"We are going to have to arrest you, do you understand that?" "Ma'am, can you hear what I'm saying?" The officer said this with a bureaucratic monotony that struck me assomewhat comical and brought back memories of '90s news presenterswho hardly ever grasped just how hot the world was burning around them.I looked back at … Continue reading The Long Journey Here
Author: Sana'a Jaber
A Good Rat
I cry as I walk under the relentless Toronto sun. I need to buy some tobacco- I had finally quit smoking 4 months ago at 39 years of age- but lifestyle changes tend to go out the window when your country is being decimated live on television 24 hours a day. Is this the cycle … Continue reading A Good Rat
Baba
I finally got my father on the phone today- he has been inconsolable this past week, more like this past year. In between tears of despair and longing, I asked: ‘Baba, aren’t you happy you raised children who are all in for the resistance? I would be heartbroken if my children repeated the narratives of … Continue reading Baba
Hello, Tears
December 20, 2023 6:56 AM I haven't cried in two weeks. Social media and emotional experts say it is because I have become desensitized. But that is a luxury exclusively reserved for white people who have Not seen wars and torn limbs Not inhaled the stench of burned and rotting flesh Not been deafened by … Continue reading Hello, Tears
FATIMA
Fatima knew it was going to be hard, but not that hard. She had been crouching down in the thick shrubbery for what seemed like an eternity, the thorns dug deep into her skin. She was told to wait for a signal to let her know the border patrol agents had gone away. She found … Continue reading FATIMA
Dream 177 / حلم ١٧٧
Photo by Faris on Pexels.com غالباً ما تنتهي أحلامي بك بقبلة .و دائماً بالبكاء البكاء في الحلم ,و البكاء في الواقع .في الوقت نفسه ,تبدأ أحلامي و أنا أركض في أرضٍ خراب أركض و اتلفت حولي ,ألهث وراء نفساً يباغتني شيءٌ ما بداخلي كان يعرف أنها أرضي .و لكنها لم تبدو كأرضي ,أرض مكلومة أهي … Continue reading Dream 177 / حلم ١٧٧
lim·bo
My father traveled the world for much of my childhood and for those brief moments he actually was home, the first thing he would do upon arrival from one exotic destination or another was lay out his clothes on the bed for my mother to wash, and then, a few days later, that same scene … Continue reading lim·bo
47 South
‘Why are you crying Mama, are you sad?’ she asks me with the kindest eyes I have ever known. Kinder than the many eyes staring at me under the guise of compassion on this crowded 47 bus going south on Lansdowne. ‘I’m not sad Mama... I just miss my parents, you know?’ I manage to … Continue reading 47 South
Sana'a Jaber سناء جابر 