There is a particular feeling that comes when something you have worked on for a long time finally reaches its conclusion. When I filled the Baqāʾ bottles, I felt it fully — a quiet sense of completion after months of work that had begun long before the blending itself.

The process started with olive heartwood sourced from the West Bank — wood that I infused, filtered, and carefully worked into something that could carry a physical piece of Palestine within the attar. From there came the blending, drawing on some of the rarest materials I have ever worked with, including the last of several ingredients I had treasured for years and knew could never be replaced. Then the long wait — months of macerating, of the blend slowly finding itself, of patience. Filling the bottles felt like the payoff for all of it.

I have always tried to make my work carry meaning beyond the commercial. A portion of every sale goes to charitable causes, and that matters to me. But Baqāʾ was something different — the first time I created something purely for the benefit of others, covering every cost myself, giving away materials I had held and cared for over many years. There was nothing to gain from it personally, and that is precisely what made it feel so significant.

It has been humbling. That is the only word for it.

When I think about someone opening their bottle and wearing Baqāʾ, I hope they feel something of what went into it — and I hope they feel good knowing that their generosity helped bring food to people in Gaza during one of the most painful periods they have faced. The people of Palestine have shown the world what endurance truly means. The least any of us can do is show we have not looked away.

Through the kindness of everyone who donated and supported this project, we raised £10,650 for Revive’s Gaza appeal. Every penny reached those it was intended for.

This experience has changed how I think about what my work can be. Allah willing, it will not be the last time I do something like this.

Free Palestine.