I loved planning Samer's wedding with him. We'd talk for two hours each night for months, laboring over details, dreaming about things we could never accomplish...basically being so excited about love and family. Samer was my little brother, born four years after me and I was terribly jealous when he was born (stealing my baby spot). But I remember the very first moment I saw him (my mother made me wash my hands) and I creeped over the side of the crib to look at him. I taught him how to read, tie his shoes, count to ten, about Duran Duran. He taught me about much more important things as we grew up...he loved being an Arab as much as I did. He claimed Palestine as much as I did. He loved Allah and Fairuz, photography, family, memories...we shared a room when we were children, in Iraq and in Iowa. He was wonderful with my son Mahmood. I'm sad they won't know their uncle Samer. I will miss him forever...
Samer and Sarah were the first people I met in Chicago. I was having such a hard time finding an apartment and Sama said, "Let's go see Samer." The next thing I know I'm meeting his landlords and Samer's going on and on about what a great tenant I'd be. All he knew of me, was that I was Sama's friend.
I had the apartment in 2 hours. I still live here. Samer always made me feel welcome and that Chicago was my home. I will never forget his and Sarah's wedding and how kind they were to me those first few months here.
I love this family. You have all done such wonderful things for me. All of the Thanksgiving and Easter dinners. You are truly special and are all in my heart.
In one's moment of grief, sometimes it is difficult to come up with appropriate words to say. I am feeling tongue-tied when trying to compose this message about my cousin Samer. First, I want to thank you all, from my heart, for being here today. And I can tell you all – he IS here…in my heart and, I'm sure, in lots of other hearts.
I want to say a few words about Samer, most beautiful baby ever! I am one of his many cousins. One who just adored and loved his spirit. From toddler stage to early teens to the great man he became, that spirit and spark NEVER left him. Sometimes I felt I would all but burst from that mile wide smile plastered across his face. His smile would light up a room. I suppose I could say that it's a terribly sad thing that Samer died but I won't. Instead, I'll say that I'm just incredibly grateful that I lived long enough to know the pleasures of talking to him, seeing how he overcame obstacles, turned his life around, married the love of his life ,had strong faith In Allah and passions for Arab rights. Boy did he LOVE being an Arab..and I in return loved that about him. Since he passed, I got to thinking about what it is that made Samer so special. I could take hours on that subject and still have plenty to say, but for now, let me say this: Mostly I found him to be such a humanitarian. He regularly asked about my dad's health even though he has his own complications. His compassion fascinated me. No matter how bad of day I had, if I was lucky enough to speak to him...he made me feel "brilliant". He had a heart of GOLD. He loved life and he loved his family. He had a delightful spiritual side; and he possessed strong values. From my communication with him, it all came down to family and friends. He is my family and I really love him. I believe in my heart that Samer flew like an eagle, and soared into heaven. I want to thank Khalo Hameed and Maha, My cousins Usama & His wife Kristy, Mayasa, Sama, and Wisam. So thank you all for being here. For sharing Samer.For remembering him so dearly. And let me finish this the way Samer and I finished phone calls... Inshallah we see each other soon.
Everyone who's known Samer Alshaibi well in the last few years maybe had expected to get the call I did yesterday. He was one of those people. Larger than life, too much for this world, etc, as the cliches go. Because you knew all that, maybe that was why you told yourself, it could never happen, we'd all go before him. And yet who can argue with the politics of heaven and hell, angel and man.
I first met Samer and Sarah at a photo shoot Kristie was doing on their roof. I was assisting--it was me and three naked Ohioans on a particularly hot July day. Samer and Sarah were busy doing god knows what but Samer kept bringing up water on the roof for us. I had seen photos of both of them before at Usama's: he with his incredible tattoos and childlike eyes and magnetic charisma, her with her beauty and braces and otherwordly poise. I was spellbound by their spirit.
A week later, I was walking my old sick greyhound on my block, which was only a block over from theirs. Samer had seen me and called after me. I was amazed they remembered me. Sarah immediately rushed to King, my dog, and sat on the concrete with her face buried in his bony ribs. They asked me questions, they cared about my life, they said they wanted to see me.
For the next several months or so, I saw them all the time. They were my new Chicago family.
