Trivia Night: a poem.

questions without answers

Hey friends,

I wrote this poem a few weeks ago on vacation. I spent six days with family on Grand Cayman very shortly after I got home from my trip to Lebanon, Jordan, and Czech Republic. It was a truly excellent trip to Cayman, celebrating my mom’s birthday with the family, but the feeling of being in two places at once really never left me.

The turnaround time was quick, and honestly, a little disorienting. I knew it would be. I knew there was potential I’d struggle to stay present to the water and waves and family time when I’d just criss-crossed the globe to do storytelling from the Middle East only to go scuba diving in the crystal clear warm waters of the Caribbean. The whiplash was real. For better or worse, I was unpacking parts of my volunteer trip while simultaneously enjoying the relaxing beach vacation with my parents, sisters, and their families.

The transition home can be really tough, even when you love the mission. Even when you chose to take the trip. Even when you had an unbelievable amount of support. Even when you’re already dreaming up the next one. Also a peacemaker can sometimes (occasionally, maybe, possibly?) allow herself to have a little R + R so despair doesn’t get under her skin.

I was straddling two very different worlds that were somehow my one, wandering life.

Andrea Gibson says, “When I can’t wrap my head around something, I try to wrap my heart around it by writing a poem.” So, this is me trying to wrap my heart around the experiences I’ve had in the last couple of months, and sharing it today to highlight that my coming home isn’t all done-goods and photo dumps. And vacation wasn’t all coral reefs and island beers either.

With “Trivia Night”, I aim to say both things can be true at once.

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Trivia Night

Question one:
How is it possible to bask in the glory
of a perfect sunset
as I rage at the fire of injustice?

I read the memoirs of refugees
On the beach for "fun" and
Roll my eyes at trivia night with the question
About an Israeli soldier serving in 1945
Because they had no army then, no land
And now damn near all of it
We rewrite history like it's a drinking game.

I am no fun on vacation or anywhere else
When I'm thinking about us
Pushing Palestinians to the edge
To the absolute brink and to think that
Resistance doesn't come out of nowhere
And neither does hate
The trickle down effect does work here:
It's called generational trauma.

Question two:
Should I keep dreaming of a different world or
should I crack open another Caybrew Mango Tango
to chase away my bitten tongue?

On the sandy teal sofa with my apartheid hummus
Bought for me or I'd have boycotted it
But I forgot to put my rage on the shared grocery list
Mashed and packaged on stolen Palestinian land
And erased Palestinian recipes
And destroyed Palestinian generations of hope
The cruise director in my head says
Let it go, they're just chickpeas. It's just a game – trivial.
Don't ruin the fun on trivia night.

I can't get away from this living resistance
Even here where I learn to be strong like water
To practice weightless breathing
But I've been on the line for years now
Screaming as loud as I can under the surface
Where I think you can't hear me.
Now, with the reef as my witness
I can forget for a flicker of a moment.
Purge my regulator and deflate
To go deeper until I remember
Some Palestinians will never touch the sea.

Question three:
How long can I keep going against the current
when I know the story will be unchanged tomorrow?

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Keep swimming,