A GHOST, A FRIEND

in ,
 

Up on the hillside
I’ve found a place to hide
Far from the people
And the city lights

Then came a friendly ghost
Who sang me lullabies
I didn’t speak her language
So I thanked her with my eyes

She said ooh
I said I know

She held me by the finger
As ghostly as can be
I felt the warmth within her
Transfer into me

I said ooh
She said I know

------
MUSIC: MAHMOOD AL ZADJALI
ART: HAYAT

 

PRAYING FOR SURVIVAL

in

You must survive.
Attempting to kiss your memory goodbye hurts every ounce of my being,
it exhausts every cell within me, it cripples my heart and burns my throat,
You must survive,
And the destiny that awaits me is lost In a motherland that’s left behind
forever,
my free floating spirit is left there In its trauma,
left to cage it's ache, left to battle
against its tyrant, left to fight a bit more and to love a bit more.
You must survive,
For here I am, yet again, overwhelmed with the inability to overcome the
sorrow of longing for a place that is more of a divine state that pulls me
into contentment,
more of a call to prayer that breathes new life into my ancient soul,
more of the sound of my beloved’s laughter,
more of the smell of a rain-covered street I found refuge In,
More of warmth, more of bliss,
more of ease and reminisce.
You must survive,
You will survive,
Oh dear, please do survive.

------
TEXT: RAWAN RAKAN

GENERATION SPACETOON

in

Spacetoon was a huge part of my life. As a kid, I wasn’t really interested in outdoor activities, sports or anything that remotely required physical energy. Since I liked staying indoors, I developed an obsession with this magnificent black box, the television. Everything about it fascinated me, the colors, the stories, the people; the fact that those people could exist in more than one channel was so trippy to me. I used to think there was more than one set and they’d run around trying to keep up with our nonchalant channel changing.

I remember my sister and I spent a lot of time begging our parents to buy one of those fancy receivers, that had English cartoon channels such as Disney, cartoon network etc. We lived in an apartment, so it was a bit of a hassle and I don’t think my parents’ were able to afford subscriptions back then. I remember a couple of days before the channel officially launched, they had the logo on standby and we were curious about it and if it was going to be exclusive to cartoons or not. Note that, this was before computers and knowing that we can watch things online instead of waiting to watch them on TV.

The channel officially launched and I was the happiest kid on the planet. They had so many Arabic cartoons, categorized them based on planets, there was almost no commercial breaks, cartoons had specific timings and reruns (back then we used to change channels till we found cartoons). It was cartoons heaven. Back then, I used to take pride in “Arabic cartoons”, but in high school I found out that they’re all dubbed Japanese anime. Yes, it hurt, but when I tried watching them in Japanese, it didn’t feel as special. I had just learned about online streaming websites and torrents, illegal but the only resort to watching whatever we wanted at any time. Internet wasn’t as fast as it is in 2016, I’d go make tea or instant noodles and come back just to make the video load midway. Buffering was one of the most hated words back then. There were ‘western’ cartoons around in several channels, but most of them –I realize now- were focused on extreme happiness and keeping kids in a safe bubble of bright colors, cute voices, baby suns and “funny” slapstick comedy. It seems to me that they just existed to waste time or give kids something to watch after school, or as a reward for good grades and eating vegetables or simply to stay indoors in the weekend. However, in anime, the topics were overwhelmingly heavy and often bittersweet. We learned how to accept that not everything ends up on a cheerful note like most Disney cartoons and films. Every single dubbed anime contained adult messages that we may have not completely comprehended but somewhat understood. Over the years when I re-watched most of these cartoons, I started noticing how they low-key influenced me, as a person. I started noticing it in my choice of colors, art, the way I carry myself as a 25 year old Arab woman. As an adult, re-watching most of these cartoons would emotionally wreck me, but at the same time, heal me. There’s no escape from sadness, inhumanity, or even death, but I realize that being exposed to these cartoons made it less shocking and more predictable. I’m not saying it made me a pessimist, but I consider myself emotionally ready to feel everything at once.

