We Deserved a Better Time on This Earth reflects on the experience of existing in liminal spaces. Born into exile as part of the third generation of Palestinians in Syria, and now living in Beirut, Ameen documents a deeply personal search for home. In his work, he weaves emotional maps that neither document a crisis nor offer conclusions, but rather hold the complexities of absence and belonging, working with what remains when so much has been taken.
“There was never anything I believed in like love,
but today I find it a compass pointing to nothing.
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Waiting is no longer intriguing, just time.
Time without use, toxic time, time that willingly clips your wings.
I can no longer bear living on the edge; there's no joy in swinging anymore.
No certainty silences the many voices in my head,
nor does chaos quench the thirst of my heart.
Just time without measure, and history being stolen before our eyes.
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Is this your first war?
No.
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I can no longer stand anticipation, nor the sound of ambulances that now live in my mind permanently.
I can no longer drink blood through my phone screen while doubting its loyalty to my cause.
Will my fingers explode as I write this text, perhaps?
No answer satisfies me.
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4:23 PM, Beirut.
More than a thousand rockets have fallen in the south.
Six hundred people died without warning, without a final goodbye.
I think of their loved ones, how many hundreds of thousands of hearts have broken?
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The streets are empty; I smoke like a train.
The silence is interrupted by a question about a friend who left for the south to accompany his family as they fled.
Worry, more silence.
The silence is interrupted again by a phone notification.
My friend asks: "Airstrike? Explosion? What’s happening?"
I cautiously approach the phone, glance at the notification without opening it:
"Mercury, the planet of love and relationships, enters your orbit this month,
meaning an increase in passion in your romantic relationships and encouraging you to lead with your heart instead of your mind.
Are you honest about what you truly want?"
I reply: Nothing important.
Silence again.
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"They’ve canceled all flights to and from Beirut until further notice."
I wonder if I’m packing my bag now, if I could.
Would I reassure my European friends, whom I don’t know and who don’t know me yet, about my safety?
Would I receive an email from some embassy, advising me to leave for the sake of my personal safety?
I wonder: if I were born on the other side of the world, would I be in this same moment?
And if I were, would I still be me?
I cut off this pointless thought.
I turn to my friends and tell them that everything will be alright.
I stare at the ground for a long time, muttering, "We deserved a better time on this earth." – Ameen Abo Kaseem
