Today I am released from the burden of intention and direction. I am being carried, boxed up on a bony road that bends and stretches far and high. Being led this way makes me feel free. The stillness in the movement calms me. Here is a peace unique to long bus rides and the songs of Mohammed Wardi. The journeys are the same. Part of me freezes and locks onto his voice, while another part swells and skips in movement with his violins, while still another part asks: how did we get so high? The view out the window is framed by itchy curtains and filtered brown by dust splotches. Yet I am happy here, rolling onwards, trapped in place with my head resting on the shoulder of the mountain. The stillness becomes painfully oppressive whenever the bus stops, though. I guess the balance struck is as precarious as these mountain roads...

Somehow I feel close to the other passengers, though we do not speak. We are joined together at the knees and elbows in a silent sisterhood. Our bond has been forged by the road, every pothole like the smack of a hammer, every sharp bend a twist to the screws that hold us together. The driver is not a peaceful man but he takes care of us. My eyes dance a little with the braids of the girl in front. The woman next to me smells like the Saudi Arabia I knew in 2003. We all share sighs and sunflower seeds. The only way I know how to love is in quiet...

I am reminded of other moments of quiet surrender, in the mother country. I find myself there, sitting in silence next to jidu, each of us massaging a sweet little mango. We bought them at the morning market for slightly more than they are worth because jidu gave in with a smile to the fruitseller's pleas. Jidu in his usual way of quiet measurement is focused on the mango, slowly kneading with his fingers the firm yellow skin and soft black wrinkles. I watch and copy. When it is ready he pierces the tip of the mango with his front teeth and sucks out the mushy juice in one go. Haboba enters the room and pushes another mango into my sticky hands. I accept even though I have already had three...

Back on the bus I am getting to know myself again. Somehow I feel fuller. Perhaps I am seeing things that can only be seen from these mountain heights. The part of me that hurts is elusive still. Something cold and grey that is everywhere and nowhere. But we pass through the clouds and the warmth slowly starts to return. I look back and the view is beautiful. I can see clearly now something else that has been hanging onto my mind, like the clouds hanging onto this mountain, like the muted beat of this engine, nowhere and everywhere...

I think I have arrived.



Music by Pedro Ricardo and Damián Botigué
Additional synthesizer by Héctor Rubbio
Artwork by Sara Polja
Words by B

Barcelona, 2019

If interested contact: hearsenseandfeel@gmail.com