The American Emptiness

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Salam sits at her desk, a faint frown etched into her features.

In the corner of her room, there is a cage, and within it, a small bird flutters, offering a chorus of twitters and chirps. Every so often, Salam glances over with a sympathetic look, and the bird falls silent. Yet, as soon as her gaze shifts away, the chirping resumes.

> "You desire to look, don't you?" asks the bird.


"It's always the same," Salam replies quietly.

> "You can’t resist checking," croaks the bird. "There could be a ceasefire. There’s been hope for days now."


"They’ve been saying that for months. I can’t—I’m not in the mood to see another dead child. Another broken dream." Salam exhales softly. "I have no tears left to cry. All I have is the will to moving forward."

> "And yet, you feel futility in all you do, don't you? You have all this time."


"I spoke with an older Palestinian sister at the mosque some weeks ago. She told me the world doesn’t need another Palestinian martyr. It needs our existence. Our education." She clenches her fists, her gaze fixed on her work. "My sacrifices here feel so small. I'm better off doing what I can here to stop myself from falling apart. So I’ve chosen to look forward, though sometimes that means I look away."

The bird seems satisfied with her answer, but discomfort lingers in Salam’s chest. Time passes. The bird keeps chirping. Salam keeps working. Another dozen souls ascend to meet their maker. Something stirs within Salam, and she turns back to the bird.

"I don’t remember catching a bird. I don’t remember putting a cage there."

> ""My dear Salam, you listen to me in your mind every day. My songs, my prayers. You are strong-willed, and you have held out." The bird hops to a closer perch within its cage, shaking its tail as it gazes at her through the bars. "But as you live your life, tell me—whom has caught whom?"


"Are you my hope?"

> "I am desire."


"What’s the difference?"

> "Hope is selfless. Desire is selfish. You desire for this to go away because it makes you uncomfortable. You desire their pain to be silent because you’ve learned to bear the silence. And perhaps... some part of you desires to forget it all."


"Perhaps I did, once. Because it’s what I was used to." Salam rises and approaches the bird. She kneels beside the cage, opens the door, and offers her fingertip.

> Desire leans into her touch.


"I’ve grown this past year. Not just grown, but grown up."

> "And yet, I’m still here. You still have Desire."


"But I think I’ve grown out of the selfish kind. It’s hard to describe, but… I’ve seen beauty in the world, even now, where it’s most precious. I see the beautiful lives my friends and family back home have lived. I see myself within them. Despite the distance, despite the fragments of glimpses, I see them."

> "And that has what to do with Desire?"


""I don’t desire an extraordinary life. I desire to be with the people I love, to fulfill my duties as a human, to savor the beauty life offers, and to leave the world peacefully—hopefully better than I found it. My family, my people, desire that too. What I want is a simple, peaceful life. Is that so much to desire?"

> The bird tilts its head, studying her. "Check. Check the news."


Begrudgingly, Salam retrieves her phone. Her thumb hovers over the news app before pressing it.

Israel and Hamas reach a Gaza ceasefire agreement.

"This deal will halt the fighting in Gaza, deliver much-needed humanitarian assistance to Palestinian civilians, and reunite hostages with their families after more than 15 months in captivity," President Biden stated…

The world turns numb. Then beautiful. Then numb again.

Salam’s phone nearly slips from her. In the next room, she hears the passionate shouting of her mother and father.

The world is everything, then nothing.

Tears well in her eyes. Desire ruffles its feathers.

> "Isn’t this what you wanted?" it asks.


467 days led to this moment.
46,707 Palestinian lives were the cost.
A hundred lives taken every day for fifteen months.

""What are you supposed to do after that?" Salam whispers. "What are you supposed to do after… There is so much left to do."

> "It's what you wanted."


"I used to want things to go back to how they were, but nothing is the same. And now, I don’t want ‘before’ anymore either."

> "What do you want to do?"


"I want to rebuild. I want to help. I want to fix everything. I want…" Her voice falters. "I want this to be okay again."

> "But you can’t have that. You got all you could want."


"This was all I wanted. This moment is all I waited for, and yet…"

> "Things often feel empty once you get what you want."


"So what now?"

> "You wait."


""How long?"

> "A day, a decade, a lifetime. However long it takes for the world to know what's next."


Salam is silent.

> "But I will come back to you again. You will know how to move forward again, in due time."


Salam opens her hand.

> The bird nestles into her palm.


She turns to the open window

> and the bird flies away.


She looks back at the cage.

> The door is ajar. The silence is deafening.


And now, there is only emptiness.

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