the aisle with the camera to my eye, snapping as many photos as possible, and the rest of my family was yelling and cheering their heads off. After they finally got quiet, there was an awkward silence when Mariam was putting on her white coat, but (of course) one of my cousins had to cheer again, and coincidentally another one of my cousins yelled at the same time. The person announcing the names, crowd, and professors erupted in laughter - we were THAT loud and crazy family.

For some people, a white coat ceremony may seem like a small thing because technically they’re “not a dentist yet” and “they haven’t actually done anything.” But for me its huge, it marks the end of one chapter and the start of another. I spent SO MUCH time with Mariam this past year and we got closer than ever. After she moved out, it felt weird not sitting next to her in our weekly Sunday breakfasts, or talking to her late at night or even getting picked up after school. Roomy’s white coat ceremony really hit me hard because I realized that time flew by and she’s really left home. But I’m happy and proud of Mariam, because she’s living her best life and if there was one person who deserves it, its Mariam. Honestly, she worked her butt off and I can only hope to be a fraction of her - Roomy, thanks for being my inspiration, love you girl <3. 

UI Turfs and Breaks

As I yawned for what felt like the billionth time, my eyes started to water out of exhaustion and I let out a big sigh. My brother, Bara, noticed my exhaustion and asked, “hey I’m going to turfs if you wanna come.” Initially, I was annoyed - he clearly saw I was fighting to keep my eyes open so why would he ask if I wanted to go play soccer. Then I thought about it, I glanced at the clock and it read 6:32, I realized I’d been studying for 6 hours straight. It made sense, I did the physics worksheets, Latin homework, English reading, history questions, and a bunch of smaller tasks. When Bara asked if I wanted to go to turfs he didn’t ask for the sake of being polite, he wanted me to come so that I could take a break. 

Half an hour later I was standing in the goal attempting to block his kicks, but it got boring very soon - we wanted to play an actual game. My brother approached these random guys who looked like they just finished a game and asked them if they were going for another round. “Yeah we’ll probably start in a few, and we’re playing last one back can touch with hands - so no goalkeepers.” said a tall guy who I would eventually figure out is named Clay. At first I told my brother I didn’t want to play because I’ve never played any position other than keeper, but he refused and said that I’m at the turfs, so I have to play in a game. A few minutes later I was playing defense and had just gotten body nudged to the side.

Playing defense on the field was a lot different than playing keeper. Instead of having to stay behind the players at all times, I needed to push my way through and try to get in the action. Also I needed to make spontaneous decisions. When playing goalie, it’s a lot of pressure to save the ball, but once I had it in my hands, I could take my time to survey my options and get the ball to the best place. This was different, and somewhat uncomfortable because I wasn’t used to planning ahead and being aware of where all the people in my team are. Especially since they kept moving around. Also, at the beginning I felt a lot of pressure because my brother has never played with this group of people, so everytime I messed up, it reflected negatively on him. Luckily though, my team was good with guiding me where I should be and giving me easy passes to pass to someone open. 

Five - that’s the number of times I had the ball in the first half hour. Surprisingly enough, I didn’t mind. My team realized defense wasn’t the best position for me because I was good at pressuring people and getting them to make mistakes; and defense was mainly trying to get possession of the ball. I played forward for the second half of the game, and although I usually wouldn’t win the ball, I would at least mess up the plays of people from the other team. I’ve played with countless groups of people and this one definitely had the most skills. Seeing how well they played from the earlier game, I was nervous to play with guys so much older than me. Once the game started and I messed up the first pass and I got nervous. I didn’t enjoy it until my teammates started yelling encouraging words and they were pushing me to better myself. I didn’t realize it until afterwards but going outside and playing soccer with my brother and a bunch of strangers was a good break to not think about school and clear my mind.