Over the last two months, a dozen students from three continents have been meeting to write and reflect as part of the Writers Matter program. The following piece is part of the “I am from” collection, and comes from Doga in Turkey.

I am from

I am from love and hatred

I am from the thoughts of my own mind,

Thinking “you’ll never be enough”

I am from “leaving!” and “coming back!”,

If you stay, you’re stupid, if you leave, cruel

I am from the answer, self evident 

I am from water and fire,

Trying to balance in this conflict

I am from a life full of contrast,

Hearing “she was way better”

I am from being told to behave well

“Behave yourself, like a woman!”

I am, at times, from scratch and sometimes reminiscence

Running to my future,

But still stuck in my past

I am from learning to let go

Holding on tight is brutal

I am from my own faults,

From imperfectly perfect

Reminding me my humanity

I am from people always judging me,

When all they know is my name

I am from having to hide my emotions,

Thinking i might as well not get hurt

I am from a place where everything is faked

Until it’s made

I am from a plot twist,

Because uncertainty can’t be judged

As part of the Writers Matter program, teachers from about twenty schools around Israel wrote and shared their writing together. The following piece is part of the “I Am From” collection, and comes from Ella, from Tichon Or in Tzur Hadassah.

I’m from the East and West

I’m from the North and South

I’m from a pain that etches holes in my heart

I’m from intense longing

I’m from Hope that cannot be extinguished by a lion’s roar

I am from ancient wisdom

I’m from the cutting edge of new inventions

I’m from waves of despair that threaten to pull me under

I’m from gentle pools of light glowing in the darkest night

I am from the mouths of new born babes

I’m from my grandmother’s gnarled hands

I am from the suffering recounted by stories upon stories

and I am from the lamentations in the prayer halls

I am from the eternal scrolls, sealed with a promise.

I am from verdant forests, humble mountains, dusty deserts and aquamarine seas

I’m from a tiny country that I dare to call

my home.

As part of the Writers Matter program, teachers from about twenty schools around Israel wrote and shared their writing together. The following piece is part of the “We Hope” collection, which features writing from two writers together. This piece is contributed by Elena from Makif Yud in Rishon Letzion.

We hope  

Alla

I hope simple kindness will prevail,

I hope war will be by peace defeated

I hope everyone will feel some joy

And every joyful day will be repeated!

I hope kids won’t cry in bitter fear

Imagining they will  be buried young

And greyish pain won’t cover mothers’ hair

I hope death notices won’t come.

I hope still to see the reason restored

And help both to governments and to the people

I hope to witness a peaceful flourishing world

I do hope the villain will be defeated.

Elena

Four am. I wake up and remember that wars start at sunrise

before Eos touches the ocean with its purplish fingers.

She’s dressed so brightly, it never matters if it’s February.

I look at the window thinking: it’s time to wash it.

I look at the palm trees, feeling, – not knowing

That in your city the war has started

And placed its ugly dragon paws on the Dnipro’s throat,

And  beats the snowy fields by its beastly tail

And ruins the gardens that would bear cherries

Six twenty. You went to bed an hour ago.

Getting the suitcase ready for your flight to Leipzig.

Six twenty one. The calamity on its way.

Six twenty two. I wake up to fetch a mug of coffee.

Six twenty three. Several kettles are boiling.

Six twenty four. Another dozen joins in.

Six twenty five. I open a thriller.

Six twenty six. Your turn a pillow.

Six twenty seven. The coffee is hot.

Six twenty eight. The mynah is chirping. 

Six twenty nine… My Gosh, another minute.

Six thirty. Six thirty one. You sleep.

The sirens don’t wail.

Eleven am. Eleven pm. Midnight. 

Three am. All’s quiet.

Both:

This is the silliest and the brightest of our hopes

Coming on its mighty wings out of the blue.

Coming on its lighting wings out of tunnels.

Coming on its embracing wings from the debris…

As part of the Writers Matter program, teachers from about twenty schools around Israel wrote and shared their writing together. The following piece is part of the “I Am From” collection, and comes from Rivkah, from Misgav Educational Campus.

I am from a different culture, a different standard, 

a different age, a different world.

I am from defending my identity to simply living it.

I come from the red, white and blue – and from kachol v’lavan.

I come from canned soup 

but have evolved to homemade recipes.

I come from science and law – 

a fondness for both and a desire for neither.

I am from quips, anecdotes, storybooks and novels

that transport me to times long ago and others yet to come.

I come from community conformity 

standing alongside fierce individuality.

I came from judgement and high standards, 

yet I choose tolerance and acceptance.

I am from organized chaos and chaotic organization.

I am from independence – physical, mental and emotional.

I am from a people with a complex history, 

     a community with a code of honor,

          a family with a rich heritage, 

               and a personal eternal hope. 

I am born of love, have developed with love, 

practice love and preach love.

I come from deep roots and weightless wings.

I am from generosity of heart, hand and head.

I am tethered to the past,

     stand firmly in the present

          and courageously face the future.

I come from the realm of unending possibility.

Over the last two months, a dozen students from three continents have been meeting to write and reflect as part of the Writers Matter program. The following piece is part of the “This Scar is From” collection, and comes from Iori in the Philippines.

