From the neighbourhood

It's Rosh Hashana and there are 12 year olds running up and down the stairs outside setting off bottle rockets.  The girls all have long wavy hair and the boys are all wearing soccer jerseys.

Last Tuesday, the biggest dust storm in the last 15 years moved south from Syria and Lebanon.  The sea disappeared.  The city disappeared.  For a day, everything was yellow.  And for the week, everything (everything) was hazy.  The humidity hit 90 percent and the temperature hovered around the same.

It was uncomfortable, but in a strange way, it reminded me that I have a lot of practice weathering terrible weather.  I read lots of weather articles.  Did you know a really, really large dust storm is called a haboob, which according to one article I read means "violent wind"?

On Friday afternoon, it cleared away.  I'm sitting at the kitchen table now, and I can see the sea again.  And occasional flashes of light as kids in the street blow things up.

Where do weather patterns go when they're done moving?

Khamseen

view of the city in the morning--not a filter, a dust storm


dust and condensation collecting on the windows in the 87% humidity.


"dust"

Not a robot

We ran out of gas in out flat last week.  As a result, I've been eating more yogurt than usual (which is to say a lot of yogurt).  And pomegranates, as they're back in season.  There are worse times to find your stove rendered temporarily useless.

Between the three of us (a small and vivacious Indian, a tall and beautiful German, and me), attempts to fix this problem have involved fiddling with the various gas tanks in the back of the building and calling out through the window of our fourth floor apartment to each other to check if the stove is turning on--cries of "it's still not working. Are you sure you know which is ours???" mixing with loud meows from the massive feral cat population of Haifa and music from the perpetual Arab weddings that seem to always be going on.

Summer isn't over, which shouldn't be a surprise, but is.



What happens when these things we learn as Truths growing up--September means it'll be winter in the not-so-distant future and you can only eat pomegranates in December and if you smile at someone they will greet you warmly in response--turn out not to be so true?  Oh the multitudes the world can contain when it's only distance to change all of that.

I've been here for over a year.

There are still people and places I miss so much it hurts--like chronic shin splints from not giving up running even when you should take a break, like noticing a huge scrape on your forearm that's started to sting now the adrenaline has worn off, like paper cuts from writing love letters but being careless, like a burn from a curling iron used in a moment of vanity.  Sometimes like getting the wind knocked out of you by the truth of it all.  I don't think it will ever go away.  Not really.  Not all the way.

(and yet.)

The world is not so easy on girls who imagined themselves to be robots while growing up and turned to have hearts after all.

(and yet. and yet. and yet.)