I want to begin the new year by reflecting on the last, which was so hectic, so intense, I don’t think I felt in control for a single minute of it. It was frenzied, and part of that is a product of having to hustle constantly for money to live, but it’s also to do with the great social and economic unraveling we’re all experiencing in real time. I am only able to access a sense of calm through writing, and so it’s my hope that by making this practice more deliberate and regular, I can generate a more positive spirit in myself and my relationships. It’s only now that I can see the enormity of the past twelve months, which were transformative both professionally and personally. I could sometimes grasp the edges of an accomplishment or a joy, and certainly the arrival of my son has been an astonishment of love, but the primary sensation underlying the year was one of panic. I know this confused people, who were continually trying to congratulate me on one thing or another, and who couldn’t seem to understand why I wasn’t pleased, or couldn’t communicate my pleasure to the expected degree.
When I was seeing a therapist in the first half of the year, he explained that my brain was continually experiencing stress: normally, after the cause of stress has passed, the brain stops experiencing it, but I live in it long afterward. As I told him about my wife’s 39 hour labour, which had happened weeks prior, I was exhibiting clear signs of strain, as if it were still happening. I don’t want to live like this anymore, driven by traumas, unable, even on medication, to genuinely relax. It’s important to note that the colonial capitalist system is itself acting as a constant stressor on us, but there is always scope for our own agency, in deciding how we respond to it. And so, here are some moments from 2022 that, in hindsight, I wish I had enjoyed more.
Early in 2022 I was named in The List, a new feature of culture writing by the Australian, profiling 100 leaders and “game-changers” in the arts.
My initial instinct was to talk about the year in terms of individual and collective highlights, but on reflection, that’s a false distinction, an easy lie. Whatever I have “achieved” has been the fruit of many efforts. Take my debut novel, Son of Sin, which was published in March and met with acclaim: in the image below, you will see quotes about my book from various publications. The editors of these publications had to choose to take on the book, had to assign them to writers, the writers had to agree to read it, then decide whether they had something to say about it and so on. The book itself exists due to many efforts: my own, my peers who provided me a grant to write, my initial readers, my editor Camha Pham, the cover designer Amy Daoud, and of course my publisher, Martin Hughes at Affirm Press.
There is no such thing in the arts as “individual” success: I toured Melbourne, Adelaide, Alice Springs, Brisbane, and Sydney, and each time, there were program staff, booksellers, and volunteers who helped make the event happen. This is why, though I applied for an individual Create NSW grant in December 2021, the outcomes I listed were deliberately collective in nature: I spent half of the grant on paying Arab arts workers and musicians in the form of Arab Theatre Studio to produce a launch event for my book, and on creating A Western Sydney Book Club, a monthly meeting hosted by Arts & Cultural Exchange in Parramatta which connects contemporary Australian books with local readers and is facilitated by a guest author who is paid well for their time. I was joined in this by my friend Yamane Fayed, the producer behind the scenes who makes everything happen. The authors that spoke to our readers this year were Sarah Ayoub, Michelle Law, Amy Thunig, Eunice Andrada, Peter Polites, Eileen Chong, George Haddad, Roanna Gonsalves, and Rico Craig. I’m excited to say that we’ll be continuing the book club in 2023, and you can expect to hear more about that soon.
What I’m getting at is this: I want to make sure I’m giving back, that my efforts are turned as much toward uplifting others, as to moving forward on my own path.
A key highlight of my year was the Voices for Lebanon event put together by Sara Mansour, co-founder and director of Bankstown Poetry Slam, to raise money for our homeland, which was and is still in dire need of aid. I almost didn’t do it, I was so tired, so run-down, from the publicity for Son of Sin and caring for my pregnant wife, but I’m glad I did. Being present in your community, simply listening to sorrows and joys that you share without needing to work to understand, is a profound privilege, an immersion that is inherently healing. Sometimes I think the language around our presence or actions as giving, as something “taken” or “put back”, is insufficient. Maybe I should say instead that my desire is presence itself, because it is only in absence that something can be taken away; to be present, then, is to allow what flows in and around us to continue to do so, to deepen, and grow.