This Scar is From

This scar. This scar is from the years I have spent yearning for friendships that never truly wanted me, from trying to level with people who didn’t see me for who I really was. It was a deep scar. This scar was from the times I gave too many pieces of myself to those who didn’t care enough to hold them.

This scar is from wanting to earn their respect, their affection. It was from trying to blend myself into their world, also from realizing that I was losing myself in the process. It was from seeing myself being a smaller person with every failed attempt to connect, but continuing it as if it was the right thing to do. 

This scar is from the cut that the lonely feeling scraped into me. The more I reached out, the smaller I seemed. This scar is from the length of time it took me to stop looking outside for validation, the time it took me to turn inward. This was once fresh, from the neglect I did to those who truly saw me. It was a scar, from a healed wound on seeing the ones who really knew me and still chose to love me– my family. 

This scar became one from leaning into them, with all their flaws and love that offered me comfort and understanding I once tried to find elsewhere. This scar is from the reminder that I never have to shrink to fit into someone else’s world. This scar is from removing the masks, the pretense, the chase for approval. 

This scar is from that painful but valuable journey. This scar is from knowing that some people may never even be meant to be. Despite that, this scar is from the healing that came when I allowed myself to be reminded of my family.

When I look at it, this scar is now from a lesson. It is from the importance of knowing who truly has your back, who will always meet you where you are, even when the world seems to turn away. The scar is there, but it doesn’t mean it still hurts the way it once did.

This scar is from learning that true connection starts with yourself and the ones who have always been there, waiting for you to realize you don’t have to earn their love– you just have to be yourself.

As part of the Writers Matter program, teachers from about twenty schools around Israel wrote and shared their writing together. The following piece is part of the “I Am From” collection, and comes from Julia, from the Darca Begin high school in Gedera.

I am from generations before me, going further back than I know, and still discovering bits of information like hidden treasure.

I am from strong opinionated people, not afraid of following their hearts and minds.

I am from comfort food, celebration food and finish-that-plate-no-matter-what food.

I am from foreign tongues, which still pluck at the heartstrings despite fading away. 

I am from hardship, struggle, ancient hate and subsequent escape. And yet I am also from optimism, positivity, multiculturalism and hope.

I am from a new land, bright, shiny and hopeful, somewhat naive – but sometimes too light.

I am no less from an ancient land, rooted, complicated and beautiful, somewhat cynical –  but sometimes too heavy.

I am from finding that balance, day in and day out.

Over the last two months, a dozen students from three continents have been meeting to write and reflect as part of the Writers Matter program. The following piece is part of the “I Wonder” collection, and comes from Lamija in Sarajevo.

A Song that Moves Me

I do not have a favorite song, just as I do not have a favorite animal, color, or plushie.

Things simply happen. Sometimes, they meet your expectations; other times, they happen when you least expect them. Fear and love might be connected there, but in my life, everything feels unexpected; just like that evening.

Sitting on the shore with a notebook in my hands, writing and drawing. Sun was setting, when I heard a light breeze of jazz. My heart skipped a beat… The pen started moving on its own.

A couple was dancing, coming to life, when suddenly, a tap on my shoulder asked for the same dance.

Listening to those playful notes, staring into hazel eyes, unclear face,  and swaying to the breeze of jazz, we ended with Chopin’s waltz on that sweet, sweet night.

P.S. Chopin’s waltz was never meant for dancing.

Over the last two months, a dozen students from three continents have been meeting to write and reflect as part of the Writers Matter program. The following piece is part of the “I Wonder” collection, and comes from Endina in Kosovo.

I wonder

I wonder, when you look into my eyes,

do you see the pain or does it fade away, like a moth to the flame?

Really, tell me, do you feel the same?

It’ s a hard thing to say but I can’t help but think.

But no, you won’t tell me. Is that right? Why? I can’t figure it out.

Whether you love it or hate it, you should have stayed. That’s what I wonder when the storm comes rushing in.

You know I wonder what would happen if I quit because the game it’s starting to lose it’s grip.

And yet, I still find myself drawn to it, waiting for my dreams, though I know they don’t fit.

Over the last two months, a dozen students from three continents have been meeting to write and reflect as part of the Writers Matter program. The following piece is part of the “I am from” collection, and comes from Duru in Turkey.

When I was little I liked to imagine that I came from a place that’s filled with rainbows and unicorns where the sun never set. In reality I come from a place where the sun only comes up once in a while. I don’t know why I didn’t like the place I came from as a kid. Every night we ate dinner together. Sometimes that dinner table was filled with laughter and joy. But sometimes it was filled with silence cutting through the air like a knife. We used to play games or watch movies once in a while. I remember loving the time I spent with the people that make me who I am today. But now I barely see them. I can’t recognize where I come from, let alone the people whom I love the most. 

I didn’t appreciate the good times back then and only focused on the bad stuff that led me to want only good things to happen. But what I hadn’t realized was that, in order to have a rainbow you need the rain too. Since I know that now, I can easily tell you where I come from. I come from a family that’s loving and caring where everyone looks out for each other. I come from a household that’s filled with fights and arguments that took days and months to be forgotten. I come from a place warmer than any sun could ever make me feel. 

Now I’m proud of where I come from and the person that I have become.