Every single night of our time together they walked me home. Samer, no matter where we were, nevermind they lived a block over, would walk me home and walk with me while I walked my dog. (King loved them. Samer had a way of scratching his ear that would make his legs twitch ecsatically--I could never recreate it.) They always checked in. He was often the first person I spoke to and the last.
They would take me out to dinner. MOD, this great place where Muslim cabbies would go late at night, the best diner in the east village, that hookah bar. Wherever we went, Sarah and I would take our time with the menus and in the end Samer would order for us. When it came to his meal, he would make numerous modifications and ask endless questions. The waiters were very patient but he'd win them over with that charm, that smile and that voice.
He had the best voice. Always charged and enthused, incredibly boyish, even infused with a sort of natural hip. You could imagine him, a wisecracking teen of the Tompkins Square squat or the numerous other settings of his incredible lifelong adventures. . .
Sarah was the light of his life, his wife, his muse, his everything. We'd spend entire afternoons in front of Sarah talking about her in the third person. We both decided she needed to go platinum blonde. (Sarah, up for anything, brave girl that she was, would shrug and say fine.) Then Samer and I would flip through fashion magazines and discuss models and the season and all sorts of girl crap that it was amazing to watch this big, strong, muscular, heavily-tatted tough guy who had been to prison go on and on about. He was the most secure person in the world.
He would make fun of Sarah and I's laziness. He was constantly trying to teach us "how to run." Stretches to do. He told me once I had to eat 60 grams of protein after I ran or else all that excercise that could go to muscle would go to waste. He would get mad if I didn't.
He had the most amazing taste. Anyone who has been to Samer and Sarah's can attest to this. The apartment had the feel of a 1930s saloon, baroque, subersive, gothic, a bit decaying, with bits of middle eastern influence here and there. The aesthetic penetrated every inch. None of it came out of money but great taste. He would let you know--he was very proud of his perfect eye.
When it was time for me to leave Chicago, he said he wanted to throw a going away party for me at his apartment. We invited everyone I knew, from my mom who was in town, to my dog, to all sorts of Wicker Park kids. From the beginning Samer took the reigns. He ordered all sorts of upscale Middle Eastern eats paired with all sorts of fabulous alcohol and although he didn't drink, he made everyone amazing cocktails. Even my mother, who was in town.
He was amazing to my mother. My mother who wouldn't even sit next to a teenage girl with a lip ring, was suddenly constantly lost in conversation with this chainsmoking punk rock boy day and night. He told her she was like a second mom. He told her she was beautiful over and over.
Samer had a way with women. Sarah was his muse and a model, but he seemed to also want every woman to be a model. He would tell me I should. I would look at him and roll my eyes. He would snap at me to stop it--eventually I would find myself saying, fine, you're right, um, yeah, I'm gorgeous. He could make you agree to anything.
When I left Chicago they not only came to the airport to see me and my dog off, they came with presents, a lovely Halston top and a Lacoste shirt I had wanted for ages. All I left them with was the rubble of my apartment. . .a lease I was running away from, an apartment I was basically abandoning without packing a single item. I told them they could have anything. It was all crap, but Samer, because he was polite, I knew, acted like it was a bunch of nice stuff. We both knew better, but I appreciated it.
The next time I saw him was on election day in Chicago a year and a half ago--I was visiting this time. We sat around the TV and watched Kerry lose. As always, he was impeccably dressed, calm, and articulate, while we were in shit clothes, drunk, pissed, and loud. He seemed happy. He said he had a lot of plans for his business. I couldn't help but think he felt betrayed by me for leaving Chicago. Samer never ever guilt-tripped anyone, but if you ever sold him short, not even intentionally, you felt it. Most likely he felt you feel it and just let you. He was that cool.
I'm sad I didn't give half as much as he gave me. I should have helped some more with the clothing store he wanted to open--but try explaining to Samer that no one on earth knows more than he does about his very particular interests. What could I do? With Samer, I should have realized, it was about family, community, creating your own world. I wasn't good enough to get this.
I also regret not showing him my writing and reading more of his. We were supposed to do this, but I would shy away every time. I wish I knew what he would have thought. More than anything Samer's love was writing, his whole soul was that of a writer.
