We Made It

We Made It is a performance about arriving and finding the suitcases empty. The kibbeh bel saniyyeh. The mother’s voice on a snoozed voice note: ma tensa l snoubar, don’t forget the pine nuts. The chosen family, the colleagues, the 1:1s, the HOAs. The fort crumbling from the inside.

I made it. Look mum, I made it. (Looks around, realises they’re alone.)

Performed at Counterpulse, San Francisco, for The Happy Endings Show. Migration kept staging itself as arrival but kept arriving as siege. I thought I’d kissed the porcelain dish, the plastic bag of zaatar. I thought I hid an accent to protect a breath. I lost the keys, the soft kingdom, I missed the skin of old promises. I searched for a promise to land. Spread my fingers, reached for the promised land.

Promise you will come back, says my mother. I snooze my emails, scroll through feeds, delay regret like a task. The yoga teacher tells me I may be lonely but I am not alone. I’m surrounded. It’s a scene, it’s a siege.