A Different Day!

Today, I woke up too early for a Friday morning to meet a friend on the other side of town. Around five hours later, after having morning coffee (with chocolate muffin), talking about everything that came to our minds, and walking round and round in circles in Korba, we said goodbye pretty quickly for two friends who live in different countries and have no idea when they’d meet again…

Then I was supposed to call another friend who bailed on me – it’s ok, I forgive you; I survived the rest of the day on my own without fighting with myself like I usually do!

I kept driving on my own listening to my music and discovering how all the roads lead to one another and making mental notes of the shortest ways to get around – I like doing that!

I kept looking for empty streets…

I needed to stop by the computer mall to get a new flash memory instead the one I lost when I was on vacation, but when I parked and stepped into the mall, I realized I didn’t have the energy to ask for what I want in every store. So I just browsed the windows, didn’t find any, so I just left!!

And it hit me, I was close enough to where my late nana lived…

I drove to the corner of the street and I could see the balcony where I spent endless hours daydreaming of things that never happened. I could hear her voice calling for me to get inside and grab a bite or to check on me. I could almost see all snippets from my childhood passing by. My eyes were filled with tears because I realized I never really appreciated those days as I should have, and I really missed her even more.

An old man saw me in my car with my eyes lingering on the balcony; apparently, he took his time watching me as I took mine reminiscing. My car was stopped due to traffic the entire time and I was counting that people would most likely honk my ears out when the cars started moving, but that man smiled at me and signaled that the cars ahead of me started moving! I smiled back with gratitude, and drove by…

I wish I had keys to the place, yet somehow I think it’s better that I don’t; I guess the only way I could hold on to the warmth and love I had behind those windows was to never get in and see how they turned into emptiness and void. I know her spirit left the place leaving no trace of what has been, so I will just hold on to it in my heart. God, I miss her… Allah yer7amha!

I went home feeling more willing to do my mommy duties than I have been in the past days; I brought lunch, fed the boys, showered them and then invited them to nap next me. I didn’t even feel sleepy, I just felt attracted to the bed in a sense, I lost consciousness for almost four hours – it’s sort of a record!

I am grateful for today… alhamdulilah…

In retrospect

The movie…

He looked like him. In real life, he doesn’t; just the petite structure and the haircut and the little beard.

He behaved like him. Not exactly, just the humor and the charm and the selfishness, only in real life he showed more kindness that hid the selfishness, kindness that made all his mistakes forgiven.

He reminded me of him when he shaved off that hair. Only in real life, he had bigger brown eyes, and higher cheekbones, the features we share.

I cried because under layers of years that hold anger, contempt and disappointed, I realized that I missed him.

The club…

I needed someone who would charm my boys and play with them like he did with me, I thought of him.

I needed someone who’d throw a punch for me without thinking of consequences, I thought of him.

I needed someone who’d hold me and tell me that it will be ok, and I realized I needed him, not him him, the him I thought he was.

The restaurant…

I finally talked about it, it was too clear in my head that I missed him and I needed him. I knew I did because I was vulnerable. Alhamdulilah, I had a great friend to listen.

I didn’t say how he disappointed me, I don’t think I really remember anymore, but I still don’t forgive him, and I know for a fact that I would never tell him how I miss him or need him if we ever talk again, not that I think we ever will.

Yesterday…

I kept going back to that little girl; I envied and pitied her for all she had…

She had the warm loving arms that she appreciated…

She had safe arms that she missed and idealized…

She had warm, loving, safe and overprotective arms that she resented and couldn’t appreciate…

She didn’t see things clearly. Like the movie, she needed lots of time to figure things out for what they really are, but in her case, a lifetime…

A lifetime where she stopped hanging around the warm loving arms that she loved until they were no longer there to hold her…

A lifetime of mistakenly believing in the safety of the arms she missed to realize that those arms were nothing but a heartbreaking disappointment…

A lifetime of avoiding and rejecting the warm, loving, safe and overprotective arms that she couldn’t bear, now, all she wishes she could do is hide in those arms and cry all those lost years… but she’s afraid… afraid of all the questions, afraid of the tears, afraid of being overwhelmed… but most of all, terrified of losing those arms the moment she surrenders to them…

A lifetime full of stupid mistakes she did because she never turned to those arms...