I read over all his long, labyrinthic, beautiful emails. He writes the emails writers do. They were always full, long, too much, mysterious, mischievious, brilliant, dumbfounding. They were never self-absorbed though, unlike most writers. His emails were often more about you than himself. He called me "little banana", "dark lips." "miss madness." Every email had the reassurance that he would always be there, he was never going anywhere.
Like I told Sarah on the phone, last night, the night he died, his was an energy that could never be lost. He would come back from the dead to tell you that. I wish he would. I can't imagine a better spirit dead, like i couldn't imagine a better spirit alive.
Today I remember one day sitting on Samer’s couch and looking at one of his tattoos. I asked him about it. He gave me a brief explanation, hinting at mysterious past adventures, and then said, “I’ll tell you more about it some time.” So suddenly it hit me. I crumpled to the floor and wept more than I had allowed myself to weep over the past few days. I thought, “I want to ask him to tell me more, but I can’t.”
And just as suddenly any and all earthly matters revolving around Samer dissolved into nothing, leaving only the feeling of his spirit – the way Samer made me feel when he was around. Samer’s eyes always smiled at me. There was a warmth in him that was otherworldly. He had this way of welcoming one into the fold, so to speak – making one feel acknowledged and exceptional. There seemed to always be that hint of a secret wink in his manner, like we were in on the same joke.
[There was something else, too, that is harder to pinpoint. The world chivalrous comes to mind.]
In a strange way I could have a conversation with Samer without speaking. He would read my gestures and brief words without misunderstanding me. There were never any awkward pauses where I was expected to say something just to say it. I could be myself. There were times that he would even say it out loud, nodding his head: “I know you.” This was more reassuring than presumptuous, because I felt that he really did care to understand me.
I want to remember and celebrate Samer as a whole. Samer told me once that he would always defend me and my art work and all that I do. He was fiercely autonomous and respected my autonomy, too. Because of that, I don’t want to be too careful or appropriate in my remembrance. I believe that we shared the notion that common propriety and protocol had little to do with the real stuff of life – that the truth and sincerity of your heart is so much more important. That is what I remember.
A few times we communicated via the written word – the space in which I’m most comfortable. During those exchanges, and while listening to his lengthy discussions with my husband, I got a real sense of his core – his life philosophy, his moral self. Beyond his natural charm, this is what made me respect him most. Samer seemed to have an understanding of something very essential and wise. He saw that there was nothing incongruous between the sensual/erotic and spiritual/religious. He didn’t see it as a clash but a symbiosis, or perhaps all facets of the same awesome organism of the soul. I truly feel that he could sense the nature of God and, in his best moments, was completely in synch with that. (I think that even in his very worst moments that reverence was never out of reach.)
Samer, if one can say nothing else about him, left an indelible impression. Over the past few years I’ve been writing a story, with one of the central characters inspired by Samer. I never told him this. I could never finish the story because Usama’s and my relationship with Samer had so many ups and downs. At times the character was the handsome and seductive anti-hero and at times he morphed into something more grim and poisonous and then back again. So many times I had write and rewrite this character. Only now do I clearly understand what I’m writing.
Samer’s own writing, bits of which I had the privilege of reading here and there, is completely original, and I think it will leave an equally unforgettable impression. I look forward to helping give it to the world. I love you Samer, and miss you too much. I know that the images you have fashioned through language will render your memory immortal.
I can not fathom what you all might be going through now and I am so sorry for your loss and the premature farewell to Samer that you have all been forced to bear. I consider you my "found" family and I share deeply in your loss. My heart weeps for you, for Samer, for myself.
There is never enough time wholeheartedly spent with those that reside in and make up the many facets in our hearts that let us shine and experience life in a passionate, involved, and complete way. The way that without them you would not have have the valued experiences, the great joys, the hard emotions, and the evolution of the spirit that comes from those that are dearest to us. Samer was and is an amazing spirit who has created and burned his image in countless facets in many hearts reflecting his light in a way that only he could. Even though Samer has left us in mind and body, he lives on within all of us and has changed our way of being forever.
