My Circumstance

backyard picnics

I’ve been thinking about circumstance quite a bit lately, the cards you’re dealt. It’s easy to look at those cards individually and see how crappy it is, there’s absolutely no way you can win this game. The game is rigged against you, the other player’s have the better cards, they’ve got the joker, they’re going to win, and you’re going to lose. 

C’est La Vie.

This is life. 

You can’t win every game, and you can’t always have all the good cards. Sometimes you lose, and that is okay. It’s not the win that is important, it is how you win and how you lose, what you do in between and how you react to the cards you’re dealt. 

How you react to the cards you’re dealt. 

This is the lesson that I am learning at 26. It’s how you react to your circumstance is what matters, not the circumstance itself. You may not be able to control or change your situation, but you can control and change your reaction to it.

I lost a grandparent in 2017, my mother was diagnosed with cancer in early 2018, my dad was diagnosed with cancer in late 2018. In early 2019 my mom finished her treatment, this followed with my dad and the beginning of his. In late 2019, I was in the room as I watched my Aunt die, and in 2020, well, need I say more? It was easy for me to see these cards and say “I’ve been dealt a crappy hand.” It was. Although these circumstances have touched me, and affected me in one way or another, they are not actually my reality. 

My reality is that most people don’t get a chance to spend a beautiful summer with their grandmother in a once in a lifetime trip, hold hands and spend nights talking about her good old days. Most people lose their mother and father to cancer, in fact, I know a couple who have lost their beautiful mothers so prematurely. Most people don’t get a chance to say goodbye, and I had the chance to say goodbye to my aunt. And although loss is painful and it stays with you for the rest of your life, and although cancer is, for lack of a better word, a fucking bitch, it is a part of life, it is inevitable, it is expected. It is life. And if I plan on living my life, the only one I have, fulfilled, I needed to stop seeing these situations with the lens of “this is my reality”.

I would say about late April, I got into my head way too much and started reacting in such a way that was detrimental to my health. I felt stuck. I’ve always had this gnawing insecurity with my role in the world. I was afraid I wasn’t tapping into my potential, that I would leave the world with untapped and unfulfilled potential. I’m surrounded by brilliant people who are so intelligent, creative and resourceful that I felt I wasn’t contributing in any way to society, that although I wanted to impact situations, people, laws, I wasn’t. And it seemed as though I would never get there.

What was even more detrimental, was the fact that I started to question who I was and what I liked. Do I actually like reading? Am I a biker? Do I enjoy running in the rain or is this someone else? Do I enjoy cooking and baking or am I just doing it for others? Am I a good writer? Should I write? Will people even care to read what I have to say? I found myself wondering if my favourite colour was blue and if my clothes matched my personality. What was my personality? Who am I? Who was I? Are those mutually exclusive? I didn’t even know what to identify as? What was I good at? Was I good at anything? I’m terribly afraid of heights but all those thoughts, questioning the very atoms that make me who I am shook my world, and I don’t think I’ve ever been this afraid. Ever. 

It’s weird, because from the outside, I’m sure it looks like I’ve got it way more figured  out than I do. But I don’t. Does anyone really? What we put on social media, on Instagram and Twitter is, as we all know, the best version of ourselves, but behind the screen, the post and the like, I’ve come to realize everyone has the same concerns, the same fears, the same aspirations, the same worries, our collective experience as humans are very similar, yet this is something that is hard for each and every single one of us to understand. We acknowledge that it is a collective experience, and yet when we are in this “slump” or “low” we are blinded by our own experience and the loneliness we feel in it, despite the fact that behind a like is a story of the same sadness you feel. 

To rewind back to April, I felt helpless and out of control. I couldn’t control my parent’s health and I couldn’t control the health of planet earth. The weight of those two situations were far too heavy for me to take on by myself. And as absurd as it may sound, I blamed myself. How could I not control the outcome of a CT scan? Of a cell so small I can crush with my own bare hands? How can I not do something to help the innocent 11 year old boy in Slemani with months to live because of his kidney failure? Why could’t I impact governments and change policies? Why couldn’t single handedly stop Turkey from killing my people? Every day we’re inundated with news of a new global crisis. How do you pick and choose what to fix? How do you decide where to put your energy? Who to fight for? What to fight for? There’s just too much that needs to be changed, to be fixed. So often, instead of doing anything, we end up doing nothing. And I felt so out of control, that that is exactly what I did, nothing. We wallow in our own exhaustion. We drown ourselves in the noise and turn on the new Netflix show or scroll through Instagram to avoid having to confront the issues all around us. What I failed to realize is that in my attempt to try and fix everything and everyone around me, to no avail, I neglected myself. I was not the best version of myself, I didn’t even recognize myself. 

