today as i was writing the last five pages of my first chapter, i flipped on luther vandross’s dance with my father again. i can distinctly remember the last time i heard that song. i was watching tv, and i think it was a music awards show honouring his death and they made a music video to go along with it. that’s the only way i can describe it because i’ve never seen the video since, not even searching on youtube. suffice to say, its not an easy song to listen to. i had to burry my face in my hands for a few moments and let the tears ducts have. its not easy listening to that kind of song and writing pages where the fictional version of yourself watches her terminally ill father die. especially knowing it didn’t happen that way in real life. but sometimes i want to play with make believe and a little black girl’s ability to talk to star dust/{a celestial entity from the afterlife} moreso than i am concerned with telling the whole truth. i just remember my body freezing as i’m watching all these celebrities pay tribute to their dead fathers and simultaneously pay tribute to luther vandross’ career/personhood.
and then i started thinking about my two first names, hebrew and persian side by side. a birth certificate is where worlds collide. i think about how my father invoked his dreams for my generation to be bearers of peace in this world. how he wanted my generation to be that force for change, and how i have always questioned whether what i am doing in life is making him proud. am i serving that dream of being the bridge between worlds thought to be dichotomous and distant.
i think, as i make steps towards going to divinity school, teaching myself about spiritual social justice and liberation theory from a Muslim {particularly sufi} perspective, and as i get closer to actualizing how i am going to walk this world and what will i leave behind, i spend less time questioning whether I’m living out his vision/would he be proud of me and more whether he would be proud of the vision i’m trying to create for myself.