Samer lived his own life on his own terms never afraid to climb higher than most before him nor unwilling to go to the deepest depths where most fear to tread. His hardships and torment of the soul would make most grow cold and break their spirit without any hope of finding their way back to their own joy and passion let alone the willingness to open themselves to the love and aid of others. Samer had a strength, a passion, a life force, like no other I have known and an ability to keep his sense of self, his sense of connection, to always find his way back home, even in the face of the greatest trials. Samer was deep, intelligent, cutting edge, soulful, beyond his years, and sometimes confined.
Samer has now gone through his greatest trial to date, and if we can tell from how he lived his life, we can be rest assured in knowing that he has a keen sense of connection, no matter where he chooses to tread he will always gracefully, and passionately find his way back home.
I love you all, you are in my thoughts and prayers. May you all find solace in due time.
Samer, I feel blessed to have known you, you were my little brother too. When you are ready may you spread your wings and go to find your peace.
The last time I heard from Samer was via text message about a week or so before he passed away. The message read: “Hey, sorry have not called will explain though.” My heart jumped wondering what’s happened now? Was he supposed to call me? Then I thought that perhaps he messaged the wrong person. He did that sometimes. After talking to him on the phone sometimes I would get a text message from him that was obviously intended for someone else. I was in my car,on my way somewhere, so I put off calling him back because to have a conversation with Samer one needed to set aside some time. I never did get a chance to have that conversation with him but we had many others. I will miss them a great deal. I’ll miss his mannerisms, his politeness and his incredible knowledge about so many topics. I always learned something after talking with him.
Everyday, looking around my apartment and in my closet I am reminded of him. He and Sarah gave me so many beautiful things. Almost every time we would hang out I would leave the apartment with something. A beautiful blue coat, a blouse, a leopard print coat from the neighbor a cute pink hat from the dollar store, jewelry, a handbag etc. When visiting, I would try to bring things for them too.. a delicate vintage hat, books of illustrated fairytales, Ferragamo shoes. I don’t mean to focus too much on things and objects but I mention these only because Samer did have a great eye for style and it was a big part of his life. He had so many unique ideas. I have never met anyone like him.
Samer loved well all things beautiful, but most of all he loved my daughter Sarah. He gave her many gifts, some material but its the gifts of love and self-confidence I'd wished I'd thanked him for the most. As a mother I told her a million times how smart & beautiful & special she is but it took Samer's words to make her believe it. Samer was an amazing person and I wish I could talk to him more about music and fashion,wine and his faith. He loved my son Danny as well, took him under his wing and instilled in him a love of history and taught him to question the things he reads and hears, to seek his own truths. For these things I'm truly grateful. Thank you Samer, I miss you already.
I feel sorry now for not spending time again with you two. I'll try to be a better friend in the future. Like Sarah said, I too wish he didn't have to leave so soon. I'm really sad about this.
It has been over a week and Samer's death is still resounding heavy in me. But the sensation is pleasant. I feel my brother's passion in the air. Samer was filled with an intensity and fire that will never stop burning. He is in all of us. He reminds me of my past, of our religion, of God. Samer is light and dark swirling all over his shadow and words. How can I say anything? I felt his peace as he departed. In some half-waking dream I embraced him and we kissed Iraqi style and we said goodbye. I remember how his coffin was in front of all the men kneeling in prayer. He would have liked that. His body lies in peace and with God. Along with Sarah, I will be collecting Samer's writings, letters, poems. If you have anything to share please send it to: usama@dancehabibi.com I thank you all for your kind words and for thinking of Samer. Please remember his spirit and smile with love and enjoy this brief beautiful life. -Usama Alshaibi (May 9, 2006)
i count my self as the first (in age) among 12 cosins. 10 of them are americans and two unfortuned ones are iraqi, me and my sister. i lost one cousine without even seeing him. lets hope to see the others while still standing
15 comments:
I loved planning Samer's wedding with him. We'd talk for two hours each night for months, laboring over details, dreaming about things we could never accomplish...basically being so excited about love and family. Samer was my little brother, born four years after me and I was terribly jealous when he was born (stealing my baby spot). But I remember the very first moment I saw him (my mother made me wash my hands) and I creeped over the side of the crib to look at him. I taught him how to read, tie his shoes, count to ten, about Duran Duran. He taught me about much more important things as we grew up...he loved being an Arab as much as I did. He claimed Palestine as much as I did. He loved Allah and Fairuz, photography, family, memories...we shared a room when we were children, in Iraq and in Iowa. He was wonderful with my son Mahmood. I'm sad they won't know their uncle Samer. I will miss him forever...
