No Reason to Go, the More Reason to go.

I figured out that there’s more out there than what people tell us. People always seem to have bit and pieces of the story they are telling or the place they are describing missing, and those bits and pieces would probably give you a different perspective on the matter, or at least make you realize why you think the way you do about something/someone/somewhere. 

Today, I went to a place that isn’t very far from where I live. Actually, it’s behind the modern buildings and houses that are being built up and beginning to block the scene from my window, and still, behind those buildings and houses, it’s behind a mountain and in a valley…but it’s fairly close to where I live. 

The cars were slowly striding along the unpaved road. As I looked around, I realized this country is just mountain after mountain, and although they all look the same, my uncle has a story to tell about each. We passed by Bedouin tents, and I wondered about their way of life. We saw horses roaming around a piece of land, swaying their tails back and forth as they ate.

“Look! Jericho is right there!” My brother exclaimed. 

“And Jerusalem is right there!” I added. 

So close, yet so far away…

Then, finally, we reached a place known as Sidi Shaban. Way back when, it used to be a shrine, and people would go visit this shrine to dance, pray, and cry, which is such a weird combination if you ask me. Farther down from the shrine, there were trees that would give a family of eight enough shade to sit under. Even further down, there was a street, but as our story in Occupia* goes, we can’t get on that street because it is for the Occupiers*.

Along with my family, there were a couple of men having a little barbeque, and the wind was kind enough to blow the smell of grilled meat all over the place. Our family had a little picnic consisting a tea that took forever to be made and cupcakes that were gone almost as insantly as we settled down there. 

I watched as the leaves of the trees were carried by the wind off their branches. I watched as my uncle formed a little fire to make tea. I watched as my grandfather walked around – and walking faster than any of us. I watched as the little kids enjoyed their day, swinging and sliding and yelling. 

More than anything, though, I marveled at quietness and serenity of the place- almost as if the mountains were sleeping – and was amazed that in the years I have been living in Occupia*, I have never went in that direction, and it’s probably because I didn’t have a reason to, or the more obivious reason would be that the Occupiers* had occupied it. 

“I haven’t seen this place in twenty years,” I heard my aunt say. 

I can’t help but wonder. Are the places we have no reason to go closer – not only in distance – than we think? 



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