www.whyville.net Mar 23, 2014 Weekly Issue

Times Writer

Interrupted Harmony

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Under a single lie, your life is brought to pieces and under a single being's hatred, mine tears apart.

Egyptian, that's what you are, as you have so fondly sang in my ears countless times. Might I also profess that you are a real Egyptian, pure, as you like to say, for you are Coptic, and the real Egyptians are Coptic, not any other religion?

Assyrian, Turkish, Kurdish, and Arab all swirled together to create a single human being; me. The cultures collided and morphed into one to create such a profound and distinctive life that when I was younger, I thought breaking it was impossible. As long as I could remember, living with a family that does not necessarily share the same values or religious beliefs throughout strengthened me, however, the slits in your eyes say otherwise as you swirl the nasty comments in your unwashed mouth.

Were you not born in a land where our great grandfathers and fathers slit themselves to provide you the slimmest chance of survival in a world in denial, and do you not feel any pain as every red drop cuts through the sand in vain? Does the grave of our family members in a distant land not bring a jolt to your spine and straighten it, for their pride and grace? The blood that leaked from your family tree collided with mine, and together they created a single word that held infinite symbolism: "unity". Do you not see that we are one; brought together by their cause and united by their absence? We were supposed to be one: united, in unity. Instead we wear different masks every day to hide who we were yesterday and come together over the fact that we lose ourselves in our own bodies.

Through words, I cannot profess my disappointment in you, or me, or all of the individuals in the world who not only continue this blasphemy, but do not realize the damage of their ignorance. When you feel your judgment about to spiral out, hold the lives of our dead family members in your mouth and remember the sapphire night sky they died under because war does not think twice. Do you remember, child? I remember, too. I also remember the colour of inferior as I drowned myself in it every day , reacting to a girl who does not know the consequences of her actions. I should have known better. I should have left the water running through my ears rather than drown in the tub to cleanse my thoughts of your misery.

United under a single ethnicity, we joined hands, and forever broke due to cultural differences; we lowered the standard for the world. Do not judge me by my shadow, for it abandons me at night and only returns to me when the sun shines upon my head. Judge me for how my heart displays itself towards you, for that is the inevitable truth about me, and it cannot be shattered by fear, lust or anger, and trust me, trust me, it will not be shattered. Like I do not perch on your shoulder and whisper the wronging of your history, do not perch on mine and spit fire on the fight of my ancestors. Believe me, child, we all have a struggle, and your place in mine is to be side character, not the main attraction. We do not share the same culture or religious beliefs, but in both of these we are brought together by the utmost belief that judgment is to be left to a higher being. I wish not to hold hands with you in friendship, but perhaps that tarnished piece of thread that displays our connection may be held together by respect for one another. I wish not to inflict pain upon you, but rather wish you the best.

Really, we were supposed to be one: united, in unity. Instead we wear different masks every day to hide who we were yesterday and come together over the fact that we lose ourselves in our own bodies.


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