A while ago I asked my students to write an exercise about a date that changed their lives. I only wanted them to practice using the numbers and practice their writing as they talk about things that really means something to me.
Today I collected the homework and there was that boy -the same boy always- who startled me with what he wrote. I totally expected something different, but as I read what he wrote I felt the urge to get off the bus - I was reading in the bus- and go ask for an explanation!!
I dont wanna talk much about it here , to keep the intimacy of what my student wrote ,,, but I wanna say two things: First: Some words are not words , they are compressed ideas , intellectual seeds that need water to flourish ,,, some words are an invitation t
o a big discussion.
Second: As my students wrote about the day that changed their lives , I would talk about mine.
December 27th , 2009
It was the day in which I went to the Mosque of Cordoba. I have lived my entire life on that hope ,,,, I learned Spanish to fulfil that dream , everything in my life went in that direction.
When I entered there I experienced that hardest , strongest , deepest and purest feeling I have ever had. It felt like all the defeats that were accumulated in my Arabic mind , they all erupted inside my brains and eyes. I could not stop crying ,,, I felt so helpless and vulnerable , I felt that my huge guilt towards my nation is just gonna kill me.
I felt that any other thought inside me was blocked away, and that I was abbreviated to the thought of ''my nation'' and I felt so earthy , so weak and so insignificant , and I felt that all the faces that I saw on TV of my people in Palestine and Iraq came hunting me , and I felt that I cant be possibly feeling all that at once ,,, It crushed , and I cried like I never cried in my entire life.
Since then I did not cry again ,,,, until last week ,,,
I cried because I am afraid that a story is my life is gonna end , and am not ready yet... I think I will never be.