On the train from London to Nottingham, I am upset that I have lost the beaded Kurdistan bracelet that was around my wrist. Other than that, for the first time ? in a long time ? my mind is crystal clear.
Although, looking out of the train's window I ask myself only one question: Why is it that we always associate white, cotton-like vapor in the sky to helplessness, gloom and sadness?
When under the clouds, I am ambitious, motivated and I feel like I am thriving. There must be a rose that blossoms under the clouds. Or is it only us, the Kurds, who make our dreams come true even if it's under the clouds?
Where I am and what I am doing right now is probably something I have wanted ever since I was in my mother's womb (but I have a bad memory to recall that this is what I wanted). Do I make sense? Or is this atmosphere making me so numb that I am beginning to lose my mind with the picturesque view outside.
Here and now, a dream is coming true and already in this dream I am dreaming of the next dream (are you following?).
As I write and look up, there is an immediate contradiction. I feel like I have just begun to spread my wings. Like a bird, it fell a few times, long falls that left its wings bent, but it's finally flying.
I also feel reborn into a second phase of life, a new beginning, a start of a journey, a turn of the page. Basically, I am writing the second chapter of my life, although I am probably still in the lead sentence of the first paragraph. I look up and I see a cemetery. I reflect on death, when I have just felt like I was being born.
I see gravestones, and if I was closer I would probably read names, dates and see images of people who were once living and are now buried. Is it not odd that I dream and I try to achieve so much and soon, I, like all these others, will end up in the earth with a stone on top of me stating my name, date of birth (and date of death).
If I am lucky enough, there will be some flowers on the stone too. Dead.
Nevertheless, as a Kurd, maybe I want something else. I want something more than just my name and dates carved on the stone where I lay dead. I want to leave behind a print, as small as it maybe, but something that I have done for my struggling nation and for the generations after me.
I want to give back. Many Kurds have died, and no one even remembers their names, but unknowingly they?ve built our futures. Maybe this is why I am here right now. Having said this, we must not forget the endless number of mass graves we have as a Kurdish nation, where there isn't even a name for every person; their lives were taken for us to live.
For most of the young Kurds I have spoken to here, there is a clear feeling of responsibility. Everyone wants to accomplish something; they want to give back to Kurdistan; they feel obliged to fulfill a mission here, but also feel indebted for the rest of their life to plan, build, construct, teach and strengthen a place called Kurdistan.
After all, a mother bird that can fly brings food to her newly hatched offspring first, before she fills her own stomach.
As Kurds we have made leaps forward, It was only yesterday that I was walking in the Tayrawa market with my mother, looking to buy material for jli Kurdi (traditional Kurdish clothes), and today I passed by Buckingham Palace.
I have moved from Korek to O2, from dinars to pounds, and from Reber "Quick" to some much faster Internet. But some things just never move or change.
http://www.kurdishglobe.net/display-article.html?id=C0DE8658D2534490BC88F0DB2CB8382C
