Ninety on the freeway
#8: Chaos and calm
‘…even in certain instances when she was undeniably an active participant in the unfolding of her life, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being a person to whom things happened, rather than the one who incited their occurrence.’
-Madison Newbound, Misrecognition
You know those scenes in media where there are two people in a car: the driver has ever so slightly lost their mind, brimming with the intensity of some negative emotion, they’re driving erratically at twice the given speed limit and the passenger is scared shitless but has no control, and therefore no choice but to hold on for dear life? That’s what my August was – circumstances at the wheel, me riding shotgun. That’s not to say it was all bad; on the contrary, one of my longest-standing sources of anxiety was remedied, it’s been a very socially gratifying month, and I feel myself shedding the stagnation that shrouded me for so long. But still, it’s been a lot. The world is still burning. Life still feels like a protracted Black Mirror episode. And frankly, I’m exhausted.
This cycle’s PMDD manifestation has been an acute hyper-awareness of just how much suffering and evil exist in the world. Of course, knowledge of said fact is a permanent fixture in life, but I often feel mentally and emotionally paralysed by the profundity of it all. If there's one lesson to be taken from the past month/year, it’s the importance of radical belief that things will, irrefutably, change for the better. Hope is undeniably resistance. But my goodness, isn’t it easy to fall into those bouts of despair? The endless pit in the stomach, the perpetual sinking in the chest, the ballooning lump in the throat. Is there a durable balm, one that doesn’t merely consist of hollow words of reassurance?
Though the world is in an absolute state, the above rumination stemmed from a book I read over the bank holiday weekend: The Beauty of Your Face by Sahar Mustafah, which follows the life of a Palestinian-American woman grappling with loss, familial fractures, faith and identity.
Most Palestinian fiction I’ve read explicitly broaches the brutalisation of the land and its people, often from different angles and to varying degrees. This is the first one I’ve read where events in Palestine are only occasionally sprinkled in, and the protagonist was just a regular American girl, except in the ways that she wasn’t. It was the quotidian woes that struck me the most; the family dysfunction didn’t feel exclusive to one group, the microaggressions the community faced felt like reading about snippets from my childhood/adolescence, the far-right radicalisation hitting even closer to home given recent events. Harrowing and heartbreaking, but also hopeful and heartening. As somebody raised Muslim in the west, who grew up in a post-9/11 and -7/7 world, this resonated with me much more than I anticipated. Expansive and incredibly moving; I couldn’t recommend it more, whatever your creed. Diaspora fiction will always be my bag.
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I have an essay in progress that I may or may not end up publishing, reflecting on the horrific violence that gripped the UK at the start of the month. My dilemma is this: why do I have to lay myself/my experiences bare to reclaim the narrative from people who have zero lived experience of any of the aggression perpetrated, but seem to have the most to say? In other words, political commentary/analysis and opinion pieces concerning matters of race in the UK should not be spearheaded by Brits who are racialised as white. But, of course, theirs are the voices placed at the forefront of the conversation by default. Not to dismiss them entirely, but surely in a time of such division, hatred, and brutality, ‘own voices’ are the ones that should primarily be platformed? Which feeds into why I do want to add my twopence: my lived experience matters. I’m under no delusion that it’s a universal experience, but commonalities are everywhere, as I touched on earlier.
There’s also a desire to reclaim my account from *that* article, which was so severely cropped and paraphrased that there were maybe a handful of phrases that I recognised as my own. I understand editorial constraints, but if your selling point is lived experience, put your money (or print) where your mouth is. More on this to follow, if I do ever finish the piece.
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On a happier (?) note
Since my last newsletter, my audience has doubled, I received my first paid subscriber pledge and some lovely responses – via email! People do do that! – to my writing, all of which were a much-needed pick-me-up during a very dark period. I started writing a piece on writing long before the recent discourse — which I have no desire to engage in or contribute to — reflecting on the above, and how gratifying it’s been to start sharing my words after keeping them guarded for so many years. I didn’t set out with a target audience in mind, but hearing that my words resonate with even one other person is a level of fulfilment like no other.
So many drafts, so little drive to refine. One day, perhaps.
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August, for me, is usually defined by its liminality — fun fact, the first piece of writing I ever shared, over on my bookstagram, was regarding this very sentiment. However, this year it’s been entirely transformative and despite all its troughs, probably the most fruitful month of 2024 so far. Bittersweet serendipity.
With continuity in mind, I regret the lack of June and July reading roundups, but life has been life-ing intensely for the past few months. I will do a big juicy roundup of all my summer reads, and maybe some more personal snippets, sometime in September to make up for it, though (putting it out there to Hold Myself Accountable).
I’m aware of the severe lack of structure to this, but I wanted to put something out this week. My little brain has been bursting at the seams and my fingers were itching to write and hit the publish button on something, valuable (subjective) or not.
Until next time x
It was through this I discovered your writing, and I’m enthralled. I love your prose style, and the sharpness and precision of your thinking. You are so good at this. Take care; I hope September is kind to you. ❤️
hello very much enjoyed this