fruitful, fruitful
hey there, dear reader. if you're on the same planet as me, 2024 has made its arrival. (if you're not, i'm glad this intergalactic transmission found you somehow.) i hope the new year has greeted you with kindness. maybe it's greeted you with rancor bitter as midwinter winds, or a seething rage that could ignite a hearth. in any case, i hope you are here, held, and holding on.
for the most part, i been wishing folks a fruitful new year in lieu of a happy one. after all the suffering laid bare in 2023, "happy new year" felt disingenuous, felt incomplete coming from my tongue or fingertips. for many, the clock struck midnight and they were greeted with shells and gunfire instead of kisses, clinking champagne, and skies lit by multicolored starbursts. Naomi Shibab Nye said it best: "To enjoy/ fireworks/ you would have/ to have lived/ a different kind/ of life."
etymologically, fruits evoke enjoyment after harvest. they signify sweetness, sensuality, an unforgettable taste of something worked for. i've used fruitful, then, to mean the result of generative intention. for you, me, and everyone in between, i want this year to yield juicy, life-affirming evidence that our days have been devoted to growth, nourishment, and collaboration.
days before the final page of the calendar turned, two unrelated pieces of art grabbed my attention. the first: "On a New Year's Eve" by June Jordan, her verses an arresting meditation on the power of impermanence. some of us age entire decades in the span of months. some of us breathe for only a day before the world evaporates around us. some of us languish relatively unbothered, planning for days we've fooled ourselves into believing we're owed. (or rather, colonial mathematics have added time to some of us because it has been extracted from the blood and bone of some obscured others). still still still, none of us live forever. eternity simply cannot fit around the human body. the only thing we are promised in this life is our end, so what splendor can we savor in the precious precarious present moment, especially if we can bite into it with a beloved one?
right before 2023 ended, i printed out a copy of this poem and taped it inside a card that i mailed to one of my incarcerated penpals after she shared that she'll be paroling out soon after spending nearly 25 years inside for taking necessary action to survive intimate partner violence. it felt like a timely benediction in anticipation of her farewell to the walls that restricted her for far too long. her now saturated with the nectar of freedom, her now complicated by intermingled hellos and goodbyes since returning to the embraces of her family means leaving behind the "brown arm" of her lover that held her in the hold.
in my written message, i told her that when she's fully out of state custody (she must go to a post-release transition center for several months), i'll bring her two things: a bouquet of flowers and a pan of homemade black cake, an Afro-Caribbean dessert typically prepared for Christmas. solidarity across walls and borders. a fruitful pursuit. new beginnings after surviving season after season of death. a fruitful pursuit. a decadent celebratory treat laden with wine-and-rum-soaked raisins, prunes, and cherries. fruitful, fruitful.
in my penpal's reply, penned in green cursive to symbolize "life, energy, and prosperity," she said, "Can't wait. I'll be waiting." a present contradiction, simultaneously heightened and delicious.
the second artwork: Viva La Vida by Frida Kahlo (the title of which inspired Coldplay's choice of name for their 2008 earworm). this still-life work was the last she completed before her death in 1954. watermelons are the sole focus -- some left whole, some cut open to reveal their vibrant interior. the slice placed at the front bears the titular inscription: Viva La Vida. Long Live Life. an achingly prescient declaration from someone mere days from her earthly departure. i'm not familiar with many details of Kahlo's life, but i do know she lived with chronic pain and compounding disabilities, just as i know she built a politicized creative practice of self-regard from the realm of her bed.
understandably, this imagery brought Palestine to the forefront of my mind (not that it ever strays far) because of how the country's people have used the watermelon as a sweet, subversive symbol of self-determination in the face of continuous disablement and death. outlaw our flag? then here is our defiance: black the seed, red the flesh, white the rind, green the skin. here is our desire to grow and thrive on our land, carved into a smile. here is our home. like the spring, we shall return.
Palestinians have shown us what it means to treasure life, having unconsensually experienced its fragility time and again under occupation. i come back to the heart-shattering words uttered by a nurse in Gaza last month: "If we are not destined to continue living, then memorize our actions, our names, and our pictures, and write on our graves in bold script: HERE LIE THOSE WHO LOVED LIFE AND COULD NOT FIND A WAY TO LIVE IT." i come back to Refaat Alareer who, like Kahlo, shared a premonitory swan song ("if i must die") not long before israel careened him into martyrdom along with several members of his family.