Here I was, the only variable I had control over, the only thing I could change, and yet for a good 26 years, I completely ignored myself. I realized I needed to stop changing the world, fixing everyone and everything around me, I needed to stop focusing on circumstances beyond my control. I can’t be an activist, a politician, a doctor, a philanthropist, and superwoman all at once. It is physically impossible. The exhaustion of the weight of the world paralyzed me, and unbeknownst to me, I couldn’t impact anything or anyone, If I couldn’t focus on myself. If I couldn’t figure out what was limiting me and my potential, then how could I ever impact anyone else to change. 

I look to the people who inspire me and move me, and most of them do so through leading by example. I think the most important lesson of all is that the world is paying attention. To inspire change and be impactful, you don’t have to say anything at all, because the words is watching, and many will start to question what they’re capable of, their potential and how much more they can do. This is what it means to lead by example, to inspire. It’s not words, it action. The minute you invest in yourself and who you are, is the minute that people will start to notice you, the change in you, your accomplishments, without even saying a word. So forget social media, forget the weight of the world, focus on yourself right now. The ripple effect that follows will be far more greater than you’ll ever know. That is the lesson. It might even be the greatest lesson of all.

Mardin
9/8/2020

an open letter to the PM

Dear Mr. Prime Minister Trudeau,

I invite you to come have dinner with me. Come to my home away from home. Welcome, as you walk into the foyer and see a Persian rug hanging, look closely, it tells a story. I’ll share her secrets with you, her journey through Persia to Iraq to Jordan and then finally to Canada. You’ll see the house filled with blue eyes that protect from the hidden evil of hearts unknown. Hey, you don’t have to take your shoes off, but I will take your coat, the weather is changing isn’t it, fall is soon arriving. Here, have a seat. Yes, these are rocks, two of which I packed back with me from Iceland, that was an interesting trip I took out of the blue, I’ll tell you more about it, but first, would you like coffee or tea? My mom makes a mean steeped tea. Oh, these, these are rocks from Kurdistan, you see there is this artist named Ismael Khayat, he draws on rocks and my aunt asked him to make those for us. Here have some chocolate covered almonds while I pour the tea. 

You see, Mr. Prime Minister, I didn’t ask you here to talk about rocks and Persian rugs, I invited you here to talk about what it’s like to be me, a young female Canadian Kurd. Although my story may be unique, sugar? No? Okay. Although my story may be unique, it is uniquely similar to thousands of other Kurds in Canada, in the USA, in Europe, in the diaspora and within Kurdish cities itself. And although Canada is not Kurdish, it has a history of fighting for what is right. Here try this, we call this “kleecha,” my favorite is this one right here, filled with walnuts. You see, standing up against dictators, is something Canada has not shied away from, which is why I am confused at your silence. Mr. Prime Minister, you ask me to vote for you, but how can I vote for you if you won’t hear my voice, I’m screaming, and shouting, at the top of my lungs and from the bottom of my heart, but do you hear me? Can you hear me? Can you hear us?

Justin, can I call you that? It’s just us here, no please and thank you, Sir or Madam, my people are dying. Oh, what wonderful people we are, but we are dying. The air is thick and opaque, the people are being led by fear across the red sea of bodies, the governments and the humanitarians have failed us. It’s a mass exodus. And yet, the wonders of our world, our reality, Justin, is that we are privileged, safe, protected. Let’s speak honestly, it’s just you and me, I don’t know what it feels like to be afraid of airstrikes, of losing my limbs or worse be forced into a cult of terrorists. I don’t know what it means to wake up and find out over twitter, that my family and I have to flee to neighboring cities, because a NATO ally is coming to cleanse us of our Kurdishness, of our identity, our language our existence. Do you know what it means? What does it mean to be a target of genocide for years? Does your wife? Do your children? 

The food is ready, this is yapraxi galawmew, its stuffed grapevine leaves, my favorite dish in the world. Here, let me show you how to eat it, take one and take a small piece of meat and make a sandwich. Trust me, I’ve been doing this for 23 years. You know, I cannot sleep, can you? I cannot sleep knowing that Canada is a land people take refuge in, immigrate to for a better life, and yet at the core of your neighbors’ decision is a human rights crisis that you chose to ignore. I’ll tell you what I think, I think this is happening too close to election time, and that is a price the Kurds will have to pay. 

