Spiritual Exhaustion
trying my best to combat it
I keep going to write, wanting to write, wanting to contribute something useful. Do what I set out to do with this substack, write recipes, share stories and recommendations. Wanting to share my thoughts. But, nothing feels appropriate. None of it feels good enough.
Since the ‘ceasefire’ fell apart in March, and as we watch on as Gaza starves, it’s hard not to fall into complete hopelessness. I fight the feeling daily, talk myself out of a spiral, feeling spiritually exhausted and increasingly isolated. How odd, to dedicate my life to sharing our food, flavours and joy with others, whilst simultaneously watching Gaza crumble into famine. How harrowing, to look on as the world turns its gaze away. Words fail me every day, they seem to have lost meaning.
It appears by design, to wear us down into a state of such helplessness, that we give up, so I know this is why we march on. I am in no way defeated. I take solace in the knowledge of all the forms our resistance takes, each one being integral to preserving our identity and refusal to be erased. It’s what propels me forward every day, emboldened by the will of our people.
But also, what an absolute total mind fuck to be confronted with the possibility of our very existence slipping through the fingers of global consciousness. How does something like that happen? It feels impossible to process. The notion we have progressed as societies, that colonialism and empires don’t still run rampant, have wilted, and what we are left with chills me. The depravity that has been uncovered over the last 19 months should forever change us all.
(photos taken in Palestine, and in the shop by Safia Shakarchi)
I don’t know why I feel some kind of responsibility to provide a counter to the bleakness. It can often feel too much to bear. But in these moments I think about visits of mine to Palestine. Of standing in front of the television with my cousin rapping all the words to ‘Lose Yourself’, never missing a beat, of driving around Ramallah with him some 15 years later. Of sitting around a table with all my family, eating teta’s (grandmothers) food. Of sitting in my cousins vineyard, or simply strolling around the old city with my dad. These memories were not formed without difficulties, but they are my connection to a homeland I so desperately hold onto and that feel so precious now. I think of the generosity of all my family and family friends, who have given me so much over the years. The generosity of Palestinian spirit knows no bounds, I think it is genetic.
I believed I had time to form a personal relationship with Palestine in my adulthood. I was on the precipice of starting on that path, forging my own path with it now. I feel closer than I ever have whilst also feeling so far, so blocked, so disconnected. I live in fear that it’s an opportunity I won’t have anymore. Positivity or optimism don’t feel like the appropriate responses to have it this moment. But I hold onto images like premonitions, to power me through. They will always remain the same. An end to our suffering, and for justice to be brought to our people.
To take my partner to a free Palestine. I dream of walking through the old city with my future children. I’ll take them for falafel and ful for breakfast in Ramallah, for a fish lunch in Yaffa, then knafeh for dessert in Jerusalem. It will be a beautiful day.
To stay up to date with what is happening in Palestine I have shared some pages to follow below;