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Jim McCrory

Good Evening Bahrain: I Love Your Word Insaniya (إنسانية)

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Sunday, 1 Dec 2024, 15:47


"Where words fail, music speaks." – Hans Christian Andersen 


Image generated with the assistance of Microsoft Copilot


The Atlantic Winds and Human Connection

Hello Bahrain, I am Jim, from the west coast of Scotland, where the Atlantic winds bend me, yet the colours—those sweeping greens and blues and soft greys—keep me young. It’s a land where the waves seem to sing of eternity, and the hills cradle a thousand memories.

This evening, I found myself transported—not by the ocean but by music. I was watching André Rieu’s concert in Bahrain, a symphony of human emotion set against a stage of beauty and light. Were you there? Did you feel it too?

Every note seemed to carry something universal. The camera panned to faces in the audience—smiling, crying, or simply gazing in awe. Strangers to me, yet not really. For as I watched, I began to see how alike we are, you and I. All the great tides of human feeling—love, joy, happiness, empathy, and connection—flowed through that shared moment.

And then I learned a new word: Insaniya (إنسانية). Humanity. Not just a word, but a concept, a truth that resonated deeply within me. I saw Insaniya in your tears as a violin sang of longing. I saw it in your laughter when the orchestra played a playful waltz. I felt it in the way the music wrapped us all together, across continents and cultures, like an embrace from the Divine.

I cried and laughed too, just as you did. And in the quieter moments, I wondered about you. Who are you? What is it like to be you? To walk your streets, to sit at your table, to share your culture? I imagined the stories you carry, the hopes you hold close, and the faith that steadies your soul.

Here in Scotland, I am shaped by the wind and sea, and I wonder—what shapes you? The desert? The city? The stars above Bahrain? Do you look up at the same sky and feel small, yet significant?

As the music swelled to its final crescendo, I felt something more than connection; I felt hope. Hope that in God’s great plan for humanity, we are meant to be more than individuals passing like shadows. We are meant to create bonds that stretch beyond this life into eternity. Bonds not just of family or friendship, but of shared Insaniya.

I pray for that future, where we will laugh together again, and cry, and share stories without the barriers of language or culture. I long for that day when humanity is no longer scattered and divided but gathered as one under the canopy of God’s love.

Until then, I’ll hold on to the memory of that concert, the music that reminded me how beautifully connected we are. And I’ll carry the hope that one day, we will truly see one another—not just across a camera lens, but face to face, in a world made new.

André Rieu played the soundtrack, but it was you who showed me the heart of Insaniya. Thank you.


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Jim McCrory

Voilà: There You Are, Crying

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Monday, 23 Sept 2024, 11:26


"Jesus Wept"

John 11:35





Image courtesy of https://unsplash.com/@mercedesalvarez


I get it, I really get it—coming from Scotland, there’s often this unspoken idea that men, especially the “macho” kind who toss cabers, wear kilts and model themselves as Braveheart, aren’t supposed to cry at concerts. It’s like we’re expected to keep an emotion free zone like the antitheses of that Edvard Munch painting were all emotion turns to liquid , no matter how deeply something moves us. But sometimes, music just bypasses all that and hits straight at the heart, whether we like it or not.

I happen to get one of those feeds from YouTube at the weekend. It was an André Rieu concert where a young girl sang Voilà beautifully whilst many in the audience cried —and many at home who got the same feed, I guess.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KdIhq1tb8Co

I also get the same emotional reaction when I listen to Runrig’s The Cutter where they sing of the pain of migration.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SRphquolhkQ&t=8s

There are moments when a certain song connects me with something personal—a memory or feeling you don’t usually talk about—and suddenly, the thunderstorm of emotions pours out like the antitheses of that Edvard Munch painting. For me, it’s also about how music touches something spiritual. There’s a depth in certain performances that stirs the soul, and no matter how tough you think you are; those moments can break through and make you feel exposed in the best way. It’s about realizing that strength and vulnerability aren’t opposites after all.

Even if you’ve been raised with this idea that men should hold it together, music can bring those emotions out in unexpected ways. It’s not always about crying openly, but maybe you feel a lump in your throat, or your eyes well up before you can push it back down.

And honestly, sometimes the music is just that powerful. When you’re standing there, surrounded by sound, seeing the raw energy and emotion in the performance, it’s hard not to feel something. Even if you’ve always told yourself that men aren’t supposed to be vulnerable like that, music has a way of reaching those places you normally keep locked away.

Does that idea of me keeping it together ever hold me back from fully experiencing those emotions? Never! Its good to be vulnerable


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