Oh, you don’t have to do that, I’ll take your plate. Mr. Prime Minister Trudeau, there is no dessert today, I think there is no sweetness to life today or any other day for that matter, not until the world cries with us, not until we speak up against the atrocities of fascist states, not until we stand up to hate, to genocide, ethnocide, to the oppressor, for the oppressed. No sweets today.

I beg you to reconsider your stance, on your drive home, really think about the fact that you’re not being forced out, afraid of airstrikes overhead. I beg you to reconsider. I beg you to stand, I beg you to be an ally, I beg you to be a voice.

Sincerely, 
Mardin Hener

untitled

My Mother Tongue shakes the balance of your state,

My Women scare your men into slate,

My Mountains have helplessly observed our fates

As seasons pass and winters press, and foundations shake.

A people whom you’ve never seen

Are born with wings to fly over the scene

Of blood and bodies of the badly betrayed

My children are the cradle of death, here watch them laid.

And as the canons growl and howl

You’re left with an odourless foul,

This is your attempt for an angry fix to enrich your soul

With the abolishment of a Kurdish whole.

Our heroes, wounded will not bow

Their souls fixed on one vow.

Our poets and soldiers fight hand in hand

Creating vibrations over your so called land.

Blindly the world watches, only they don’t see

They don’t see that the Kurds are already free

Free from ignorance, greed and hate

Filled with Azadi we recreate.

We will not weep over those we mourn,

Those very roses that cut us with their thorn

Leaving us abandoned, stateless, and rights-less,

Will regret the day they chose to repress

A nation so grand, no matter how much they try,

Kurds will fight back and defy,

Pry all you want, we will not die,

And if guns and barrels are your only conviction

We will fight your attempt at extinction

We are Kurds and we have one reply

You’ve betrayed us enough, this is goodbye.

Mona Lisa

& her thoughts

Your friends are staggered in the rooms before and after you, while you stay stagnant in an empty, light, mustard yellow room. Everyday you see thousands of people, everyday you stand still knowingly posing for the hundreds of photos, yet you can’t help but feel alone, isolated in the glass box that separates you from the rest of the world. A smile is what you’re known for, and yet you wonder why, “Why does my smile bring such a grand allure? Why?” You ask yourself how is it that people cannot see the hollowness in your eyes, for you wear it like a scarlet letter for the townspeople to see.

There is a melancholic nature to you Mona Lisa, your eyes are sad. You watch the various faces come in and out, and you stand still like you always do, wondering whether they’re truly appreciating you or basking in superiority for being able to visit you. The more you look the more you know, you know this is not how you want to be remembered, this is not how you want to live, because when the camera’s disappear and the people are gone, you’re left in a darkened room in the middle of the night, alone, no companion, no friends, when you’re finally free to breathe and break free from your almost smile, you are left with an everlasting loneliness. You can hear your friends next door talking amongst themselves, laughing at the tourist who had to be escorted out because he dared touch one of the paintings, the Roman Antiquities come to life and start walking around, they stretch their stiff legs and visit the Gudea  to discuss the value of religion. Delacroix’s tiger’s come to life, roaming the halls of The Louvre hungry for their next prey. Your friends used to  visit you but they saw the sadness in your eyes, don’t see the grandeur of your portrait, and have since been discouraged from coming again.

Oh Mona Lisa, you’ve forgotten to use your words, you haven’t spoken in forever and you’re longing to scream is on the tip of your tongue but you’ve forgotten to. You’re saddened to never see the halls of The Louvre, visit Liberty, leading the people, peak in to visit Bathsheba at Her Bath. You often wonder, what if you were La Belle Ferronnière and she was you. Oh it must be extraordinary to exceptionally ordinary, to walk freely and breathe fresh air, to go beyond the four walls that you’re enclosed in. You lock eyes with everyone that come to see you, you wonder what it would be like if you switched out of your dress and switched into pants, place your hair up in a bun and walk away, visit the Seine, walk by the water, go in and out of the gift shops, oh how wonderful it must be to have someone to buy souvenirs too.

But your reality is that you will forever be enclosed in a glass box, bound by four walls, in an empty room filled with thousands of people. You will forever be alone as the crowds grow bigger. Mona Lisa, you are the best known, the most visited, the most written about, the most sung about, the most industrialized, and the most critical work of art in the world, and yet no one knows how misunderstood you are.

Mardin
19/03/2019