Resurgence pt. 2

October 7, 2005

Friday

Dear Diary, 

I boarded the plane from San Francisco to Jerusalem on the 6th. The 20 hours of flying wasn’t long, but it was for my 55-year-old body. The airport buzzed with people, all waiting to escape the country. It was only me and a few other passengers walking against a sea of people. 

Stepping outside the airport, I met up with my ex-colleague, Tariq, a seasoned war correspondent from Palestine. Driving in the city, I could still see some soldiers with guns looming around the streets that bore the indelible marks of a conflict-scarred past. Once proud structures were now skeletal remnants, and they stood with gaping wounds, telling a silent tale of the violence that had ripped through their foundation. 

I finally met the boy I had been thinking about for the past few days. Adhem. When I saw him, he was sketching a draft for his new painting in a newly built house. Tariq greeted them in Arabic and Adhem then looked at me. It seemed like I could start my reporting. 

As we sat together on a makeshift bench, Adhem recounted the harrowing events that had befallen his once lively neighborhood. 

Living in Palestine, Adhem once thought the destruction of war would never come to him. His neighborhood has not been affected since the time he was born, despite Palestine being involved in the Israeli-Palestinian War for more than a century. His childhood days were filled with laughter as he sketched vibrant scenes of his bustling neighborhood and the warmth of his loving family.

However, one fateful day everything changed. In September 2000, when Adhem was just eight years old and his sister just four, Ariel Sharon, an Israeli politician, visited Al-Qibli, or the Al-Aqsa Mosque. Adhem recalled how protests and riots soon swept through the whole city. 

Violence descended upon Adhem's neighborhood, turning his once lively streets into a war zone. “The air was filled with the thunderous sound of a crumbling building and the acrid smell of smoke,” he recalled, leaving destruction and despair behind. The sounds of gunfire and explosions shattered his sense of tranquility, and his world crumbled around him. The Palestinian protesters and Israeli soldiers demolished homes and reduced the neighborhood to ruins, leaving devastation.

Adhem stood in the middle of chaos, his heart heavy with despair. He had lost his home, his sanctuary, and his family had been torn apart. Tears streamed down his face, an unyielding torrent of sorrow that seemed to have no end. Grief weighed heavily upon him, threatening to suffocate his spirit. Exhausted from his cries, Adhem fell asleep onto a large fragment of a broken wall, trying to feel the remaining sense of home from the wreckage. 

The residents of his neighborhood, once tightly knit, now found themselves homeless. They huddled together in makeshift tents, which offered little protection against the biting autumn winds that pierced through the flimsy fabric. The thin blankets and the only few thick jackets they had did not protect them from the chill that seeped into their bones.

Luckily, Adhem still had his mother and sister. The woman who sat beside him was wearing a black hijab and seemed to be in her thirties, but the dreadful destruction of her home and family bent her once straight back. The responsibility of taking care of her young children seemed to have affected her spirit as well. 

Adhem’s mother and sister tried to convince him to move on, their voices laced with a mixture of concern and their own burdened hearts. "Adhem," his mother pleaded, her voice quivering, "we need to find a way to move forward. No matter what, the people are alive, and we should always cling to hope.” Adhem looked into their eyes and saw the reflection of his own anguish mirrored back at him. He understood their words, but he knew they were also entangled with their own struggles to cope with the loss.

In the depths of his despair, Adhem clung to the one thing that had always brought him joy—his art.

Amidst the ruins of his house, Ahmed found refuge. Walls stood scarred and broken, a canvas awaiting his touch. With trembling hands and tear-filled eyes, he picked up a remaining paintbrush that once belonged to his brother, who was a street artist. Stroke by stroke, he poured his pain onto the walls, transforming the devastation into a reflection of his wounded soul.

Days turned into weeks, and Ahmed's artwork bloomed upon the ruins. Vibrant colors danced across the broken walls, breathing life into the desolation. Each stroke carried a whisper of hope, a testament to his indomitable spirit. That was when “The Phoenix's Resurgence” was created. The neighbors, drawn by curiosity, witnessed Ahmed's metamorphosis and marveled at the beauty emerging from the ashes. His brush became a tool of resistance, an act of defiance against the forces that sought to silence him. His art spoke volumes, telling stories of loss but also resilience and hope. Slowly, the neighborhood’s morale was boosted by Adhem’s art. They held onto hope despite living in a fragile tent. They found strength in the resilience that emerged from the depths of their souls as they faced the uncertainty that lay before them every day. They all knew that their journey would be burdened by difficulties. But they also knew that they were stronger when they stood together. They discovered the will to go on and the need to reconstruct their lives one tiny step at a time through this united spirit.

Adhem’s artwork became a beacon of light in the darkness, inspiring others to reclaim their narratives. They, too, began to paint on the ruins, expressing their pain and reclaiming their sense of self. Together, they formed a community of artists, using their art to heal and rebuild their shattered lives.

As time passed, the neighborhood transformed. The ruins remained, but there were no more extended symbols of despair. They had become a testament to the human spirit's ability to find solace, create beauty, and foster resilience in the face of unimaginable adversity. Adhem’s paintings adorned every wall as a constant reminder of the power of art to heal and inspire.

The neighborhood's wreckage served as a reminder of the devastation they had experienced as well as a monument to their strong spirits. They held to the idea that they would reconstruct their lives and regain their feeling of belonging through cooperation and the strength of resilience.

Once a broken young boy, Adhem emerged from despair as a symbol of strength. His journey had not erased the pain but transformed it into something beautiful.