Yesterday, all I wanted was to run in those arms and cry, but I didn’t want the questions that I couldn’t answer and I didn’t know how to show my vulnerability, so I didn’t… I couldn’t even cry on my own…

Right now…

Tears keep flowing with every word I type! I am not crying, tears just fall out of my eyes hurting my eyes but not easing my soul.

And I still feel unable to find the words that tell any of it, it’s too hard to describe it to begin with…

I miss when my pain could find its way out without me looking for words, and I miss him and how he could have fixed me… I take a glimpse at my little mementos and try to remember his words to guide me, but I feel too confused right now…

I’m trying to learn from all the things that revealed themselves in the past days, trying to figure out how to fix myself so that I would not repeat any of my mistakes.

I don’t want to compile unpleasant experiences and lock them. I don’t want to pretend they never happened and they never affected me until they find the chance to haunt me and mess up my life like tides ruin sand castles… I want my life to be more than sandcastles, and I have no idea how…

A Taste of Fear…

Disclaimer: This post is grim; however, it is not about being depressed or down, it is simply me trying to find/make up reasons for the unexplainable gut feelings I have!

Due to recent events, I am shaken. I am not the same me who was there three weeks ago. I realize it is temporary, I hope it is temporary!

It started with some things the x said and did, which until now I am fully aware are only half true, only I do not know/care which half is true. Yes, he gets to me in so many ways and that fact messes me up. I tell myself it’s because we share kids and because like it or not, he was the first man in my life and I married him for love so the shock can have the effect of tides; it washes off only to revisit, may be I should be prepared for that rather than fight it.

Earlier this month, I had two panic attacks, or whatever close enough to that! I only read about panic attacks long time ago and I always thought I am very unlikely to have any given how I handle my fears. All I know is that some Sunday ago, as I was scribbling to get ready for my Art Therapy session later that day, I rushed into the meetings room and started crying! I was so afraid, I felt an obscure fear inside that I couldn’t explain; I called Rasha in the midst of my tears, until I could finally pull myself back together and go back to my desk to ask my boss for an early leave.

Later that day I went to Dr. Magdi’s (may he rest in peace), and for the first time in a long time I felt close to crying in front of strangers; you see, I have shy-tear-ducts syndrome or something! Anyway, it took Dr. Magdi around three hours to make me a bit calmer enough to smile; he suggested solutions and he reassured me that I am on the right side of things and I should not doubt that. That was the last day I met him, and for some reason I completely miss his presence; you know, the idea of knowing he’d be there if I need some more reassurance along the way. It’s such a harsh thing to lose that feeling.

Even later the same day, after being confronted by how uneasy the suggested solutions were, I collapsed into another episode of panic and tears. I was too afraid to cry in my dark room all alone; I curled in bed and called H. She did everything she could to soothe me, she even said she could come take me out only I told her it was too late and I was too tired to get dressed anyway. I was babbling so many incoherent sentences about the things I’ve been told all through the week, by my mom, by the x, by the people I know, and finally by Dr. Magdi. I say it again, H did a great job to put me back together, she reminded me all over again that it shall all work itself out if for nothing, only because I never intend harm. Thank you H dear!

I pushed my way through that week only to be provoked further by the x; that guy couldn’t be anymore creative when it comes to pissing me off, and he has such a strong leverage, my babies! I am not sure if it’s that motherly of me to say it, but I’ll do anyway; I couldn’t stand being around my kids those days. I love them too much all the time, but being around them those other days felt suffocating. Ironically how every time I feel that way one of them falls sick! It kills me inside and serves as such a painful reminder of how much I hurt when they suffer!