Samer and Sarah were the first people I met in Chicago. I was having such a hard time finding an apartment and Sama said, "Let's go see Samer."
The next thing I know I'm meeting his landlords and Samer's going on and on about what a great tenant I'd be. All he knew of me, was that I was Sama's friend.
I had the apartment in 2 hours. I still live here. Samer always made me feel welcome and that Chicago was my home. I will never forget his and Sarah's wedding and how kind they were to me those first few months here.
I love this family. You have all done such wonderful things for me. All of the Thanksgiving and Easter dinners. You are truly special and are all in my heart.
In one's moment of grief, sometimes it is difficult to come up with appropriate words to say. I am feeling tongue-tied when trying to compose this message about my cousin Samer.
First, I want to thank you all, from my heart, for being here today. And I can tell you all – he IS here…in my heart and, I'm sure, in lots of other hearts.
I want to say a few words about Samer, most beautiful baby ever! I am one of his many cousins. One who just adored and loved his spirit. From toddler stage to early teens to the great man he became, that spirit and spark NEVER left him. Sometimes I felt I would all but burst from that mile wide smile plastered across his face. His smile would light up a room.
I suppose I could say that it's a terribly sad thing that Samer died but I won't. Instead, I'll say that I'm just incredibly grateful that I lived long enough to know the pleasures of talking to him, seeing how he overcame obstacles, turned his life around, married the love of his life ,had strong faith In Allah and passions for Arab rights. Boy did he LOVE being an Arab..and I in return loved that about him.
Since he passed, I got to thinking about what it is that made Samer so special. I could take hours on that subject and still have plenty to say, but for now, let me say this:
Mostly I found him to be such a humanitarian. He regularly asked about my dad's health even though he has his own complications. His compassion fascinated me.
No matter how bad of day I had, if I was lucky enough to speak to him...he made me feel "brilliant".
He had a heart of GOLD. He loved life and he loved his family.
He had a delightful spiritual side; and he possessed strong values. From my communication with him, it all came down to family and friends. He is my family and I really love him.
I believe in my heart that Samer flew like an eagle, and soared into heaven.
I want to thank Khalo Hameed and Maha, My cousins Usama & His wife Kristy, Mayasa, Sama, and Wisam.
So thank you all for being here. For sharing Samer.For remembering him so dearly. And let me finish this the way Samer and I finished phone calls...
Inshallah we see each other soon.
From a dear friend, Porochista K.:
Everyone who's known Samer Alshaibi well in the last few years maybe had expected to get the call I did yesterday. He was one of those people. Larger than life, too much for this world, etc, as the cliches go. Because you knew all that, maybe that was why you told yourself, it could never happen, we'd all go before him. And yet who can argue with the politics of heaven and hell, angel and man.
I first met Samer and Sarah at a photo shoot Kristie was doing on their roof. I was assisting--it was me and three naked Ohioans on a particularly hot July day. Samer and Sarah were busy doing god knows what but Samer kept bringing up water on the roof for us. I had seen photos of both of them before at Usama's: he with his incredible tattoos and childlike eyes and magnetic charisma, her with her beauty and braces and otherwordly poise. I was spellbound by their spirit.
A week later, I was walking my old sick greyhound on my block, which was only a block over from theirs. Samer had seen me and called after me. I was amazed they remembered me. Sarah immediately rushed to King, my dog, and sat on the concrete with her face buried in his bony ribs. They asked me questions, they cared about my life, they said they wanted to see me.
For the next several months or so, I saw them all the time. They were my new Chicago family.
Every single night of our time together they walked me home. Samer, no matter where we were, nevermind they lived a block over, would walk me home and walk with me while I walked my dog. (King loved them. Samer had a way of scratching his ear that would make his legs twitch ecsatically--I could never recreate it.) They always checked in. He was often the first person I spoke to and the last.
