Writing history: saving Palestine

A fresh conversation with my father revealed the following advice:
“It’s easy to read history and mourn the deaths of innocents but what will you do when you have the chance to write history? When your pen can influence the mortality of thousands of innocents? Will you sit by and avoid the subject at hand and by doing so you are indirectly signing their death certificates. Can you live with that? Will you be able to read that history and looking back feel complacent with your actions or lack thereof? I know you love history my child, but your place is in the present.  Do something about it.”

So here I am writing about a topic that is both discomforting and disconcerting. If I’m being honest I loathe current affairs.  My penchant lies in history, I love learning about the events of the past and there have been gross human rights violation but that’s all they’ve been- a thing of the past.  Never did I deem it possible or even probable that one of the most austere crimes against humanity would occur within my lifetime in a peaceful place called Palestine.

The origins of the war in Palestine can be traced deep into the pediments of history. To be frank I do not care in the slightest what the reasons were. There is no justification for what is being inflicting upon the masses of gaza. To what point does a society have to deteriorate to sit back and allow such nefariousness to occur?

We should not just create awareness we should express outrage. For as long as the situation in Palestine is as it currently is the whole world  is guilty of bystander behavior. It is not just Palestine that needs saving, it is the humanity of human beings that need saving.

Use that voice you’re so blessed to have. Shout, scream and shriek in defiance. Be it on social media or in social gatherings. Express your discontent in every thinkable form. We will not be contented with writing this war into the volumes of history. We have the power to protect our race. We are more than muffled speakers. We are saviors and we will free our brothers and sisters in Palestine.

A trio of twelve years worth of blessing

Have you noticed how the characters in rhymes and fables occur in bouts of three? 
The Three Little Pigs
Goldie Locks and the Three Bears
Three Blind Mice
The Three Billy Goats Gruff…

My childhood was no exception. My first year of school saw to the introduction of three particular friends who would prove to stay long after the fairytale had ended.

Pinks-
You’ve always seemed to me a princess but as the calender progressed I saw just how regal a royal you are. We’ve bonded over a love for literature. When I think of you I think of books. Copious volumes of the most ardent content. I think your heart mirrors that quality; passionate gentleness and purity. As we progress through the chapters of life I’ve easily deduced that you’re one of my favourite characters.
♡

Fatzo-
You’re quite the Einstein at solving long, complex mathematical problems (isn’t math in general a conundrum?) but I don’t think either of us could have estimated what a lengthy companionship lay ahead of us that day I was so relieved to discover a girl in a classroom full of rowdy boys. You called me your “granny friend” in a missile on our tenth friendship anniversary. I dismissed it as a simple joke but now I see how apt that title is. It is true that our friendship has grown along with us and I hope to carry this title right till our roots show grey and our skin crinkles to form wrinkles.
♥

Aadi-
Your focus and dedicated work ethic have worked their way into our blossoming relationship.  Similarly  are your propensity to mention my graying hair (even though you are older) and limited vocabulary. If I hear another jab at my word fetish then I may just slam the wrath of the mass of the entire dictionary upon you! No thesaurus comes close to the extensive memories you’ve bestowed upon me. You always strive for 80% and over. If I had to grade our friendship I’d give it an A+
☆

Each of you have brought a unique and invaluable contribution to my life and I think that after twelve years of trials and tribulations at the ruthless hands of education it’s safe to say that the bonds we’ve formed are miles above average. Change is ever occurring but just as Goldie Locks and the Three Bears have remained on my bookshelf you three have been a comforting constant.
Thank you for showing me that friends are the fairytales of growing up 🙂

Your friend
_Quixotic Novelist

Wondrous women: Jackie Kennedy

If I had to choose an American president that I liked (not that I particularly like American presidents) I think,  after Roosevelt,  it would have to be Kennedy.

I accidentally encountered an edit of a letter written by Jacqueline “Jackie” Kennedy on November 22nd, 1963, the day Kennedy was assassinated.

Now Kennedy was not the most faithful of men. He had a score of affairs, most notably with the notorious Marilyn Monroe,  during his ten year marriage to his wife.

On the day of his death the couple seemed closer than ever. However appearances can be fallacious and misleading.  Jackie’s devotion afterward was not.

The backseat of their car was strewn in roses from adoring supporters and patriots. Yellow petals which would soon be drenched in the scent and scene of a blood bath. Then without warning Oswald struck and Jackie watched helplessly as her husbands skull was separated. Immediately she reached over to grab something. Securing it between her palms she proceeded to serve as a human shield for the President. In her shattering heart she knew he was dead but her compelling hope urged her on and she whispered “Jack, Jack, Jack, can you hear me? I love you, Jack. I love you. ” His gaze petrified in an eternal stare of electric blue that would haunt the back of her eyelids.
Once they reached the hospital.  She refused to leave his side. Offering the object she rushed to spare-a piece of Kennedy’s brain that had been severed during the shooting. When the doctors insisted that she leave she shot back with “No. It’s my husband.  His blood, his brains are all over me.” A few hours of agonizingly painful wait and Kennedy was pronounced dead. Jackie retained her calm. Said a prayer and kissed his lifeless form. An observer reported this as “the most moving thing”.

As Kennedy’s brains were spewed Jackie’s heart bled. Like I said I’m not much of an avid fan of anything American but this story undeniably touched me. Not only did Jackie have to deal with the humiliation of Kennedy’s illicit affairs but she stayed by him through it all: through the death of their new born son, through the trauma of Kennedy’s gruesome death. She begged him to stay, tried to rekindle their love. Even after all the hurt she endured she still describes him in complimentary terms and I think that speaks more about her character than it does his. She was hurt but she healed herself. Jackie was strong and steadfast. Her letter and actions during her husband’s assassination are poignant proof. While I do not agree with Kennedy’s use of his term as president; his “intervention” in Vietnam or his scandalous sex life, I have the world of respect for a woman who loves and still allows a man to lean on her even when his lecherous behavior permits her to do otherwise.

_Quixotic Novelist

Mistakes

I have a cousin who is three years younger than me. Evolution is a slow process if you don’t dwell upon the Galapagus (Thanks Charles) and so she treads the same path I did not too long ago. So instead of teenage counseling,  my finance-saving family figured that since I am essentially an expert in the field of asinine adolescent behavior. They would confine the two of us to a claustrophobic space, we would have a heart-to-heart, braid each others hair and she would learn a valuable lesson from my mentorship. Now I sat with a mildly attentive girl and a mountainous task.

Noty only did they expect me to have  logical conversation with someone who is in a phase of their life which plainly rejects rigor but they also wanted me to expel her basic instinct to be a recalcitrant teen (to give her credit, she listened)

So forth I preached and in turn I indulged her apocalyptic drama. I was transported to a trivial time…When I was her, when my universe was narrow and near sighted. I do have several regrets which if if give the chance I’d rectify, but these errors were defining aspects for me. That shallow stage added an infinite depth to my character.

I don’t want to give advice to a fifteen year old because not too long ago,  I was that fifteen year old and I wouldn’t have heeded a word.  Moreover I want this fifteen year old to make mistakes and to learn an invaluable amount of wisdom from them. So I say to her, “Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes. Make sure they’re YOUR mistakes”