100+ days and 75 years. right now, Gazans should be in the midst of picking strawberries and pomegranates, awakening their palates with tart brightness as a delightful amuse-bouche for watermelon season. instead, daily life continues to be obliterated, down to the phantomed fields, the shellshocked roots. US-funded israel shatters Palestine's ecosystem and poisons everyone's atmosphere as a result. as such, Palestinian liberation must remain the seeded-apple of our eyes. we must be heartened by disruptions of the status quo, like the efforts led by Houthis in Yemen to blockade israel's shipping routes. militant resistance, care under duress, stewardship of memory and land. fruitful, fruitful, fruitful. this is my desire for my 2024 ahead, and i reach for it, careful and expectant, like i do when accepting the slick, golden gift of a ripe mango slice extended from the tip of my mother's knife.
i look forward to witnessing how seeds sown will germinate into wonders unknown. last month, i gratefully participated in the inaugural cohort of Ayana Zaire Cotton's Seed A World retreat wherein we were lovingly equipped with tools to cultivate values-aligned, desire-driven, income-generating creative offers. though i'm currently getting acclimated into two "traditional" jobs, my divinely-ordered path as bricoleur/diviner/dreamtender/etc. will always supersede my roles within employment, and i know that i can always revisit my inventory of skills and curiosities to share an offering that resources my life. (if you're currently in a space to do the same and you have the means, i encourage you to enroll in the upcoming cohort! January 29th is the last day to join.)
tomorrow, i begin death doula training with Alua Arthur's Going With Grace program. with thanks to my ancestors (and the green candle magic i did at the end of October), i received the scholarship to cover the cost of my participation. beyond my interest in personally honoring and preparing for my own mortality, i believe that the future we’re heading towards as a collective will require the diligent presence of people rooted within disability justice who are equipped to steward people through/to death (considering the overwhelming pandemic apathy). i also feel pulled to build the necessary skills needed to confront empire in a world threatened by bloodthirsty regimes, especially since there will sadly be more martyrs.
this year, i will also keep showing up for my relationships with myself, my friends, my lovers, my dead folks, my comrades, my neighbors. truer than it's ever been, we're all we've got.
whatever it is you aspire towards for 2024, may your branches be so heavy and vines so full of everything you've tended once December rolls around again. may you find ways to shift weight in the balance of the global order that permits the west to gorge itself on the fruits of others' labor. and may gratitude abound if happiness finds you somewhere in that practice.
peace,
Dkéama
an assortment of fruits (post-script)
excerpt from "i wish you knew" by Anam Raheem on their Substack liminal fuzz
"I wish you knew my friend Ahmed, an only child, a rarity in Palestinian culture. He often maps back his quirks to this fact. I once offered him an orange. He refused, sheepishly admitting he didn’t know how to peel it. I looked at him, wondering if he was joking. My mother had a lot of time for me since it was just me in the home. The fruit always came peeled."
Jaffa oranges were the prized jewel of Palestinian farmers pre-Nakba until israel violently displaced Jaffa Palestinians and seized production/profits.
a tiktok briefly covering the history of Jaffa oranges.
Do Not Despair of the Mercy of Allah from June Jordan's poem "Intifada"
image description: black text on white background that reads: "Do Not Despair of the Mercy of Allah - 'Fig trees will grow and oranges erupt from the desert holdings on which plastic bullets (70% zinc, 20% glass, and 10% plastic) will prove blood soluble and fertilize the earth where sheep will graze and women no longer grieve and beat their breasts They will beat clean fine-woven rugs outside a house smelling of cinnamon and nutmeg'" "Fig Tree" by Bunny Wailer
To say they were free, say they were free
In my fig tree, where i wanna be
So safe and free in my fig tree
Where i long to be from all miseryThe January 10th #Persimmongate debacle from Cleveland's City Council, shared by my comrade Swetha, where pigs confiscated persimmons from protestors calling for a ceasefire because they were "mistaken" for rotten tomatoes. for as long as we live in this World, i'll always be disturbed and confused by all the ways the state will villainize and punish people for trying to feed each other.
a tiktok of Orlando Brown lamenting on how we shouldn't have to pay for fruits. i had to add lil spot of levity anchored in some real shit (because capitalism been a scam at odds with nature and inflation keep going from worse to worser, chile).
transcript: "you're making us pay for grapes?! APPLES?! things that god gave us for free??! ***stares, mouth agape in disbelief*** HA! ***speaks in tongues*** YOU WILL BURN IN HELL ONCE I'M THROUGH WITH YOU."
a fye pic of two Palestinian men balancing watermelons on their heads while they also enjoy a couple slices. (Shadi Hatem via @kuvrd on instagram)
image description: two Palestinian men balance watermelons on their heads. they both wear patterned button-down shirts opened to reveal their white undershirts. the one on the left has two watermelons on his head and he bites into a slice. the one on the right has three watermelons on his head, and the top one is pierced by two Palestinian flags. he holds his bitten slice in front of his solemn, sunglasses-obscured face.