To end the week from hell, after I had an attempt to shake off the bad mood with Rasha, I went home to know about Dr. Magdi’s death. I’ve never cried that much so instantly over death; death usually takes me too much time to process and react! It could be that I had just received help from that man earlier that week; it could be that he died in a sudden car accident, not due to an illness with an expected death. All I know is that I’ve never realized the profound meaning of “إثر حادث اليم” until I read it in his obituary! I found it really disturbing because the other day as I was driving I was thinking how Dr. Magdi was a God-send and how I could always turn to him for mental reassurance and peace, and there was that dark thought of him dying that I instantly shunned away, only the thought became a reality too suddenly for me to process.

I woke up the morning after feeling like I just had a long painful nightmare and that perhaps things won’t be that bad. After all, the x had stopped harassing me when he called me during my episode of crying over Dr. Magdi and he behaved in a “sensitive” way to an extent. Moreover, my mom stopped harassing me when she called me at work to find me still sobbing over the same matter! I never heard my mom saying “ya 7abibty enty 7assasa awy, we ana ma3rafsh Dr. Magdi bas ana 3arfa ad eh konty betesteraya7y lama terga3y men 3andoh” I never even told her my whereabouts when I was there because I didn’t want to deal with “therapy eh we habal eh”!

I guess I cried for as long as I did because I wanted to hold on to his memory for as long as I could by holding on to my tears over losing him. I am fully and regrettably aware that given time, his place in my mind will keep shrinking until it is rarely and randomly recalled; that's the way our souls handle loss, by forgetting. I just didn't want to surrender to forgetting him so soon, or ever for that matter.

I went to Dr. Magdi’s wake the next day with a friend. My tears had already dried and I was back to my rather cold and indifferent self. I sat next to a girl who asked me if I was a student of his, I said I wasn’t and that I went to his center; she nodded and said that so did she! It was amazing how a lot of familiar faces whom I’ve seen at that center were there! That man did touch so many lives; I wish him all the peace there is!

I sat there thankful that I was neither my friend who drove me there nor Dr. Magdi’s assistant! Those two knew him much better than I did and had to deal with more issues and grief than I could possibly endure, at least not at my current state! I almost began to find tears rolling on my cheeks as I realized I was there at the church bidding that man my last goodbye! That was when my friend approached me and said we better leave now. I felt my whole body aching as we walked to where my sis was waiting to drive me home.

Three days now after the wake, I still feel the same on daily basis; I feel strange unexplainable fear in my guts! I shiver occasionally out of both fear and cold, only I am not afraid and neither am I cold! I sit with people and laugh too loud and hard about things that wouldn’t normally even make me smile! I am trying to fight the blues that are creeping into me by singing happy happy tones.

I gave my color box to my son because I couldn’t stand looking at it anymore. I won’t be coloring anymore; what’s the point if the one man who made sense of things I subconsciously said with my colors is no longer there! I will have to fight in order to find the right words and hope they will reveal a little bit more than what I am capable to say, yet remain as properly understood as I’d want them to be.

I am afraid of death in so many ways now…

I am afraid of losing the people I care about and it’s too darn painful! I have always managed to pretend like it was not likely to happen or that when it will, it will me like when my late nana died; expected and wished for to end a prolonged pain and agony, but I am aware of how devastated I was over losing her even then.

Now, I look at my dad and I want to hide in his arms and tell him to never leave me, but I am the girl who finds it emotionally hard to run in his arms as he returns from Alex every weekend!

I see my boys playing and I wish that if I am meant to die anytime, better it be soon so that they wouldn’t hurt the way I would if I lose them at any point!

I guess what scares me about death is that it is a fact that can never be dodged or postponed when it’s time; moreover, it will always be sudden and painful no matter how we anticipate it and think we're ready for it!

I always said I wanted to die young because I was afraid of growing old and incapable like my late nana. Until I had kids and then the responsibility overwhelmed me and scared me of death. I remember Dr. Magdi’s look as he said “… but the responsibility is crushing you and driving you crazy, you want to be selfish but you’re too responsible to be…” he couldn’t be more right! Now I am afraid of dying because of what could happen to my boys if I do!

