Contrasts and contradictions

Human experience is defined by a surprisingly few, transformative experiences.Unsurprisingly, those transformative experiences are shaped by human beings. More rarely, they are shaped by an event or a place. And yet, there is a place in this world that touches, in a very profound, albeit in a very different way, almost every humanbeing. The Middle East.

Those that have at least once travelled to this part of the world know that it's like a centrifugal force that pulls you once and for all, like meat grinder from which you emerge substantially the same yet so different. Jerusalem, Baghdad, Beirut, Petra, Mecca - the differences between them loom larger than any real or perceived similarities - and yet, once we are drawn in, there is no right of no return (pun on word intended).

Why is that one can travel to Prague, Lisbon, Saint Francisco, Toronto, Brussels without ever reeling with the same nostalgia that one trip to Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon or Israel? Why is that a short trip to this part of the world - scarred by conflict, marred in instability, marked by so much injustice - makes us all leave a little piece of our heart behind and a burns a little scar on the inside?

In answering these questions there are two keywords - contrasts and contradictions. Contrasts and contradictions that have accumulated over the past few centuries are hiding everywhere, in things material and intangible, permeating the air, invading the spirit, pulling us in the centrifuge of the local experience. For an Arab, a Christian or a Jew, life in the Middle East is a contradiction in terms, an emotional roller coaster, composed of a millions of days, each unique and lived very much for the moment.

The Israelis, the Lebanese, the Iraqis, the Yemenis, the Afghanis and many others drive, eat, dance and interact with the intensity, the warmth, and the hate that is so immediate and burning that it captures the thirst of life in a way unparalleled in any other place in the world. Almost everything in the region evades logic and reason. Almost everything is a matter of the heart, almost to the point where melodrama characterises even the most insignificant events, giving them a new meaning.

When we randomly sift through our memory to find associations with the Middle East, they are probably include some if not all of the following: Iraqi women in black crying out for lost members of the family, Gazan men in military uniforms releasing rounds in the air, Egyptian men and woman manifesting at Tahrir square. These images stand in a very stark contrast with the almost surreal calm of the Japanese after the meltdown of the Fukishama reactor.

Contrasts and contradictions underlie every experience today in the region probably in the same stark way as they did 100 or 1000 years ago. Just think of the barren hills and juicy olives in Jerusalem, the stretching desert and ambitious high rises in Dubai, the semi naked tourists and the very much veiled locals in Cairo, the bullet marked buildings and the happening nightlife in Beirut.

Most of these contradictions are rooted in a tension between religion and modernity and exacerbated by the stress among the religious communities. And yet, these contradictions are not unique to the Middle East, far from it. It is not the only part of the world where religion continues to play a defining role in society - look no further than Malaysia. Neither is the Middle East the most ethnically diverse place - not even close to the American melting pot, where an Iranian immigrant can live or work side by side with a Polish Jew.

And yet, there is something in the the Middle Eastern air that makes it explosive. Zataar, shisha, love, hate, a woman's voice, a child's cry, an explosion, a party. Everything touches the soul, as if seeking to leave an engraving. This cradle of civilisations cannot leave even a cockroach indifferent, let alone its own inhabitants who have evolved in circumstances that require the skills of a chameleon.

There are countless expressions of these contradictions that are difficult to capture unless by a skilled photographer. The keys of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher being guarded by a Muslim to avoid rivalry among Christian families. The women covered in black walking behind their husbands outfitted in Adidas shorts on the beach of Tel-a-viv. Black obayas decorated in miniature christmas trees dominating the storefronts in Cairo. Palestinian shopkeepers selling colourfully decorated mezuzahs in the souk of Jerusalem.

The call for prayer resonating in Dubai Ball, disturbing only the fish in the gigantic aquarium built by the local sheikh. A bearded man and his head-to-toe covered wife sifting through sexy underwear nearby. A woman nestling a medical mask on top of her obaya, already covering all of her face, at the Cairo airport. A man throwing his phone number in a car of a passing lady in the hope of scoring a text back. If that's not obvious, that's in Saudi Arabia.

All in all, the Middle East is like an unpredictable lover. It can be capricious, illogical, melancholic, demanding, welcoming, overbearing, explosive, mysterious, unpredictable. Nonetheless, it is nothing short of a magnet, a centrifugal force that draws us to the cradle of civilisations, to our irrational but precious origins. After one taste, we keep coming back for more, even if this relationship cannot last a lifetime.