This Word Document view is pushed to
the left, and I do not have any idea how to fix it. What else can I do if I can’t
manage an outdated word processor? I kept thinking about all sorts of philosophies
and technical knowledges in which my interest has no boundaries, yet here I am
,stuck with the smallest of nuisance, and I can’t do anything about it.
I have realized
that it is not in my power to decide when and how I should write. When I wished
to write something real bad, I often end up staring at the screen throughout
the night with perhaps a paragraph or
two, and nothing else. The words I had written then would appear to be so
repugnant and compulsively condescending. I could not write something good if
it was not by the request of my conscience; not borne of my desires, even
though I willed myself so hard to write.
The desire and the ability to write something
from the heart is something impulsive. The idea and the whole composition of
words would come like a revelation; and I would feel the urge to write
overwhelming myself all over; a feeling akin to drowning. I would be gasping
for air, my heart pumps harder out of adrenaline, and I would stop doing
anything at that moment to type or scribble away on scraps of paper.
But most of
the time that kind of impulse never presented itself; pretty much like sunny
days in an autumn. I longed for it and mulled over the feeling in front of the
laptop with almost a perverted longing. I would write out pointless things like
this note and end it abruptly; and I would never continue writing on the
sentences I left unfinished.
I wish to
write about Palestine and pour my tears over every word, and tell the world how
disgusted I feel, but every word seems so hypocritical I end up stuck again.
There are rallies , charity bodies giving their account numbers, and all sorts
of people reminding you not to eat at Mc Donalds. After a few more men are
killed, the Israeli and the Palestinians
would sign a treaty of some sort to stop the atrocities, and thus peace had
returned again.
The cries
for Palestine on the internet would die down , as if people has forgotten
everything that ever happened. It is there in their minds, but there is no need
to voice it out anymore, because everyone else had stopped in the midst of
their enthusiasm. During the heights of the killings they would throw insults
on everyone who did not share their statuses about Palestine or those who
appeared not to care. When Palestinians are murdered , it is wrong to watch
football or play games or buy new cars or eat at restaurants while the Palestinians
starve. You can’t even feel happy because it is fundamentally wrong to be so while our brothers are dying, because it
is schadenfreude, although by God’s name, we take no pleasure in the suffering
of others.
People
mock others over their apparent ignorance, and they craft the most cynical
words possible, as if being cynical ever stopped a murder. If anything , people
grudge and direct their enmity towards cynics who put themselves in high places and curse
others as ignorant peasants who know nothing but hedonistic pleasures and
endless consumption. I think that if there is a statistic about the character
of murdered people, cynical people who exerted themselves to appear wittingly
sarcastic at all times would top the charts.
Then
the killings would slow down and the bastards would retreat to their holes, and
the sarcastic cries would stop. “Yougottadance”, said the mythical sheepman in
Murakami’s Dance Dance Dance to the confused protagonist. Dance to the rhythm,
said the sheepman, so that the poor guy would follow the flow of fate decided
upon him. The attack on Palestine has been a yearly routine of
attack-kill-treaty, and so has been the
concern of people over the oppressed land ; it rises and dies away yearly like
some sort of an annual festival. Next year , when the Zionists start killing
again, we are ready with slightly improvised sarcastic comments for our
ignorant friends.
Edward Said wrote
in his Representations of the Intellectual about the characteristics of
enlightened people in bringing reform and ideas to the people, but he warned
against cynism because it always involves reductionist views. Gabriel Garcia
Marquez in his account about the Buendia family wrote with a passive
neutrality, even when the members of the family did the vilest of acts. It
seems like he was merely an observer amidst the town of Macondo, not a righteous
shmuck hell bent on preaching his views. He showed his respect towards the
intellect of his readers, and he let them be the judge for the deeds done by
the numerous Aurelianos and Arcadios. There was no need to be cynical, yet his
100 Years of Solitude was widely acclaimed to correlate intimately with the social
and political conditions of the Latin people.
I feel
hopeless and weak, and I despair for the fact that I do not have the strength and
the wealth to change the way things are, but you don’t have to mock me and add
to my despair for things even you can’t do. I sat drinking tea not too long ago
beside the Azhar Mosque in Cairo, when
almost two dozen kids ,one after another came to me , selling tissues and
asking for money. I thought that if
I had the capacity I would marry all their mothers who live on the streets and
take these children as my own, but then someone would get really mad. The kids harassed me for change, and as they went
away they took my salted pistachios on
the table and ran. As I watch the salted nuts become the next victim, I realized
that all of those wishes were merely wishful thinking which won’t develop into actions. I won't ever take these children home or give them food, because apparently it is a crime to do so.
They are
all empty big words, you sarcastic bastards.
