Listen to the Midnight Singing

The sadness of someone I’ve never met, who lives in a faraway world, might’ve taken over my body.  

The night is much too long and dark, and I’m sitting on a virtually empty bus with my slightly unclean face en route to a distant house in the south, where no one awaits me. I see the reflection of my ghastly face in the window and feel horrified. Did I always look like this? I know I’ll feel better once I listen to music, but I don’t have the energy to look for my earphones in my bag. I was just having a good time drinking and laughing with my friends, but as soon as I parted ways with them, I was brought back to the reality unfolding in Palestine. Now I don’t know why I’m in this city, nor do I know who I am. What’s more, I hear birds chirping outside, even though it’s midnight. The pleasant singing and the wet coldness of the night don’t match at all, and I wonder if the spirits of people suffering in a distant country can take over me during times like these where none of the pieces fit together for some reason.  

I’m reminded of a story about a bird in a book I read in high school by Edward Said. Apparently, birds think they die when they sleep and so chirp out of the joy of being alive when they wake up. Does that mean birds that wake up in the darkness sing out of happiness, too? The birds’ joy of knowing they’re alive is short-lived; I think about the birds that live in the dark forever. I listen closely to the sound of people chatting, the hum of the bus, and the midnight birds, which I wouldn’t have been able to hear if I had enough energy to fish my earphones out of my bag. “Where should we go after the last frontiers? Where should the birds fly after the last sky?” The voice of Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish and an image of someone gazing at a towering separation wall and birds flying back and forth above it possess me and disappear again.  

I'm stunned by my body, which is currently alive and safe, my dangling hands, and my soft voice. If I’m being honest, I want to have fun, go on a date on Thursday if possible, eat peanuts, and even have sex. But I listen closely to the midnight birds’ fading cries and screams. I stare at the darkness of the world without looking away. In solidarity. I raise my dangling hands and soft voice. Until the day the sound stops.