They would take me out to dinner. MOD, this great place where Muslim cabbies would go late at night, the best diner in the east village, that hookah bar. Wherever we went, Sarah and I would take our time with the menus and in the end Samer would order for us. When it came to his meal, he would make numerous modifications and ask endless questions. The waiters were very patient but he'd win them over with that charm, that smile and that voice.
He had the best voice. Always charged and enthused, incredibly boyish, even infused with a sort of natural hip. You could imagine him, a wisecracking teen of the Tompkins Square squat or the numerous other settings of his incredible lifelong adventures. . .
Sarah was the light of his life, his wife, his muse, his everything. We'd spend entire afternoons in front of Sarah talking about her in the third person. We both decided she needed to go platinum blonde. (Sarah, up for anything, brave girl that she was, would shrug and say fine.) Then Samer and I would flip through fashion magazines and discuss models and the season and all sorts of girl crap that it was amazing to watch this big, strong, muscular, heavily-tatted tough guy who had been to prison go on and on about. He was the most secure person in the world.
He would make fun of Sarah and I's laziness. He was constantly trying to teach us "how to run." Stretches to do. He told me once I had to eat 60 grams of protein after I ran or else all that excercise that could go to muscle would go to waste. He would get mad if I didn't.
He had the most amazing taste. Anyone who has been to Samer and Sarah's can attest to this. The apartment had the feel of a 1930s saloon, baroque, subersive, gothic, a bit decaying, with bits of middle eastern influence here and there. The aesthetic penetrated every inch. None of it came out of money but great taste. He would let you know--he was very proud of his perfect eye.
When it was time for me to leave Chicago, he said he wanted to throw a going away party for me at his apartment. We invited everyone I knew, from my mom who was in town, to my dog, to all sorts of Wicker Park kids. From the beginning Samer took the reigns. He ordered all sorts of upscale Middle Eastern eats paired with all sorts of fabulous alcohol and although he didn't drink, he made everyone amazing cocktails. Even my mother, who was in town.
He was amazing to my mother. My mother who wouldn't even sit next to a teenage girl with a lip ring, was suddenly constantly lost in conversation with this chainsmoking punk rock boy day and night. He told her she was like a second mom. He told her she was beautiful over and over.
Samer had a way with women. Sarah was his muse and a model, but he seemed to also want every woman to be a model. He would tell me I should. I would look at him and roll my eyes. He would snap at me to stop it--eventually I would find myself saying, fine, you're right, um, yeah, I'm gorgeous. He could make you agree to anything.
When I left Chicago they not only came to the airport to see me and my dog off, they came with presents, a lovely Halston top and a Lacoste shirt I had wanted for ages. All I left them with was the rubble of my apartment. . .a lease I was running away from, an apartment I was basically abandoning without packing a single item. I told them they could have anything. It was all crap, but Samer, because he was polite, I knew, acted like it was a bunch of nice stuff. We both knew better, but I appreciated it.
The next time I saw him was on election day in Chicago a year and a half ago--I was visiting this time. We sat around the TV and watched Kerry lose. As always, he was impeccably dressed, calm, and articulate, while we were in shit clothes, drunk, pissed, and loud. He seemed happy. He said he had a lot of plans for his business. I couldn't help but think he felt betrayed by me for leaving Chicago. Samer never ever guilt-tripped anyone, but if you ever sold him short, not even intentionally, you felt it. Most likely he felt you feel it and just let you. He was that cool.
I'm sad I didn't give half as much as he gave me. I should have helped some more with the clothing store he wanted to open--but try explaining to Samer that no one on earth knows more than he does about his very particular interests. What could I do? With Samer, I should have realized, it was about family, community, creating your own world. I wasn't good enough to get this.
I also regret not showing him my writing and reading more of his. We were supposed to do this, but I would shy away every time. I wish I knew what he would have thought. More than anything Samer's love was writing, his whole soul was that of a writer.
I read over all his long, labyrinthic, beautiful emails. He writes the emails writers do. They were always full, long, too much, mysterious, mischievious, brilliant, dumbfounding. They were never self-absorbed though, unlike most writers. His emails were often more about you than himself. He called me "little banana", "dark lips." "miss madness." Every email had the reassurance that he would always be there, he was never going anywhere.