I try to go back to the simple view of things; “قل لن يصيبنا الا ما كتب الله لنا” and remember my dad’s phrase “عمرك و عمر اى حد ما هيكون أحن من ربنا على عباده” I try to hold on to those two phrases and I try to hold on tighter to my faith and pray, but my prayers are irregular and they lack coherence; I murmur words without even hearing myself as I do, and it’s making me feel even more afraid!

I am not accustomed to fear, and I hate it!

Theme: Randomness

For those who actually enjoy my incoherence…


Seven years ago, my late nana (Allah yer7amha) died on the same day. I say a little prayer for her with every time I wrote today’s date on a piece of paper or every time I come to think of today’s date. Neina, Allah yer7amek, wa7shany awy.


I woke up today in the itching mood of Vaya Con Dios, specifically I Don’t Want to Know. I was shocked to find that my music file at work did not include any of their songs so I downloaded the whole discography only to listen to my favorites. Until the download was complete I listened to Hanine’s version of Fareed’s Ya Zahratan Fe Khayaly. Those words speak for me like no other.


He keeps calling. Apparently he’s really bummed about everything in his life and he’s under the strong impression that I’m the only one he got! I am not happy with that but I am not able to hurt him because apparently his grandma is in such a bad shape and I am not cruel enough to hit someone so beaten up about life already. I keep telling myself that once on his feet, he’ll soon hurt me twice as hard; it’s what he does and I’d be stupid to think that a short moment of remorse can change who he is. I am starting to think of a smart way to set him straight; give him my dad’s strict conditions of having me back (and OH they are dead STRICT), but I feel ethically challenged since I have no intention to live up to my end of the bargain if he lives up to his. Why am I so ethical? I blame my dad.


I have so many plans I should mark in my calendar of people with whom I want to meet and catch up. My boss from my old work for next Thursday, and my friend from the same place for next Saturday, and I’m sure there are things I am forgetting! Oh, I must call H and see her, it’s been a while; still there is something I’m missing!


I don’t know what it is with you, but every time I try to be just nice or I don’t know more me, I find myself blurting out nothing but sarcasm! Ok, I know it’s a defense mechanism, but I thought I was over that with you; only it gets even harder to control. I hate it because this is not how I want to act around you and I hate it because I’m afraid you’re attributing it to the wrong reasons. May be it’s best to keep that distance.


I want a quiet evening in a night landscape with nothing but the moon and the stars in the velvet sky and perhaps some good music. I don’t want people and I am not sure about the company yet. The really sad part is even if I was granted that ambience; my restless nature would have me bored in less than 30 minutes. I’m pathetic!


I also wanna take the kids out and have fun, but they’re too crazy and chaotic and I am too tired to handle them without having a nerve blown out or something.

On the very same note though, yesterday I held both of them as I sat on the couch in the living room (I barely ever get out of my room), and I read them those three little books my sis wrote. My Beem just loves that character and I keep using it to make him do things (evil), but it was him who made me think of it when he said “mommy ana 3ayez aghsel senany zay boxa”


I’m overspending these days. The scary part is that I am a bit low on cash and using my credit card. I know I will have to deal with the consequences but I feel too stressed to start caring.


My mom seems to want me out of the house at any expense. She deliberately gives out instructions of the most disgusting food to be cooked. My parents were in Alexandria for the weekend and they returned late last night; still, Kaware3 was yesterday’s dish! EWWW I mean seriously EWWWWW, it ruined my apetite to walk in the kitchen and see that cooking!! I ended up eating salad from Pizza Hut followed by a muffin from Costa with my dearest The Caller. I want good food ba2a, and I hate home delivery, so they either start cooking real food or let me go dine out without calling me to yell!


I’ve been sitting on my desk all day juggling tasks. During the past four hours I’ve wanted to go boil some water and dump the noodles in it and have a snack to stop my stomach from growling, but something keeps coming up! I’m going home in less than 15 minutes now. Ooh, I’m so hungry that I actually feel sick; nonetheless, I keep getting cravings of Feta cheese & tomato or tuna & corn. It’s only good because I can totally settle for either if they all there was at home were yesterday’s kaware3.


Ok, I should go home now. Good day everyone.