As a student in a school that focused on English, learning Arabic was an absolute pain. No matter how much my mother worked on making it fun, we just had no interest in it. Spacetoon’s dubbed cartoons made us enjoy Arabic as a language, it made us want to somehow talk like the characters even if we sounded slightly ridiculous. "كيف حالك يا أمي" was greeted with “بخير، الحمد لله”, and that alone would make us feel like absolute badasses. Moreover, the music production of these cartoons still give me chills from how powerful the lyrics are, and how intense the singers made sure they were; softly engraving them in our memories. Anyone who used to watch Spacetoon regularly will sing almost all the intros if given the time, and the right crowd. Most of the highlights of my friendships involved listening to old Arabic cartoons’ intros and singing our lungs out. I personally feel that Spacetoon was one of those rare things that can easily unite us as kids from MENA, instead of focusing on how much we differ in dialects, culture, and traditions; we all watched dubbed anime and enjoyed every bit of it.

It has been a really long time since I sat down in front of the TV, I don’t have anything against it, but the convenience of the laptop and streaming online will always prevail. However, I have come across dubbed cartoons (not necessarily anime) in MBC 3, another popular kids channel in MENA that didn’t require special receivers, and the cartoons seemed very bland; the same bright colors, loud techno intros with messy and sometimes problematic lyrics. Nothing appealed to me. Even good English cartoons dubbed into Arabic lost a lot of their appeal because the stories make zero sense with the heavy conservative-we-don't-want-arab-kids-exposed-to-western-ideologies editing. Nonetheless, if it’s something this generation likes, sure. I do remember when my kid cousins were over, I’d play Hikayat Alamiya on youtube, and they were so confused that something with non-HD resolution; can be so enjoyable and informative. They asked so many questions, it wasn’t just another thing they were watching, it was something that was slowly making it’s way into their life’s timeline and I thought that was beautiful.

I’m forever thankful that Spacetoon was a huge part of my life, and that my parents never listened to us when we kept begging for fancy channels because it wouldn’t have been a huge part of my childhood. Spacetoon made us laugh, cry, understand emotions, the value of friendship, the importance of family and most of all, the importance of sadness. A lot of the animes that used to play back then were more on the sad side. I say sad, but as a grown up, I think most of them were slightly traumatic for our age. Needless to say, we understood sadness and how to be ok with it. We understood how cruel the world could be and the importance of kindness when Sally was treated like shit in the boarding school she couldn’t afford anymore. We understood determination when Reemy would never give up on people or finding her birth mother. When Alfredo died in Romeo’s arms, we understood how important friendships can be, and how they make us stronger and better people. We understood how the people we love might never always be there. We wanted to be like Sindbad, travel the world, conquer monsters and meet new people. We wanted to be as smart as Detective Conan, low-key analyzing our surroundings and trying to figure out this life and what it means at a very young age. For some ridiculous reason, we wished animals would talk to us, and be our friends. We didn’t care if it was highly unlikely, because everything was possible back then.

------
TEXT: SARAH AHMED
ART: MOHAMMAD OSAMA

CARDBOARD BOX

It has been six hundred and sixty six days.
Six hundred sixty six days since I have been gone.
Six hundred sixty six days since I heard screams.
Six hundred sixty six days ago, I realized something was wrong with me.
I did not mind.
I was excited.
Then, I was taken.

Since I have been gone, I have learned a few things. That’s something you do when you’re living on the streets for more than a year. You learn and learn and learn until you cannot learn anything other than learning.

The streets are a rotten thing. Once you’re out there, it picks you up, drops you into its mouth and chews. It chews and chews until every single one of your bones are nothing but mush in its mouth. Then it spits you out, and subsequently, you learn.

The most important lesson I have learned in my time away was that family is more than blood. They never looked for me. They never went to the authorities. They never bothered. I was hiding. For a year and half I hid, waiting to see whether or not they would show any signs of missing me, of caring, of remembering, but there were none.

January 6, 2014, 6:10PM
Four hundred twenty six days since I left my so-called parents, the very people who are the reason I am alive, my “home.” I was casually relaxing in the alleyway I’ve been sleeping in for the time being, snuggled up next to my cardboard box, and enjoying the rain as it soaked my entire body while I mumbled, “Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day.” I’ve always loved the rain. Whenever it rained when I was still living at home, I would leave the house for hours, escaping the darkness. I loved walking in the rain, because no one could see me cry. Cry for myself, cry for the parents I don’t have, and cry because I knew there was something about me that was different. Something that made me feel excited when I saw that driver run over that cat. When the blood spilled all over the ground. When the man got out of his car and started crying hysterically. I liked it.