Like I told Sarah on the phone, last night, the night he died, his was an energy that could never be lost. He would come back from the dead to tell you that. I wish he would. I can't imagine a better spirit dead, like i couldn't imagine a better spirit alive.
xxxx p
From Ama Hikmet Alshaibi and Amo Mustafa Abedeen
We LOVE you Samer and will miss you. You are a bird in Jena (heaven)
Allah is with you now.
Today I remember one day sitting on Samer’s couch and looking at one of his tattoos. I asked him about it. He gave me a brief explanation, hinting at mysterious past adventures, and then said, “I’ll tell you more about it some time.” So suddenly it hit me. I crumpled to the floor and wept more than I had allowed myself to weep over the past few days. I thought, “I want to ask him to tell me more, but I can’t.”
And just as suddenly any and all earthly matters revolving around Samer dissolved into nothing, leaving only the feeling of his spirit – the way Samer made me feel when he was around. Samer’s eyes always smiled at me. There was a warmth in him that was otherworldly. He had this way of welcoming one into the fold, so to speak – making one feel acknowledged and exceptional. There seemed to always be that hint of a secret wink in his manner, like we were in on the same joke.
[There was something else, too, that is harder to pinpoint. The world chivalrous comes to mind.]
In a strange way I could have a conversation with Samer without speaking. He would read my gestures and brief words without misunderstanding me. There were never any awkward pauses where I was expected to say something just to say it. I could be myself. There were times that he would even say it out loud, nodding his head: “I know you.” This was more reassuring than presumptuous, because I felt that he really did care to understand me.
I want to remember and celebrate Samer as a whole. Samer told me once that he would always defend me and my art work and all that I do. He was fiercely autonomous and respected my autonomy, too. Because of that, I don’t want to be too careful or appropriate in my remembrance. I believe that we shared the notion that common propriety and protocol had little to do with the real stuff of life – that the truth and sincerity of your heart is so much more important. That is what I remember.
A few times we communicated via the written word – the space in which I’m most comfortable. During those exchanges, and while listening to his lengthy discussions with my husband, I got a real sense of his core – his life philosophy, his moral self. Beyond his natural charm, this is what made me respect him most. Samer seemed to have an understanding of something very essential and wise. He saw that there was nothing incongruous between the sensual/erotic and spiritual/religious. He didn’t see it as a clash but a symbiosis, or perhaps all facets of the same awesome organism of the soul. I truly feel that he could sense the nature of God and, in his best moments, was completely in synch with that. (I think that even in his very worst moments that reverence was never out of reach.)
Samer, if one can say nothing else about him, left an indelible impression. Over the past few years I’ve been writing a story, with one of the central characters inspired by Samer. I never told him this. I could never finish the story because Usama’s and my relationship with Samer had so many ups and downs. At times the character was the handsome and seductive anti-hero and at times he morphed into something more grim and poisonous and then back again. So many times I had write and rewrite this character. Only now do I clearly understand what I’m writing.
Samer’s own writing, bits of which I had the privilege of reading here and there, is completely original, and I think it will leave an equally unforgettable impression. I look forward to helping give it to the world. I love you Samer, and miss you too much. I know that the images you have fashioned through language will render your memory immortal.
love forever,
Kristie
I can not fathom what you all might be going through
now and I am so sorry for your loss and the premature
farewell to Samer that you have all been forced to
bear. I consider you my "found" family and I share
deeply in your loss. My heart weeps for you, for
Samer, for myself.
There is never enough time wholeheartedly spent with
those that reside in and make up the many facets in
our hearts that let us shine and experience life in a
passionate, involved, and complete way. The way that
without them you would not have have the valued
experiences, the great joys, the hard emotions, and
the evolution of the spirit that comes from those that
are dearest to us. Samer was and is an amazing spirit
who has created and burned his image in countless
facets in many hearts reflecting his light in a way
that only he could. Even though Samer has left us in
mind and body, he lives on within all of us and has
changed our way of being forever.
