palestinian

I couldn’t find flowers the colour of your smile

my work was recently published in the HARAKA issue of Azeema magazine

my work was recently published in the HARAKA issue of Azeema magazine

I recently wrote a piece for Azeema mag titled “I couldn’t find flowers the colour of your smile”, a title inspired by a letter my father wrote to my mother in the late 1980s. At the time, my mother was living in Damascus and my father was serving in the Jordanian military making letters and postcards the only viable form of communication. I found these letters as well as a set of photographs that my mother kept stashed away in a worn out tie-dye album, and began examining them. These pieces of my parents’ history began to form a a larger picture in my mind of who I am - like pieces of a puzzle I have been trying to piece together for the longest time.

After interviewing my mother and asking her a million and one questions about why she never showed anyone these letters and photographs, I began writing an ode to their relationship. I never realised how much the Occupation had influenced their connection and it dawned on me that, had the Occupation never happened, there was a very high probability that my parents wouldn’t be together today. I worry that this take might romanticise the Occupation - but that is far from my intention. My intention is to showcase the ways in which the Occupation was a source of incredible pain for my parents and their families as well as a mobilising force of love; love that was passed down to me and my sisters. The Occupation taught us resilience, and in this case my parents’ love is a form of resilience.

I always felt a responsibility to be part of a movement to re-write our histories. This piece is my way of re-writing the narrative about the Palestinian experience, through a personal and individual lens. Global forces have made sure that the Palestinian experience was always written for us, and my writing aims to combat that by sharing a more humanising story within a larger story of what it means to be Palestinian today.

To read the whole piece, you can either grab a copy of Azeema’s HARAKA issue or through this link.




daily inspiration: tanya habjouqa 

source: lensculture.com

source: lensculture.com

I think I've found my forever woman crush. Tanya Habjouqa is everything I aspire to be - witty, smart, confident, vibrant, emotional, energetic, spirited and a world-class photographer. She's the winner of the World Press Photo (Photo of the Year) in 2015 and was my recently my mentor at Gulf Photo Plus Photo Week 2018. From 7 - 12 February I was part of a workshop lead by Tanya (workshop of my dreams frankly) that brought together a group of 10 Arab photographers working on long-term documentary projects. I can't even express how I feel about the last 5 days. Being around Tanya for that long was just... rejuvenating. I never felt more motivated to go out there and share the stories I believe matter so much. 

It was an experience I am so humbled to be a part of, mostly because I got to see some of Tanya's most recent work - which often touches on the political tensions of Palestine/Israel as well as the war in Syria - and also because I got to be intellectually stimulated by an Arab woman I fiercely admire. Tanya's work challenges the Occupation and Israeli apartheid in subtle ways making the audience question the short stories in each image. Her work also shares tragic stories of love and loss in the aftermath of the Syrian refugee crisis. My most favourite project of hers is "Tomorrow There Will be Apricots" - a title that insinuates sunshine harbours darkness when translated to Arabic. "Tomorrow There Will be Apricots" is a metaphor for broken dreams and wishes unfulfilled. Tanya's intense passion for the stories of the people photographed is awe inspiring. 

For more of Tanya's work click here or here

on my shelf: salt houses by hala alyan

photo from sparknotes.com

photo from sparknotes.com

(This content was originally curated for my monthly newsletter follow the halo. sign up here.)

Written by Palestinian-American Hala Alyan, Salt Houses is a book about the Palestinian exodus in the years after the illegal formation of the state of Israel. The book focuses on the stories of the women in a Palestinian refugee family, and exposes the "intergenerational trauma" that is the result of mass displacement. Alyan writes based on experience, and in an interview with NPR interestingly shares: 

"When I wanted to get married, one of the things that I didn't really have the luxury of was asking my mother if I could wear her wedding dress, or asking my grandmother if I could wear her wedding dress. My grandmother lost hers when she moved to Kuwait. My mother lost hers in Kuwait after the invasion. They're lost in the rubble of time and movement and displacement. We don't have heirlooms." 

Personally, I can't relate more to this. As a Palestinian, I can't think of a more fitting way to explain the trauma of being 3rd generation displaced - that there are no heirlooms, no photographs to go back to, no love letters, no documentation of our personal histories. For more on Hala Alyan and Salt Houses click here