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سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

Book by Louis Yako · 12 quotes · Arabic Poetry, Arabic Literature, Loss

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سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere] Quotes

“Are You Afraid of Sadness?” In an old interview with a famous and talented Iraqi actress, the interviewer asked, 'Why are you afraid of sadness?' The actress responded, 'I am afraid of it because it quickly takes you to a place from which you can never return.' And exactly as she answered, insightful viewers could feel the sadness on her face, indicating that the actress herself wasn’t truly present in the interview— sadness had long since taken her, with no return. November 19, 2023”

LossGriefSadnessSorrowDepressionArabic PoetryArabic Literature
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“Departure" Everyone wants to leave— those here long to be there, and many there ache to return here… There are some who’ve grasped that living is impossible neither here nor there— so they search, in vain, for alternatives. Few have come to understand that this impossibility of living stems not from geography, but from complicity. Most who stay or go never part ways with their surrender and quiet compliance— and so they recreate, everywhere they settle, the same conditions and reasons for departure. Few have realized that all places will remain unlivable as long as the urge to leave is born from a complicit, defeated self…”

ChangeSurrenderDenialEscapeDepartureComplianceComplicityArabic PoetryArabic Literature
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“Fashionable Beard” I asked my friend, sporting a fashionable beard, with playful curiosity: ‘Has your beard brought you new fans?’ ‘You have no idea how much it has!’ he laughed, eyes gleaming with irony. ‘Do you wonder why people can’t see you clearly without it?’ I probed. He smiled and said, ‘This beard reminds me daily— people refuse to face the bare truth. They only look at things when they’re dressed up in something— a mask, a trend, a distraction. But never just as they are.”

MenLooksGenderAttractionMasculinityGender RolesSuperficialityAppearancesArabic LiteratureBeards
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“(Twins in the Wound) It took me years to understand that we didn’t love each other because we were conventionally compatible or in perfect harmony, but because we were broken and shattered in the same exact places… We are twins in the wound, abandoned and banished by our families when they discovered we refused to play by the rules of the overwhelming—and overwhelmed—majority… And so, my love, I hid you from everyone, not out of shame, but out of dread of the tyranny and ignorance of the rabble… From your hidden love I learned that only love which quietly masters the art of hiding from watchful eyes and hypocrites survives in the end… May 15, 2024”

LoveTrue LoveWoundsCompanionshipForbidden LoveArabic PoetryCompatibilityArabic Literature
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“(Beware of Strangers) As children, we are taught to beware of strangers, to refrain from approaching them. As we grow older, we learn that no one is stranger than those we thought we’d known all our lives. We learn that a stranger may carry more empathy, and understand us more deeply, and that affections from a stranger may be more sincere. So, I ask: Can humanity and strangeness be synonymous? Could we say, 'I am a stranger; therefore I am'? Can we truly feel alive without strange things, strange encounters, without strangers reminding us that our hearts and minds are still beating? They teach us to avoid strangers, yet life teaches us that human awareness can only be born of the dagger of strangeness… that life is tasteless without mingling with strangers… that familiarity is opposed to life! Thus, I loudly declare: A stranger I was born; a stranger I wish to remain! And I ask that you issue my death certificate the day I become familiar. October 29, 2022”

WisdomGrowthTravelConnectionFamiliarityExclusionStrangersArabic PoetryArabic LiteratureThe Meaning Of Life
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“They Say the World Will End Soon" They say the nuclear weapons—born of fear of the other— have become a curse, a plague, a scourge upon those who built them, even more than those they were meant to threaten… And I wonder: Will nuclear weapons bring about the end of the world? Or will it be humanity’s fear, complicity, and quiet submission? If what they say is true, before the world ends—and before I die— I wish to drink one last cup of cardamom-flavored tea, to taste one final fig, peach, or apricot, to inhale the scent of a quince, to dip one last piece of bread into Palestinian thyme and olive oil… Before the world ends, I want to smell pine needles, and breathe the scent of the season’s first rain after a long, dry summer. Before the world ends—and before I die— I long to read one more book from the thousands still waiting for me. I ask for one more spring to inhale bunches of Iraqi narcissus. And one more autumn to marvel at the dying leaves— defying death with beauty just before falling upon the indifferent ground. But most of all, my final wish before I die is that my death not be the end of the world…”

