Orange Blossoms by Half Waif

August 29, 2021

Orange Blossoms by Half Waif

It's been almost 9 months since I last wrote about a song. I think there's something to be said here - the last 9 months have moved fast. The last 9 months have also been a wave of what almost seems impossible to process in normal words. And the year continues in this insanely surreal way ranging from a pandemic that continues to be a part of all of our worlds to the unraveling of nation-states.

And me, I'm just trying to stay tethered to my soul. There have been specific moments this year, especially moments of immense grief after losing someone so close to my heart, where I did feel I was close to a soul connection. And there have been other moments where I've felt disconnected from what I used to know was my spirit. Anay reminded me recently that parenthood can do that to us - bring out newer parts of us while pushing away other parts of us because suddenly new worries are top of mind. And I think it's also 1.5 years of a new world order and a country attempting to reckon with itself and uncertainty and changes in me since I became a mother that have made things cloudy. There are moments when I feel that all I can do is just flow with the moment passively. But when I can flow with the moment actively - ahhh, the beauty.

That's all to say - a song hasn't spoken to my heart in a while. You know the kind of song. The kind that you just keep playing over and over because it's saying something lyrically that is so profoundly true. These are the songs that have grounded me in this lifetime.

Orange Blossoms by Half Waif has been everything to me. From the lyrics and shifts in the tone midway through song and the deep honesty about isolation/pain to what is possible and what can bring redemption. These words, these gorgeous words:

"Somebody be my angel

Somebody change the angle I see all the time

Somebody fast forward

Somebody just give me the damn highlights

I don't wanna be here

How am I supposed to be healed?"

How are we all supposed to healed? How are we supposed to be here? The world is in this broken place right now. The world needs replanting, the world needs a sign. From Afghanistan to Haiti to America...to each one of us on our own journeys...we need yellow flowers planted and we need this ability to see ghosts of orange blossoms. I love the ability to see beyond pain and discover beauty above the broken. That's what the wisest of sages tell us and show us. I've seen it upfront and aspire towards that kind of strength.

A light was rekindled in me this past week. This inner light in me. I watched a movie called Coda recently - and the girl explained to her music teacher what music meant to her. She couldn't express it in words. She had to sign it. I wept as I saw her try to explain her sentiments to him with this image of transcendence, this image of flying. Probably because it was a definition beyond words that explained my feelings about what music does for me. When a piece of art does that to us, we are forever transformed. And so I did something I hadn't done in months, I sang. I sang loudly, I sang freely.

"Somebody be my angel

Somebody change the angle I see all the time"

And when you hear about the potential of music and the arts being banned in Afghanistan, there's something even more important about releasing what's inside of us, because we have that ability. Using voice to create vibrations around this world in different ways. I don't pretend to know a fraction of what is happening in the region. It's complex and goes far beyond 20 years of US presence. I'm slowly educating myself beyond the headlines and mainstream. Recently, I came across Shamsia Hassani, the street artist who is breaking notions of what it means to be an Afghani woman. Her images speak so much to me - giving voice and expression to women throughout the streets in bold, colorful, and courageous ways. I discovered that one of her pieces exists here in LA and went to visit it this weekend. Located on a small wall in West Adams, the mural was more and more vibrant as I got closer to it. I touched the piano keys. I felt gratitude for my mother, my grandmothers, my aunties. I held my son. I stood there with my family. I wondered what Shamsia thought as she spent time in LA. I believe there were orange blossoms in that moment. I pray for orange blossoms in Shamsia Hassani's life, for all of the woman trying to express themselves against opposition in Afghanistan and throughout the world, for all of us trying to stay connected to our soul...the essence of where courage and hope intersect.