sometimes i rlly do wonder how many of the other people in my school who are iraqi, how many people who have 馃嚠馃嚩 or iraqi in their bios on social media, or even just how many iraqis who are here actually were *meant* to be. how many of us were supposed to be born in iraq, who were supposed to grow up there, who were supposed to be playing in the grass and meeting each other and going to school there aren鈥檛 because of what american soldiers did there?
Anon STOP I ask myself this every fucking day. My mom told me a story of how my grandpa once passed out going up the steps to walk a bridge back home鈥攁 bridge that the US army installed over one of their numerous checkpoints in Baghdad at the time. Later, after his death, my mom walked those steps over and over again, just so she could feel his presence one more time.
He was ill, but he had to walk that distance because of these checkpoints, littered literally all over the capital. An everyday reminder of the US鈥檚 occupation of Iraq.
It broke my heart just hearing that anecdote鈥攁nd still more knowing I never got to grow up in that city, never got to know the luxury of being acquainted w my homeland. It鈥檚 a unique heartbreak people like us live with every day.
love hides in questions, you cannot ask a thing without giving yourself away. how was your day? (i hope it was good) when can i see you again? (i pray it's soon) do you feel safe with me? (i feel safe with you) what is your favorite color? (i wish to enrobe you in all that makes you smile)
oh fuck *falls back into old habits* *screen fades to black* *level loading* TIP: your belief that you are incapable of changing for the better will become a self fulfilling prophecy if left unchallenged