It’s been two weeks now that I have succumbed to despair—a loss of hope and a felt sense of being overpowered. Never in my life did I imagine Palestine would live front and center on the world stage. Never did I think we would be ‘seen.’ Not like this. The elation took over me, and for over a year, it seemed to be all I oriented towards. It felt like the liberation train, revving for 75 years, was finally on its way. I got on board full of hope and optimism, ready to see it through.
Fourteen months in, and now, with a genocide of unwavering barbarity and overwhelming impunity; a region more divided and royally complicit (pun intended), I am beginning to see the foolishness in how I boarded that train. Today, I contend with a few terms and conditions I failed to consider at the start of the Oct. 7th revolution: how vital despair is, and how long this road might be.
Falling In
I didn’t choose despair with intent at first. It gave me no choice after