As I barely use social media these days I did not share anything regarding the hell we're witnessing daily all over the world. On the following lines I share some thoughts about safety on a global and local scale.
But first there are resources out there carefully provided by thoughtful and mourning collectives and individuals, see for example GEM collective: Palestine solidarity statement & resources list (gemcollective.org)
Has the privilege of being safe a taste?
Has the privilege of being safe a shape?
It has no weight – that I know.
I moved to Bruxelles a few weeks ago. Weeks during which part of the world decided genocides are the answer to terror. Read that again. Weeks during which part of the world decided genocides are the answer to terror.
Fear hugs me tighter than the corsets in Bridgerton.
Words blocked somewhere – the whole body a big fat question mark.
Questions painful to formulate because the answer lived by brown and black bodies their entire life. It’s whispered framing it more cruel, “actually we don’t care”.
It was in these weeks during which part of the world decided genocides are the answer to terror I felt safety.
In my everyday I felt safe. I enjoyed Bruxelles. Getting to know it in the light and in the dark - during days and during nights.
3 weeks I had the privilege of tasting nothing.
3 weeks I had the privilege of safety’s shapelessness.
3 weeks I felt no weight.
It was Saturday night of the third week and I had a man following me for solid 10 minutes.
Not leaving..
Insisting..
Following..
Creeping..
To cut the painful story short, in the end I ran home. I made it inside, heart beating, breath fast. An unfinished traumatic reaction now stored somewhere in my body.
Safety gone.
Taken away without any dialogue, without any consent.
Are there any witnesses? What does the one do that witnesses?
So, what next? I realised I see that man everyday in the park when I walk my dog. Every day he is present. Maybe not even recognising me, but I do.
So, what next? Kickboxing, Muay Thai to regain a sense of strength. A sense of autonomy over my body, over my sweat, over my heart beat. Because although, I struggled making it through the doors of a new gym after the past 18 months in Leicester the fear of Bruxelles streets is now bigger than the doors of a new gym.
SURTHRVING
Surviving + Thriving
And what if you do not have a gym to go to?
What if you have nowhere to go to?
What if the fear eats you alive?
What if parts of the world watch you while fear eats you alive?
Claiming their Zionist actions are there to protect. To make things safe. But safe for whom? Safe to bodies that look and pray alike. I still have that man hovering over me cloud-like. I still have the acid taste of fear every day darkness hugs Bruxelles. And beyond all that bodies become cold in the shadow of the Zionist cloud. Can cold bodies still taste fear?
There are many witnesses. What does the one do that witnesses?
Has hope a taste?
Has hope a shape?
It is heavy – that I know.
Until things become tasteless and shapeless. Hopefully we surthrive.
thank you Joelle and Bridget for holding space.
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