And Islands

 by Lucy S.

I have another friend who was right in our midst, as William was. The similarity is only that she too was here with us, in a different home, in a different state, and we could not keep her from being torn away in ways that were against her wishes.

She is my friend. She became a part of us. We shared so many stories. We passionately debated, laughed, cried, ate together, confessed some of our fears and anguishes and hopes to one another. But she too was made less safe and less free for lack of the right documents. She was let in for a time, and then the time was up. And there are rules and laws imposed on those who never chose them, authored and enacted in so many ways by people who use words like responsibility and human rights so cynically.  

There were those last goodbyes at the airport, the hugs, my laughter through tears as I saw from afar security make her take off all of the bangles going up both of her arms. She was wearing as many of her material goods as she could, trying to not leave too much behind.

In August, she wrote:  

Today is Aid El-Fitr. It is the first day of Shawwal in the islamic calendar. This day marks the end of the month-long fast of Ramadhan and the start of a feast that lasts about three days. It is the equivalent of Christmas for Christians. Today, we meet or call our family members and friends and we wish them a good year. I know that you are not Muslim, but I would like to seize the opportunity of this occasion to wish you happiness and success throughout your life …. On the Aid, I always call the people I like and I could not stop myself from contacting you, although you are not Muslim (and this is a Muslim celebration). My mum says hi and happy Aid too!!!!

She said she had written also to the professors she loved and felt such gratitude for. I was still trying to write a statement of purpose to apply to PhD programs, and I instead wrote this, caught up in the moment of joy and of missing my friend:

I write on Aid-el-Fitr, the first day of Shawwal on the Islamic calendar. Today the fasting of Ramadan ends and three days of feasting begin. It is a day to greet family and friends. My good friend emailed to wish a happy Aid to me, her non-Muslim friend, and my family. An additional, particular reason to celebrate is the joyous news that she can continue her studies!  I rushed through the house to tell my kids, mysteriously announcing that I would now know someone in [the place she would go for her new studies]. This time a year ago, her specific fate could not concern me because I did not know her. But two semesters of classes together followed by the two months that she lived with us bound her to us. Her sense of humor is like mine; we laugh at absurdities as we fly freely between the personal, the political, and the artistic in conversations that always go on far longer than we say they will. 

She and her mother tell me to visit and venture out to the island where her grandparents live. She has described a man and woman in their 80s who grow olives, press their oil, make their bread, pick wild rosemary, catch fish, and make wine for themselves. Yes, some Muslims drink wine, she tells us. Cultures and the individuals who are part of them are always more nuanced and gloriously varied than any stereotypes and summations of them.

She is immersed in her new studies now, but her situation is precarious and the situation of some of those she loves is also precarious. When I talked with her by Skype recently, she kept running her hands over her forehead and hair in a state of such pain and anxiety because of her continual worry.

Herbert Marcuse has written: "... and there are only islands of good where one can find refuge for a brief time" (The Aesthetic Dimension 47). But some bask so much longer on these islands while others are denied the briefest respite or are hurled back out into waters made corrosive by those who wall themselves in and wall others out.