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Category Archives: Identity

From terrible, to v good poetry

It has been a minute since I wrote you, and for this I am sorry. I have read every single message you sent, and I thank you for your overwhelming…

Childhood in Gaza: Of Coffee Cups, Figs & Letters

“You have to pick them before the birds do in the morning.” “At 10?” “In the morning…earlier, Maha.” “9?” “No.” “It’s the weekend, seedo. The birds will be sleeping because…

Wedding RINGS have dislodged me

Editorial Note #1:This article was originally published 11/11/02. I am currently on holiday and unless titled Dispatches, then what you are reading was scheduled for publication in advance of my…

Mark, my imaginary friend

Editorial Note #1: This article was originally published in 2011. I am currently on holiday and unless titled Dispatches, then what you are reading was scheduled for publication in advance…

If Toilets Would Speak (to an immigrant)

Editorial Note: The following was originally published on 8 March 2012. In honour of Canada Day, I am re-posting. I was recently in Nova Scotia for work, and had a…

Immigrants + fatsos

Of late, I have been quite heavily and v happily wrapped in citizenship issues and questions. I understand this struggle of immigration on a personal level and also the depth…

Nerd Childhood Memories

.1. The very first time I carried a UNICEF box, I was mesmerized by it. Proportionally, I was about the same size as the box itself, only it was —…

Ya Fattah, Ya Salaam

For a variety of reasons, some rooted within my messy relationship with baba during my teenage years, others rooted in painfully challenging situations with men, I often struggled with trust….

York Uni press likes your girl, it seems

Two months back, I was caught not knowing what to write. Often, my head is so filled with thousands of stories that the only thing I can see with my…

Christmas trees adrift…

The early years after my parents fell out of love with one another and divorced, I didn’t much act out against my mother. One way I did act out is…

Girls As Women

I am the little one, with head shaped like a potato. The beautiful woman is my patrilineal grandmum Standing by the Mediterranean’s wintered coastline at Gaza, in approximately 1980, my…

You will get yours sooner or later. Trust.

Once upon a time, there was a group of friends. Amidst these individuals was a girl whom we shall call “Maha.” On a sunny Saturday morning, Maha left for a…

Killing Us Softly

Do you love women? Do you respect women? Are you against sexualized violence? Abuse? Hate? Manufactured realities? Profit over people? Then you need to watch the following riveting two part…

Even baggies have hearts

A little girl, asked where her home was, replied, “where mother is.” ~Keith L. Brooks Often, I have teased my mum about the weird seeds she saves in her fridge….

Fathers

I was at a stop light watching a child who couldn’t have been older than four years old. She was holding on to her father’s hand and hanging, legs and…

A Childhood Photograph

When my matrilineal grandmother – teeta – died, found in her night table drawer was the most important photograph she’d carried with her throughout her life. Teeta came from what…

the Prolific Immigrant (me)

Dear Reader, Oh look. I’ve gone and changed the title again. As starting point, I would like to introduce you to the lunatic + lovely coupling which brought forth yours…

Hong Kong Dispatch no 2

I had an hour and twenty minutes yesterday between the workday and then an evening work dinner. Juiced on perhaps 18 coffee and tea combinations, I decided to MTR myself…

James Joyce had nothin’ on yer blogMistress

A snippet of last night’s conversation…consider yourself warned. Aalya: “I heard this kid call out ‘PARMINDER! PARMINDER! OVER HERE!’ and so I expected to turn around and see a little…

World Cup Football and Memories of Gaza

My very first memory of futbol was as a baby of less than four years. My father played on a local team and my mom and I would watch and…

Wild cows don’t graze in Nova Scotia (nor do they come from Europe)

My parents had intended to name me ‘Nuha’. Unfortunately for them, the time of my birth proved that my mother had been carrying nothing more than a set of eyes…