January 6, 2014, 6:46PM
A car screeched to a halt ten feet away. Someone stepped out. They walked towards me. It is a man. He’s right in front of me. He pulls out a gun and presses it against my forehead. I smile, continuing to chant the nursery rhyme.

Finally.

September 2, 2014
Two hundred and thirty nine days since he took me. It’s been two hundred and thirty nine days of pure bliss. He gave me a home, food, a bed. He gave me a glimpse of what family is really like. He supported me. His wife held me when I was at my lowest, when I was going through one of those days where I just knew I wasn’t meant to be here. I felt so utterly alone, until he came that day and rescued me.

The gun. I never found out why he pointed that gun at me, but after a few minutes of just blatantly staring at him and singing the nursery rhyme, he put the gun away and extended his hand. He told me if I accepted it, he’d help me, and he did. He took me to Athens, Georgia, and I started a new life. I started again. He supported me all throughout, and I was homeschooled for the rest of my junior year. When I got an A on my Geometry test, he told me he was proud of me and got me ice cream. When I failed my History test, he told me it was okay, that he was still proud. He got me ice cream again. He continuously showed support and care, and I didn’t have to face the outside world as much because he understood me. I didn’t have to face the looks people would send my way. I didn’t have to face the fact that I knew that everyone thought something was wrong with me. So what if I enjoyed the whimpers of the dog I ran over with my bike? So what if the sound of a gun shot made me feel invincible? So what if I liked what was wrong with me. SO WHAT IF THEY THINK I’M CRAZY?

“Psychopath” I hear them whisper. Psychopath is better than no path.

I am terrifying and strange and beautiful, something not everyone knows how to understand, how to love.

Tomorrow, after six hundred and sixty six days, I will see them again, and I will show them. I will show those two heartless people who were supposed to be like him. Instead they just used my heart, because theirs wouldn’t start. They’re the reason I’m like this.

And I’m out for vengeance.

September 3, 2014, 5:57PM
Six hundred and sixty six days since I’ve seen them. The house hasn’t changed one bit. The same old tree, the same old broken doorstep. All the same.  Like I was never gone. He drove me out here. He said I’m doing the right thing. I got out of the car and he parked around the corner.

Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
My heart continues to beat exceedingly fast. Nervous? No. It’s exhilaration.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.

I knock the door three times quickly, matching my heart rate. I’m met with silence. I wait. Then I hear it, the clicking of a lock. The door is thrown open, and I’m met with the stunned faces of the two people who were supposed to be my guardians, and not just the legal ones.

“Jett,” my mother breathes, and then she bursts into tears. She pulls me into a hug, but I remain stiff, unwilling to return the hug. She seems to realize that and pulls away awkwardly. She tells me to come in and I do. I stand there, in the entrance of what was supposed to be my sanctuary, and memories flash through my mind.

Screams, tears, grunts, belts, knives, and my mother who stood in a corner and watched. Not shedding a single tear.

They both face me. My father’s body is stiff as he observes me. He hasn’t changed.

“Son-” he starts, but I don’t let him continue. I pull out a small revolver and both of their eyes widen in shock.

“Where did you get that? Why do you have it?” He asked harshly. He tried to grab it from me, but he quickly stopped as he realized I was pointing it at my temple.

“Listen to me,” I said, but my father was quick to interrupt.

“Son just-” he began, but I cut him off.

“I SAID LISTEN TO ME.” I screamed. Both their eyes grew so big they could have fallen out of their sockets.

“Listen to me,” I repeated, “I came here today to tell you two a story. A story I hope you will learn from.” They nodded for me to continue. “I left. Yeah, I left, and I’m glad I did. But you know, during the first week I thought ‘Hm, maybe they will look for me. Maybe they will realize what morons they were. Maybe they will realize that they actually love me.’ However, nothing happened. I thought ‘okay, I’ll give them another week.’ But again, nothing. I hid in alleyways for weeks waiting for you to come looking for me. I waited and waited and waited until one day it hit me. ‘They’re not coming for me.’  I cried that day. I cried because my own parents, not great ones either, did not want to find me. Did not want me.” I paused to take a breath.

