“I’m bulletproof, nothing to lose. Fire away, fire away. Ricochet, you take your aim. Fire away, fire away. You shoot me down, but I won’t fall. I am titanium. You shoot me down, but I won’t fall. I am titanium.”
I never particularly loved this popular hit song by Sia, “Titanium.” It was widely played on the radio a few years ago and seems to be somewhat of an anthem for scenes of perseverance and strength.
The song was used recently in a movie I watched on Netflix, The Swimmers. It depicts the harrowing journey of two sisters who escaped Syria several years ago as civil war continued to ravage their country. For this American, I am distantly aware of some events in the middle east, and I fondly remember watching the news in 2011 as live videos were playing of the uprising of the people against a tyrannical regime in Syria. It was horrifying, but so so far away, both literally and imaginably.
Perhaps I naively imagine a very different world in the Middle East. It seems like there is always unrest and war happening. Right?
My own foolish viewpoint was powerfully shook by this cinematic work of art. The film allowed me to picture myself in their situation for a minute. The story begins by showing the seemingly “normal” lives of the sisters. They live in a suburban village with their family. They go to school, dance, follow popular media and spend their free summers at their swim club – just like I did. There is nothing distant or foreign about it Then, a terrifying, ongoing civil war breaks out in their country when they are just in their teens.
There is a powerful scene in the movie where the two sisters are dancing to Sia’s song “Titanium,” at a rooftop bar overlooking Damascus. They are dancing and twirling, having the time of their lives. Meanwhile, in the background, you can see bombs dropping and exploding in the city next-door. They are so physically close to the madness, but yet remain mentally far away. Perhaps, this is a moment where I felt ashamed of my indifference. Not only can I remain mentally away but physically far as well.
The story progresses to show the war expanding and affecting their daily lives directly. The girls hear of classmates being killed in bombings regularly. They finally decide to escape Syria together albeit without their parents or younger sister.
This moment made me think of my mom, who escaped Poland in her early 20s during a time of Russian occupation and martial law. She traveled to America with high hopes and built a new life for herself here. She sometimes tells me about hearing about lost classmates in school, but she does not often elaborate. It seems like such a different world and again, so physically and mentally distant. I can’t imagine the strength that such a journey took or the fear she experienced of the unknown. Similarly, these two girls embarked on a trip to find a better life and escape a life of fear and danger.
The scenes depicting the sisters obstacles along their journey were truly horrifying. They are now quite famous for their feat of swimming alongside a raft of refugees for 3 hours to reach Greece. They paid a fortune for smugglers to help them escape their country, only to find that they were provided a raft built for 8, despite their group size of 18. When the raft began sinking in the Aegean sea, the two sisters jumped out of the raft and swam alongside it for hours until they reached land.
I remember seeing the videos of thousands of refugees landing in Greece in rafts on CNN. Truthfully, I could not imagine a situation that dire that someone felt desperate enough to get in a flimsy, overcrowded raft to escape. Perhaps this is why it is so difficult for half (or more?) of our country to understand why we would let refugees in.
“Build a wall,” they say.
Just because the idea of journeying through such horrifying circumstances is so distant, is it possible to try to overcome the ignorance that hinders our good conscience? I have to imagine that most people are kind and good. They don’t want people to suffer. It’s just much easier to ignore it and justify a lack of knowledge with false narratives.
I watched this movie at a time of weakness in my life. Our little family recently experienced a frustrating course of illness again. We are still in the sea, but I think I see land in the distance.
Yes, it is completely ridiculous for me to use that analogy. Here I am, safe in my home. I have plenty of food, the ability to order more food via my telephone, clean running water, a super comfy bed and my entire beautiful family. I’m nowhere near the deep waters of the Aegean Sea or anything that closely resembles such an obstacle.
I found myself feeling down about my situation and then reminding myself of this. It could be SO much worse. Frankly, when I do this, I feel silly for feeling down. I’m disappointing in myself for being upset about my situation. I am SO grateful for what I have. I have absolutely, positively NO reason to EVER complain. I tell myself this over and over.
“Give yourself some grace,” my husband, therapist, mother and doctor have all told me.
Is it OK to be upset? Is it OK to feel a little sad about this situation? Maybe.
This is where I sometimes remind myself that really, it’s all relative. My situation is upsetting in relation to my own expectations. I aspire to be back at work, physically, in full time. I aspire to be physically fit again and go places outside of my house.
I remember a specific experience that enforced this concept of individual relativity a few years ago. I was at a family Christmas party when I went to greet a younger family member as she was pouring herself a drink. “Hi! Merry Christmas! How are you?” I remember asking her.
“Ugh, I am so tired.” She told me. She gave me a weak hug and walked away.
I remember feeling personally attacked by this. It was a tough time for me. I was in the midst of my first year as an attending and my daughter was a mere 6 months old. I was working alternating 12 hour day and night shifts with no rhyme or reason to them. It was also a year when my Dad’s cancer took a turn for the worst and became resistant to treatment. I remember trying to balance spending time with my Dad with a demanding work schedule. I was very tired, physically and emotionally.
I remember ranting about this to someone else. They calmly and firmly replied, “Well, she can be tired too.”
The statement was impactful, and I remember it to this day. Not everything needs to be a comparison. Here was my younger family member, telling me she’s tired. Looking back, she had no idea what it was like to take care of a newborn or the stresses of my work life. She had her own stresses. Just because they were not mine, did not mean they were not important or worthy of attention. Additionally, I had no idea what kind of challenges she was going through. She was allowed to be tired too.
In this sense, maybe I don’t need to compare myself to the amazing sisters who swam the Aegean Sea to freedom. Their story empowers me and reminds me of the the incredibly strength and perseverance that exits in our world.
Everyone has their battles. Certainly, some are obviously more challenging than others, but all in all, it doesn’t mean that those in less dire circumstances are not entitled to their feelings.
It’s ok to be upset. It’s ok to feel disappointed. It’s ok to be tired.
I’m trying to give myself some grace in this regard. While I want to continue to captivate the strength and resilience of the Syrian sisters and utilize this to avoid self loathing, I similarly want to remember to allow myself to accept some disappointment with repeated illness. I suppose it matters more what I do with it, than ignoring it.
At the end of the day, none of us are made of titanium. We break at times, we get upset, we get frustrated, we are tired. We all come from difference circumstances and overcome different obstacles. My hope is that we can all get back up and give ourselves a little grace.
Breath sounds and bubbles 