Tag: looking back

by jad

I don’t like explosions very much at all.

It’s been really gratifying to see more people commenting on the uneven distribution of firework joy, whether as a form of reinvigorated protest, or in the shape of that poem being shared about explosions and the differentiated lives we’ve lived. That’s been a thorn in my side for most of my life. I wrote my own poem once about the rat-tat-tat of compatriots insisting on our communal bonds outside my teenage bedroom door. I wrote an email too, my first time experiencing a Royal Air Force fighter jet screaming over the Royal Mile in Edinburgh back when I barely researched … Continue reading “I don’t like explosions very much at all.” →

by jad

Battleship New Jersey

The scans from my last day on the East Coast, a day I spent on this war machine turned war memorial, just came back as the drums of global conflagration have reached a deafening crescendo, making this eerie space look even creepier. I’ve never enjoyed shows of military might. I don’t rejoice in fire power. I don’t even particularly like fireworks. But I will always cheer when the mighty fall. And I will always mourn the innocent devoured by the hungry maw of imperial expansionism. Do not ask me to take any other sides. When I walked aboard, I was … Continue reading “Battleship New Jersey” →

by jad

The Photographer in May

May was a rough month for me, a fact that, I think, was reflected in the way I wrote and took photos; clipped, halting, and more enigmatically than usual. Below is an analysis generated by ChatGPT to help me articulate what I could not express during that time. The person taking these photos seems to possess a documentary-style approach to photography, capturing candid and unfiltered moments from everyday life. Their photographic style suggests an appreciation for the ordinary, focusing on details that might otherwise go unnoticed. The toy car in the first image reflects a sense of nostalgia or playfulness, … Continue reading “The Photographer in May” →

by jad

Some Sort of Attempt

When I was finding my way back to some kind of Christian faith, I stumbled on a zine from the 80s called “A Pinch of Salt,” initially founded by a group rather cheekily calling itself C.I.A., or “Christians Interested in Anarchism.” I was a would-be radical fumbling around for some sort of faith, and they were a group whose tagline in the early days was “some sort of an attempt at revolutionary Christianity,” and it completely turned what I thought I’d known about the religion of my birth upside-down. Indeed, one of the pages of first issue boldly declared in … Continue reading “Some Sort of Attempt” →

by jad

Bus Map at the Biennale

I’m possibly jumping the gun with this post, but I’m too emotionally invested in this improbable happening to stop myself, so the communications strategists will have to forgive this sentimental old immigrant so far-flung across the globe—in a week, that modest proposal that took over my life for the longest time over a decade ago, first as @busmapproject then as @ridersrightslb, is being featured in the “Atlas of Popular Transport,” a compendium and exhibit organized by @mit_lcau & @civicdatadesignlab at @labiennale. One of the most exhausting periods I’ve ever fought through will be one slim chapter of a global story … Continue reading “Bus Map at the Biennale” →

by jad

The Red Thread

The other day, I shared a post I’d made 5 years ago as part of a writing challenge I’d given myself in 2020 called Twenty Weeks of Gratitude. It was a memory of project I worked on in 2015, which had roots in prior work I’d started 5 years before that, so you can imagine how everything might feel like a lifetime ago. Like a door that keeps revolving in a half-forgotten dream, or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream, etc. I recorded these videos when these threads unexpectedly came together while I was in Lebanon … Continue reading “The Red Thread” →

by jad

My Heart Sees It

Someone asked me if my dad’s roll of Kodak Advantix film had been used, and I was certain it hadn’t, so imagine my heartache seeing these frames come back from the lab. This is my baby sister when she was still a baby sister. That’s the balcony at our old place; the same balcony she took her work calls on when we hung out at the same place when I was back there in January. It looks different now. So do we. I didn’t expect to see these photos so quickly. I didn’t expect to feel the way I do … Continue reading “My Heart Sees It” →

by jad

The Windmills of my Mind

My sister found and sent me a picture of a single-serving carton of the chocolate milk we both grew up on and it looked exactly the same. This set me off into a slow moving spiral of sappy nostalgia, like a wheel within a wheel, you might say, a mood that I was already in this morning, having just finished a roll of film that was in my dad’s Kodak Advantix camera—a roll he’d loaded some decades ago but never used. So now I’m sharing these random moments I’ve collected around town; quiet moments in the noise. I found my … Continue reading “The Windmills of my Mind” →

by jad

Irreducible Squares

This wasn’t where I went to the first mass protest in my life, but it was the very first one I went to consciously and after agonizing about what to do. We were all caught up in the mess of affairs, but we were not all parsing them the same way, and the pressure of choosing the right side of history felt visceral at that young age. I don’t think I’ve admitted this to anyone yet, but I cried the night before, frustrated by the contrasting narratives I was scrambling to absorb in order to understand what is to be … Continue reading “Irreducible Squares” →

by jad

Ghosts in the Frame

A few hours after I shared about wondering if it was time to nag the lab for my scans (it wasn’t), I saw them in my inbox, much earlier than the turnaround had promised. Spooky… Because there’s something inherently ghostly about seeing film come back weeks after having already processed your experience of a place digitally, especially when some frames are similar while others are not. It’s like the sedimentation of memory itself; every re-telling is another exposure on the film of your mind: hazy, layered, and re-imagined. I came to this spot because, to me, it represented my father, … Continue reading “Ghosts in the Frame” →