“But then I tried to think of it from your point of view. I thought, ‘maybe they didn’t want to deal with a child that isn’t natural, that isn’t right.’ I let myself think that for ninety-eight minutes. Then I got angry.” I smirked at them, and they stepped back slightly, probably noticing the peculiar glint in my eyes. “I was infuriated as to why my parents would do this. Surely the people who are the reason I’m alive were prepared to deal with whatever they received. Isn’t that what family is supposed to do? Support you through everything? But no, no. Not you two!” I let out a laugh, “No! You two probably prayed for an hour thanking whomever for finally having me gone! I was livid.”

“I wanted to do things. Bad things. Things that made my heart race in anticipation and excitement. I wanted to set you on fire and watch you while you calcinate like a piece of rotten bacon.”

“Jett, sweetheart, how could you say that? We’re your family!” My mother cried.

“Family?” I questioned, “Family?” I choked out. “You two are no family to me. Family is the cardboard box that sheltered me from the rain for half a year. Family is the stray cat that shared its food with me. Family is the man who took me. Who showed me that the way I am is okay. Who gave me support, education, food, and a roof over my head. Family is his wife who held me when I cried for days because I still wasn’t over the abandonment. You two, you are not family.” I took a step back, “You two are the people whose blood I share, and nothing more. You’re nothing to me. I hope you have learned from this, and I pray you don’t have another child either.” I clicked the safety off the revolver, “I hope I am your last.” I said, and just as I was about to pull the trigger, something flashed, and in an instant everything became white.

I am terrifying and strange and beautiful, something not everyone knows how to love.

I suddenly remembered the faint smell of gunpowder in his car.

Maybe he didn’t know how to either.

------
TEXT: LAMAR BALUBAID

COMPILATION: MEMORIES WITH GRANDPARENTS

NOURA

My Grandmother used to put Jasmine in my hair

***

JOHARA

The day before Eid, my great grandma would mix her own henna and put it on our palms before we slept. Back then, I hated it because it burnt my hands and I thought it was for old people, but now, I wish she was around to do them every Eid. Allah Yirhamha (May she rest in peace).

***

FATIMA

We'd water the plants and then go in for afternoon tea and biscuits and she'd tell me all kinds of stories.

***

LUNA

My grandad taking us gardening with him. He got us gardening clothes like the ones he wears, and we'd get FRESH apples.

***

JESS

Watching abdelhalim movies with my tea, following judo around the garden with a lil bucket for the cucumbers & tomatoes we'd pick.

***

ALI

She used to put (basil) on her bed, and it smelled so good.

***

MARYAM

My grandma always used to boil hot water and put some Vix in it and cover my head for me to inhale it whenever I had the flu.

When I had long hair, I used to always go to my grandma to braid it, because she used to give me hella tight braids that I loved.

My grandma's remedy for everything ever is korkom and mill7 for anything. I remember when she taught me how to do it when I was 13 - 14.

My grandma likes putting henna on her feet frequently. Since I was 12, she would draw outlines and I'd fill 'em with a spoon.

My grandma can't read or write, but since I was a kid, she'd make us sit and teach her numbers so she can write down phone numbers down.

My other grandma is hilarious, she had to start wearing glasses recently and she wears them over her burqa, she looks so badass. 

She used to make me teach her Quran (she couldn't read) she'd ask where the verse would start and end to trace it with her finger.

***

AMJADO

.دايم تتابع مسلسلات بدوية وتسمعها لي وتأشر عالرجال الي بالمسلسل تعلمني مين يحب ومين راح يقتل

***

ARDO

My grandma used to sing to me and play with my hair while I laid my head on her lap. My mom used to do the same to us a long time ago, but she stopped after she died.

***

LEEN

She got me a fake nose piercing when I told her I wanted to pierce my nose. She couldn't convince my mom, so she improvised my rebellion. 

***

CAT

My grandma and I used to collect jasmines from the trees on the roadside in damascus and put 'em in a bowl of water as air fresheners. He sister who lives in Jordan still does this in the summer. It really is, the entire living room smells like jasmine for days.

***

MARWA

They're not safe for twitter, my taita had a potty mouth.

***

DANA

My sitee (grandma) used to construct a bed for me out of mattresses and pillows to lie down near her when she told me bedtime stories. She told stories her own grandma told her. Her stories still put all I've read to shame. 

 

------
COMPILATION: NOURA ALZUBI