Life LessonsHumanityHopeFearCourageRebellionComplicityArabic PoetryArabic LiteratureThe End Of The World
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“Sorrow in the Heart of an Apple” I tidied my old sorrow, wrapped it gently in scented cloth, and buried it beneath the apple tree in our village orchard. Seasons rolled by... And I believed it was finished, forgotten, even the burial site lost to memory. Then came harvest. I plucked a red apple— shiny, luscious, radiant with promise. But with the first bite, I tasted it. That same sorrow, aged but unmistakable. It had not only survived— it had multiplied. Now here I am, face to face again, finding it in the heart of every apple.”

LifeLife LessonsLossGriefMemoryTraumaForgettingArabic PoetryArabic LiteratureThe Human Condition
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“Silent Messages – 2” She sat at the crowded bus terminal, rearranging the contents of her disorganized handbag. When she lifted her head for a moment, her eyes fell on a young couple kissing, touching, and hugging in a performative, exaggerated manner. As they noticed her, the young woman cast a mean, malicious look— as if to ask, ‘Are you jealous of all the love that surrounds me?’ She returned the glance with a sly one, as if replying, ‘Love that must parade itself in public is either immature, dead, or dying…”

LoveWisdomRomanceRelationshipsMarriageFeminismTrue LoveGenderArabic PoetryArabic Literature
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“Arabs & Garbage" Strange is the Arab story with garbage— who told them, who taught them to toss waste carelessly, wherever and however they please? When will Arabs understand that putting garbage in its proper place could solve half of their environmental and societal woes? And the other half? That too would vanish if they stopped casting away their human gems— their brightest minds, forced to serve others abroad. When will they stop discarding their best in favor of foreign refuse they glorify simply because it comes draped in white skin and blue eyes, boasting skills they claim Arabs can’t survive without? When will they grasp that real change lies in placing all garbage— be it those who govern them or those they import— exactly where it belongs?”

EnvironmentAwarenessPollutionColonialismImperialismArabic PoetryInferiority ComplexArabic LiteratureBrain Drain
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“Hand Watches” I opened the drawer where I store old keepsakes and tokens. My eyes paused on hand watches with dead batteries, frozen in time… Gifts from teachers and friends— offered to honor my accomplishments, to praise my respect for time. It never occurred to them, or to me, that Time could die of a heart attack— that it would cease to matter the day my homeland was occupied and destroyed. The day the plunderers —both foreign and within— colluded to burn and erase all that was beautiful. Since then, I’ve refused to wear hand watches, and I never will until my people reclaim their Time and dignity. And when that day comes, Time will no longer matter. For then, I will become— a butterfly, a sparrow, a daffodil or an orange blossom, perhaps an apricot blossom on a branch, an unstoppable stream of water flowing beyond time and timing. In that same drawer, I found pens that had run dry, like mummified corpses. In a moment of despair, a lightning bolt of realization struck me— leaving behind a terrifying question: What if this is a wound that no amount of time can heal— a cause so vast that all the world’s ink cannot write its cure?”

WarTimeLossExileInvasionRefugeesColonizationArabic PoetryDisplacementArabic Literature
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“Lights” Lights of churches, monasteries, Christmas trees, and magnificent mosques. The dim lights inside warm houses in every foreign city where I wandered alone. The far-away headlights of cars crossing bridges, watched from the windows of dreary hotels on clear, moonlit nights. Candlelight and lanterns, the lights of small shops in ancient, forgotten alleys, the lights of ships sailing to places I will never see, lamp-post lights on dark, rainy winter nights, solitary lighthouses and the lights of unknown fishermen, the glittering lights I saw in the eyes of kind strangers in cities tourists never visit. All these lights I once loved now break me; they remind me of the magical light that was extinguished in your eyes…”

LoveLightLossDarknessLonelinessLongingYearningLost LoveArabic PoetryArabic Literature
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