Touch it, Smell it, Suck it

05:05 min

2023

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I was raised in a conservative Shia Muslim community in Baghdad where emotional expression was limited. Whenever community members faced difficulties in life or in holy ceremonies, they often resorted to tears as a means of coping. During such times, they would invite professional singers (Mullah/Mullahye) to their gatherings to perform religious hymns that spoke of the pain and suffering of the lost, lonely, and particularly of Imam Al-Hussein and his children.

I vividly recall how my mother and other relatives eagerly anticipated these events, longing for an opportunity to release their pent-up emotions. My mother would often express her desire for such gatherings, saying:

"I yearn for these occasions, where I can cry and engage in self-flagellation. I want to forget everything, all the lack of happiness, poorness, the ongoing war and all other family shit."

Despite the passing of over three decades, the memories of me being raped from my first ten years of life still remain vividly etched in my mind. Their haunting presence repeatedly plays in my head, causing me significant distress. These memories have had a profound impact on my teenage years and continue to affect my daily life.

They have left me with an unsettled outlook on life, making it also difficult for me to trust others. These traumatic experiences have also left me with a wounded soul, which may have contributed to the development of a permanent speech stutter and an unstable sense of identity.

In my perspective, identity is composed of a collection of experiences, memories, relationships, and beliefs. However, my own experiences have been fraught with pain, confusion, and disorientation, making it challenging for me to develop a stable and cohesive sense of self or identity.

To confront these challenges, I did this Performance-video with the goal of conveying the somber and melancholic memories of my childhood. As I reflect on my childhood Trauma, I empathize with the feeling of absolute helplessness my mother must have experienced. It seems that when faced with a problem that cannot be easily solved, crying becomes a natural response.