Of course, the greatest highlight of my year and my life was the birth of my first child, the birth of myself as a father, and my wife as a mother, the three of us having to learn, day by day, what those words mean, how to be, and in the process, breaking down, over and over again, our entire conception of self. I have spoken, and written, many times, about the material difficulties that have followed this profound shift in my life, but not nearly enough about the love and joy, principally because those are much harder to articulate. I am going to change that, to tackle that task as seriously as I have tackled my pains, but not here, not now.
In addition to touring my book, and becoming a father, I was a judge for the 2022 NSW Premier’s Multicultural Literary Awards, which was awarded to Safdar Ahmed, for his incredible graphic memoir, Still Alive, which went on to win Book of the Year; I was also part of the judging panel for the Varuna House residency fellowship applications, meaning, I have had to read a truly absurd amount of literature this year, published and unpublished. Having more experience now as a judge, I know two things for sure: 1) there are so many excellent Australian writers out there and 2) “losing” out on a prize doesn’t mean a damn thing as far as the quality of work is concerned. There’s more quality than there are rewards for it. I know this as a writer, too, knee-deep in these lotteries: I did not get a Sidney Myer Fellowship, or the Paris writing residency, or the Blake-Beckett Trust Scholarship, all of which I applied for.
The majority of success is built on such “failures”, and while social media does not reward transparency, as someone who has been defeated and depressed so often by opacity, by the incomprehensibility of a system, I live for this type of clarity, the clearing of windows so everyone can learn, and in learning, make better choices.
Of all the events I did this year, I think the coolest definitely had to be the National Poetry Gala, held by Red Room as part of their Poetry Month program, which featured a line-up of musicians, actors, comedians, and poets. Making poetry accessible and mainstream is so important, and the event was featured on ABC TV Plus. More poets, more poetry, needs to be on TV! Simple as that.
I am hugely proud to have an essay included in the groundbreaking anthology, This Arab Is Queer (Saqi Books), edited by Elias Jahshan, featuring queer Arab writers from around the world. Not only is it a special joy to be among queer kin, I’m also particularly proud of the work itself. My essay is a kind of hybrid poem that stretches both into the past and the future, it is a framework for how I live, and I truly hope it reaches those who need it most.
Lastly, I finalised my third collection of poetry, Non-Essential Work (UQP), which will be out in April, and signed a deal for my next novel, which won’t be out for years to come, if indeed, we are all lucky enough to see those years. I take nothing for granted. What I want to end on is this: thank you. Thank you so much, in particular, to the booksellers who have shown up for my books, who included it in their book clubs, or talked about it on social media—I signed several hundred books, visited dozens and dozens of stores, and I was blown away by the generosity and care shown to me from independent booksellers like Red Kangaroo, The Leaf Bookshop, The Chestnut Tree, Darlinghurst Books and Readings to Dymocks and Booktopia, thank you all.
Special shoutout to my local, Better Read Than Dead, who have been amazingly supportive. I’ve just learned in fact that Son of Sin was their bestselling Australian title of the year, and second overall, tied with Ocean Vuong’s Time Is A Mother. The reason Son of Sin has done so well already is because of the incredible people behind it and I’m truly, truly grateful. Thank you to everyone who bought or borrowed a copy of any my books, and to those of you who have subscribed here, your contribution has made a real difference in these last struggle-laden weeks. Despite all the highs, there have been many lows. My wife’s sickness, my grandma’s stroke, my uncle’s heart-attack yesterday, my own heart problems, and much more that I don’t share publicly. I simply would not have made it through without all of you.
Inshallah the year to come will be better, not just for me or my family, but for all of us.
Salaam,
Omar