Samer lived his own life on his own terms never afraid
to climb higher than most before him nor unwilling to
go to the deepest depths where most fear to tread. His
hardships and torment of the soul would make most grow
cold and break their spirit without any hope of
finding their way back to their own joy and passion
let alone the willingness to open themselves to the
love and aid of others. Samer had a strength, a
passion, a life force, like no other I have known and
an ability to keep his sense of self, his sense of
connection, to always find his way back home, even in
the face of the greatest trials. Samer was deep,
intelligent, cutting edge, soulful, beyond his years,
and sometimes confined.
Samer has now gone through his greatest trial to date,
and if we can tell from how he lived his life, we can
be rest assured in knowing that he has a keen sense of
connection, no matter where he chooses to tread he
will always gracefully, and passionately find his way
back home.
I love you all, you are in my thoughts and prayers.
May you all find solace in due time.
Samer,
I feel blessed to have known you, you were my little
brother too.
When you are ready may you spread your wings and go to
find your peace.
with the most sincere love,
-Leslie Birdsill
From Cassie Allen:
The last time I heard from Samer was via text message about a week or so before he passed away. The message read: “Hey, sorry have not called will explain though.” My heart jumped wondering what’s happened now? Was he supposed to call me? Then I thought that perhaps he messaged the wrong person. He did that sometimes. After talking to him on the phone sometimes I would get a text message from him that was obviously intended for someone else. I was in my car,on my way somewhere, so I put off calling him back because to have a conversation with Samer one needed to set aside some time. I never did get a chance to have that conversation with him but we had many others. I will miss them a great deal. I’ll miss his mannerisms, his politeness and his incredible knowledge about so many topics. I always learned something after talking with him.
Everyday, looking around my apartment and in my closet I am reminded of him. He and Sarah gave me so many beautiful things. Almost every time we would hang out I would leave the apartment with something. A beautiful blue coat, a blouse, a leopard print coat from the neighbor a cute pink hat from the dollar store, jewelry, a handbag etc. When visiting, I would try to bring things for them too.. a delicate vintage hat, books of illustrated fairytales, Ferragamo shoes. I don’t mean to focus too much on things and objects but I mention these only because Samer did have a great eye for style and it was a big part of his life. He had so many unique ideas. I have never met anyone like him.
Samer loved well all things beautiful, but most of all he loved my daughter Sarah. He gave her many gifts, some material but its the gifts of love and self-confidence I'd wished I'd thanked him for the most. As a mother I told her a million times how smart & beautiful & special she is but it took Samer's words to make her believe it.
Samer was an amazing person and I wish I could talk to him more about music and fashion,wine and his faith.
He loved my son Danny as well, took him under his wing and instilled in him a love of history and taught him to question the things he reads and hears, to seek his own truths. For these things I'm truly grateful. Thank you Samer, I miss you already.
I feel sorry now for not spending time again with you two. I'll try to be a better friend in the future. Like Sarah said, I too wish he didn't have to leave so soon. I'm really sad about this.
It has been over a week and Samer's death is still resounding heavy in me. But the sensation is pleasant. I feel my brother's passion in the air. Samer was filled with an intensity and fire that will never stop burning. He is in all of us. He reminds me of my past, of our religion, of God. Samer is light and dark swirling all over his shadow and words. How can I say anything?
I felt his peace as he departed. In some half-waking dream I embraced him and we kissed Iraqi style and we said goodbye.
I remember how his coffin was in front of all the men kneeling in prayer. He would have liked that.
His body lies in peace and with God.
Along with Sarah, I will be collecting Samer's writings, letters, poems. If you have anything to share please send it to: usama@dancehabibi.com
I thank you all for your kind words and for thinking of Samer.
Please remember his spirit and smile with love and enjoy this brief beautiful life.
-Usama Alshaibi (May 9, 2006)
Samer
A brother from another world
Soul within my soul
A child my only friend
piercing eyes, gleaming teeth
Worlds so far apart and yet so same
aching needs driving us both
passion
intensity
beautiful touch words look smell
fire in the tounge
final escape sha'allah
i count my self as the first (in age) among 12 cosins.
10 of them are americans and two unfortuned ones are iraqi, me and my sister.
i lost one cousine without even seeing him. lets hope to see the others while still standing
Tareef
Nice photo....
:-)
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