On Turning 40

(again)

Birthdays are complicated. I love mine. Anyone who knows me, knows that I am ridiculous about my birthday. I wait all year for it, I mark it for as long as I can get away with (three days, on average), I remember everyone who forgets my birthday and if my family and loved ones don’t message me by 12:01 I imagine they’ve forgotten and am miserable till they write.

When I was little, my father celebrated my birthday every year as if it were the most incredible thing to have ever happened. He was a joyous and attentive father and he loved making a fuss over us on our birthdays. I miss him constantly, every day, but always on birthdays - mine, my brothers, his.

My third birthday, cutting the cake with my Joonam, father and Wadi

I joke every year that I’m turning 40. I’ve been turning 40 for four years now. But the truth is, I know aging is a gift. My father was killed when he was 42. His birthday was just two days before his assassination. I watch Israel’s demonic carnage in Gaza and see martyrs like Hossam Shabat, Anas Al Sharif, Dr Adnan Al Bursh, and so, so many children robbed of that greatest of god’s gift - life- and I am endlessly grateful for every second I have on earth.

I woke up the morning of my birthday and when I looked at my phone one of the first things I saw was an image of a young child in Gaza shredded to pieces. I mean actually shredded, their body torn into strips of flesh and muscle and blood.

Later that evening, having done nothing to get a table at our favourite restaurant, Graham and I found ourselves outside the very booked eatery scrolling on our phones trying to find something else nearby. I was looking through screenshots because I take them of places I want to try or books I want to read but when I was looking through the pictures I’d clicked off of Instagram all I could see was blood, death, bombs, martyrs. News I had wanted to reshare.

(The night I spoke to Dr. Ezzideen in Gaza, my friends were having dinner nearby and I could hear them laughing. What is more wonderful than the sound of your friends laughing? But I was talking to a doctor in Gaza. As he sat in an outdoor space for the wifi connection, a child with his limbs amputated sat opposite him, he told me. It’s a common site in Gaza. The dissonance was mind bending and I left the call feeling ashamed and guilty. )

I truly don’t know how we are meant to live this way.

---

I wish I had some wisdom to impart, some learning gleaned along the way of turning 40 so many times. But I don’t think I do because I feel lost in a world I don’t recognize and that frightens me.

I don’t know if you saw this story from South Lebanon:

I feel haunted by this young girl. Her father is murdered by Israel before her eyes and when she does the impossible - run to save her own life - the Israelis pursue her and kill her too.

This is the world we live in. Just like in Gaza, the Israelis are killing an average of 11 children every single day. Every. Single. Day.

Yesterday it was Gaza. Today it’s Lebanon and Iran. Tomorrow it will be us. Make no mistake about it. It’s just a matter of time.

So what do we do? I wish I knew. But I feel strongly that it matters not to be afraid. To witness this terror is nothing close to living it and we have a duty to speak. If you can afford to, speak and don’t stop. Don’t give them any quarter. They must be named and shunned and shamed if humanity is to preserve any of its dwindling integrity at all.

We must also be in practice everything they are not. We must love each other strong and hard and see the world’s suffering as our own so that we can meet it with kindness and care and attention.

Attention is a form of prayer, Simone Weil wrote. I think about that so often. This is a spiritual war. Pay attention and hold ferociously to what is just and right. Our collective attention belongs with Gaza, Lebanon, Iran. Don’t let it drop for even a moment.

---

Please remember the fundraising drive to support first aid responders in Lebanon who are being hunted and killed by Israel. This is something we can do and we must do. It will make a huge difference these incredible people risking their lives.

And please get the Gemini in your life this as a birthday present:

It comes out this June. Bassem was 21 years old when he was taken to an Israeli jail and given three life sentences. He was released 21 years later in 2025 and had written four novels during his incarceration. As far as I know, this is the only one that’s been translated into English.