September, Redefined

Yesterday, my mother and I were enjoying the breeze as we watched the sunset from our balcony. My mother closed her eyes and took a deep breath and then sighed, “Hmm, Ayloul (September).” She had a small smile on her face. I asked her how she could look forward to September after what it carried last year. She said: Why would I only focus on what happened last year? There are many other things to look forward to in September, like the first rain – she loves the smell of the earth after the first rain.

I too learned to love the smell of the earth after the first rain, not because I hated it before, but I had never noticed it until she pointed it out to me. I remember it distinctly. I think I was seven or eight years old. We were standing outside my grandparents’ house, and it was pouring rain, the first rain of that year, and she told me to notice the smell. I loved it. It now unlocks a lot of memories, and feelings too. It became part of the scents that shaped my childhood, like the scent of fig leaves, jasmine, orange blossoms, and tayoun – scents that told me I had arrived at the village, or that a season had arrived at the homeland.

I was worried about when September would start throughout this entire year. I avoided the thought that it would come. Somehow, last September felt like an eternity ago, and logically, that would mean we went through many other Septembers too. But it seems our perception of time is warped by the weight of the events experienced, and we very much have not seen a September yet, since last year.

September is now here, a reminder of all the losses. But the thing is, we are not in need of the reminder, because we never forgot.

Perhaps we shouldn’t face September again as merely a carrier of grief, for that would have allowed the enemy to have stolen from us even our time and to have stained even our memories and seasons.

This inspires another thought: the concept and practice of resilience is not in forgetting the losses to overcome the grief, and neither is dwelling upon them what defines loyalty. Resilience is not in forgetfulness; it is in creating active grief, and holding on to the memories and feelings that define home is not an unwillingness to sacrifice. On the contrary, it is stubbornness, a rejection of being stripped of the essence of our identity that defines and shapes the human in us, the same human that resists their evil. Resilience is carrying the grief endured by the losses and carrying the memory of the loved ones and places gone, and preserving their legacy by recruiting this grief to fuel our rage, which we then direct and pour upon the enemy.

I think I will hold on to the smell of the earth after the first rain in September, but now it will bring with it more memories and feelings not introduced before. I will think of our migrating birds, the ascending angels that redefined September, and always defined Resistance – life.