I went back home to Dubai for the Bank Holiday in England. The scorching sun felt good on my skin, driving on the charred roads with smoothness that is customary when two superheated objects rub against each other.
There was a strange moment after I reached home:
My satellite family – all four of us once living in 4 different corners of the world, were now in the same room. That room wasn’t a hotel in London or San Francisco, neither was it the living room in my mother’s apartment in Doha. It was at home, in our kitchen. A concept, an occasion that seemed to have become rarer as the years went by thanks to the operational difficulties and opportunities of life. But that didn’t make it strange, it was just rare.
The strange part is what happened next – I plugged in my iPhone and started playing music. My music, the songs that I had been listening to, as the four of us prepared what could best be describe as a pre-all you can eat, dim sum extravaganza snack. Someone mixing olive oil with garlic, chili flakes and salt; someone slicing some fresh baguette; someone frying a little bacon; and someone preparing a little hard Iranian cheese with fresh mint.
As we did this, Rodrigo Amarante’s Tuyo played on the speakers: the guitar flowing like water off of a waterfall, the drums rhythmic but not overbearing, and his voice crooning lyrics that can only be described as succulent –
Soy el fuego que arde tu piel
Soy el agua que mata tu sed
El castillo, la torre yo soy
La espada que guarda el caudal
I am the fire that burns your skin
I am the water that kills your thirst
I am the castle, the tower
The sword that guards the fortune
None of us speak Spanish and at that moment, none us needed to speak Spanish. We were not connected by a language, we were not connected by music, pulsing over speakers that are too large for a kitchen as we each prepared something to bring to the table. We were connected by something deeper – if the air was skin, the music was the subcutaneous pulse, the blood flowing through the veins beneath the skin, you could feel it, you knew it was there. It was a moment of subconscious harmony. Amarante continues,
Tú el aire que respiro yo
Y la luz de la luna en el mar
La garganta que ansío mojar
Que temo ahogar de amor
¿Y cuales deseos me vas a dar?
You the air that I breathe
And the moonlight in the sea
The throat I want to wet
That I am afraid of throttling
And what desires are you going to give me?
I remembered another similar moment after we all whipped up a meal in a kitchen that was thousands of miles away from Dubai as I played this song on a small, but robust docking station. I watched two people dance to this song. It was mother and daughter: mother showing daughter how to lead, daughter following clumsily, studiously. Their eyes locked in a way that only a mother and a daughter can ever lock eyes – drowning into mirror, into the same pair of eyes. Even then, there was this subcutaneous pulse created by more than just the music.
The then and the now – so far away yet so close – bound by this song in this language that I can barely claim to have a passing understanding of despite having studied it for years, and being exposed to it for even more. Both moments were, in their own way, expressions of love, expressions that we genuinely care for one another, and they were framed in these whimsical lyrics. And as the song slowly drifted to a close,
Dices tú: Mi tesoro basta con mirarlo
Tuyo será, y tuyo será.
You say, “My treasure is enough just by looking at it
It will be yours, it will be yours.”
Something occured to me –
When you love someone, you tell them.
When you care about someone, you show them.
When someone is special to you, make the effort.
It could be as easy as framing a moment of togetherness in a song that completes an image that you will carry with you forever. It could be as stupid as that grand gesture that you make without knowing whether or not it will even be received let alone achieve what you want it to. But you do it anyway. What is life otherwise?
So be bold, be brave, be foolish, be crazy, be stupid, be you. Don’t wait, don’t sit around and feed unrequited emotion – it will squeeze you, it will suffocate you, and rest assured, it will kill you.
Have the faith, the Iman, that regardless of whether or not you get the reaction or the outcome you desire, that you, my friend, have made someone feel special. And you have done so, by doing something special, because at the end of the day – special people do special things.
The rest is up to them, and to Iman.