Dear whomever,
I am writing to you, again, in bursts throughout my trip to Japan, something ignited within me. I feel better. Like, in general. In regards to no specific thing, just wholly. I think I was in a bit of a rut. I needed a change in scenery. Most of all, I think I just had a deep fear the world was only what I knew. And now I’m seeing so much; I am considering so many possibilities. I am dreaming up so many futures. It is lovely, and I am grateful.
I’ve been contemplating the things I’ve always been contemplating, of course: identity, love, perspectives. Turning around ideas and comparing memories. But this time, with a much needed fresh lens. It is a new-old perspective. So goes.
I only think in comparisons. A friend of mine once told me, “not everything is like everything else,” and I argued that I think that’s wrong. Some feedback I’ve received on myself is that I can be judgmental; I think more-so I’m just always analyzing and organizing people and things into mental boxes - which is limiting, of course, to them. But I also do it to myself, which balances things.
So, yeah, I like the idea of being perfectly curated. It’s been some time that I’ve been trying to undo that incessant idea. I am trying to believe that I can be multiple things at once - but I always revert to hoping that I come off as one, clear thing for the world to experience (or judge).
It was a given that Japan would reignite my childlike wonder. Of course. This is the epicenter of Nintendo and Ghibli and a handful of other things, after all, which take up a big portion of my heart - and have since I had a consciousness to love things. My favorite activity, on this trip, has been hunting for gotcha boxes, winning at claw machines (like, for real, I was a star) and collecting trinkets. But, most of all, my most enjoyable pastime has been guessing who a person is from their outfit and keychains and accessories and hairdo.
Here, everyone has some kind of attached plushie or keychain, or you’ll find tote bags with clear front pockets where people love to display their collections. People come with clear aesthetics though god knows id it’s fixed, or ever-changing. I find it endearing, the clarity of identity, like a silent introduction. It’s quit beautiful - the way every single person here stands out somehow.
Almost always, a persons whole outfit is a clear reflection of who they are and what they care about. Layers, colors, concepts. Couples often match, and best friends, too, and sometimes mothers and daughters. If not exactly the same shoes or t-shirt, then they at least correspond, stepping into the world as a set. How lovely. Best is seeing a group of friends, and knowing clearly that what brings them together is their love for the same thing/s.
Sometimes, I like to watch people’s feet as they shuffle around me. On the train, I look at people’s shoes and try to guess where they’re going, or where they’ve been. The business men are easy, and the teenagers uniforms give them away.
But there is sometimes a girl in baby pink heels, fidgeting with her bag before (maybe?) a date. Another in a pair of crocs, grocery bag in hand. A boy in Filas with a book he’s totally enamored with. A couple, arguing about who gets the one free seat. A kid, no more than 5, giddy about his LEGO bag, which is almost as big as him. His shoes light up, of course. Lightening McQueen. His mother adjusts his hat for him, a bright red thing. His mother, for comfort, of course, wears a pair of AF1s.
I try to imagine their lives in clarity. I ask them, in my mind, Where are those shoes taking you? I dream up their storylines, and it gives me joy to know that there are so many ways a life can go. I felt stagnant, I did. And across the world, I’ve been feeling limitless. These emotions will die down, of course, as I settle back to normalcy, but as I’ve told you recently: some feelings must be milked dry. You force yourself to feel them fully, as long as possible. You must.
These questions, this curiosity, this intense daydreaming doesn't happen much in Amman, Jordan, which will convey to you the difference. In Jordan you’re always housed somewhere. In the car, in a cafè, at work, at home. There is always someone you know, or someone who knows someone you know. There are no in-between spaces, like subways or bus stops, where you can experience so much of the human condition.
There is no in-between where you can bump into someone new, or someone drunk, or someone confused or happy or sad. Because we hide these things. We must always be presentable. We get ready in the dark, and all wear similar things. This is what I’d been missing; what I have been craving. Honesty.
This is why the world shrinks in the Middle East: our obsession with privacy, in many ways, denies us so much. It’s why so many run away from Jordan’s shackles, and into the rest of the world. I used to not understand it. I think I do, now.
And it isn't just privacy we prioritize, it is - above all - our pride. Being Arab means presenting yourself in the best light, always, which denies you any real individuality. You must smell nice, look good, clean, presentable, covered. Standing out is a difficult thing, it makes life harder, though the youth is finding their way around it.
Still, in Jordan your outfit depends on where you’re going. In Jordan your personality, really, depends on where you’re going. This is reflected in our streets, in our architecture, in our days. The simplest example could be that homes are rarely open concept, and guest rooms (not bedrooms, but entire extra living rooms, which are always kept fancy and tidy and are only used when guests are over) are always vital - guest rooms remind me of stages, which makes the rest of the house backstage.
I touched on this in another letter (below) I wrote to you - about girls-only parties and how, often, to them, girls wear whatever they can’t wear outside, not what goes with the “theme”, necessarily. I wrote about it because it would be easy to make fun of the girls wearing the jean mini skirts to a graduation party. But where else could they possibly?
A word that haunts me, as an Arab woman, is عيب, which translates, roughly, to shame/shameful. But I often feel like there is no true, accurate English word that can really describe the heaviness of that word.
عيب culture is a boxed culture. If I were to try and draw it to help you conceptualize it, it would just be a bunch of squares. The Japanese, I’m sure, are prideful people. But I feel like they balance community and individualism so well. This is the key, the missing part of so many places. In Jordan you must fit in. In Japan, you fit in, and you are also yourself.
Though I am only a tourist. This I know. What are the downfalls of this place? I couldn’t tell you. But oh it is so lovely, to see so many couples hand-in-hand, to have a child running to the train, for a group of friends to be calming their crying companion. I realize that maybe what I hate most about Amman is how dull it can be, given that people contain themselves so well. Displays of affection are rare, publicly being emotional is rare. But - I want messy. I want real. I want honesty. I want everything.
There is a deeper way to convey this. I could talk about the family systems, I could discuss the politics. But it matters so very little and I couldn't possibly clearly describe it to you. For now, I’d rather focus on the beauty, and how, I’ve conducted my own mini experiment and find it beautiful that our palms always reach one another. In the streets here, people often walk with their hands linked. And they always swing so comfortably. Tall girl, short boy; tall boy, tall girl; short girl, SUPER tall boy - and yet, still, their palms reach, they intertwine, they walk.
Isn't there something so stunning about that? That it’s so easy to link hands, and walk side by side? Maybe that’s all we were made for,
I’d like to see more hands linked, back at home. I wish I could see more of humanity, back at home. But these are the pitfalls of third world countries, I suppose, and you win and you lose.
Any of this make sense? My mind is all jumbly, reader, forgive me, this brain is filled with plans and dreams and where-do-I-go-next and so much more.
Let me know,
Amal
This so beautifully written. As an Arab woman I understand this Desire for observing humans in their authentic form.
Ill hold ur hand soon queen