Random Randomness…

I have a head cluttered with thoughts again… so I will put them all here in no specific order; the good and the bad. I will put them for the sake of reference; who knows, may be some day I would talk further about any of them.


I just love R! The other day, I was too sleepy at work and I had to send tons of emails to too many people in which the two common things were 1- that they were all men, and 2- they were all my superiors! So to avoid confusion, I started all mails with “Dear Sir”. Minutes after I sent my mail to R, he responded saying “Thanks! P.S. Inso, my name is R, not Sir!”… It woke me up for a minute or two, put a smile on my face and then I continued being sleepy! I could have replied saying “Dear R, I love you”.

I am my father’s daughter, I just am! Everyday I stumble on a thought that makes me realize I take a lot after my dad even more, despite how people keep saying we have nothing in common looks-wise!! What no one ever noticed before is that even though we do not share the head shape, skin color, eye color or shape, nose (thank goodness), mouth; we do share the same faint dimple on the chin!!! I just saw that resemblance a few days ago and it was like a revelation (I did mention on so many occasions that I am easily amused)!!! Other than that, we share too many things character wise, it scares me yet somehow reassures me in another way! I say it proudly; I am my father’s daughter, with all his annoying flaws, or at least most of them!

I enjoy my kids’ company beyond measures. I know I rant a lot about missing my own space and the little things I can’t seem to do with them being so dependant on me; I guess it goes back to me being restless and easily bored generally. However, truth is, I spend my happiest moments tickling, laughing and playing with them and I feel the safest when Beem hugs me saying “ba7ebik ya mAmmy” or when Mocha holds on to me to feel safe! I hope it will forever feel this way, and I hope I could be the best mother I could be to those two.

I still can’t find it in me to forgive him. I manage to speak of him without calling him names he very much deserves, but I can’t seem to even be willing to forgive him. Every time I think of my status and pray to God for all to end, a part of me wanders away wondering “howa 7asses howa ad eh zalem?! Wala faker eno keda bey7afez 3ala beet howa haddo? Wala faker eny momken fe yoom arda arga3lo?” and I refrain from cursing at him in my prayers and just say “يا رب ارفع ظلمه عني و لا تجعل مني ظالما أو مظلوما”. The worst thing is to feel oppressed and helpless; kelmet zolm is more than just those two. الحمد لله

No matter how more accepting or wiser I get, I will never NEVER understand people’s ability to inflict harm on others. It’s just beyond my ability to understand, let alone accept. This makes me too vulnerable to people’s constant deceit; however, it scares me that the day may come when I learn how to accept it, because in my head it means I would be capable of it at some later stage after which. I think too much!

Whenever I sleep right after prayers, my last prayer is always for my late Nana and to see her in my dreams. I can’t remember when it last happened; however, three nights ago I saw her in a terrible nightmare, it filled my heart with pain and fear instead of peace, and made me no longer wish to see her in my sleep. May peace and serenity find her and keep her company.

My best days at work are when I work REALLY hard. I feel active and my mood and attitude are noticeably better!! I hate boring days where I just stare at my screen and browse away!

Words just fascinate me. I appreciate thoughts, but my appreciation for words is just indescribable; it impresses when thoughts are described in the right words. This is probably why I fall too hard for kind words to the extent that it might take me longer time to see that they could be fake. Not just that, cruel words have such a huge and exaggerated effect on me; they make me dwell too hard for my own good! What can I say, I’m such a sucker for words; may God protect me from those who know how to use them without really meaning them.

Every time, every single time I decide to follow local news 3ashan mab2ash “gahla” 3ala ra2y babaya; I end up realizing that I made one wise decision to live in my own head, detached from this scary scary reality. Everything around saddens me and makes me worry about the future and my kids; I worry that one day they will be in the same place I see people in, and it just disturbs me. It leaves me to my defense mechanism, meet denial and cynicism. So please, stop giving me newspapers to read, sometimes ignorance is a blessing.


Kefaya keda!

To My Oblivia

Around two years ago, I started an older version of this blog, that I named Organized Chaos. It was basically an outlet where I could babble about the joys of motherhood and also rant about how people keep giving me non-applicable advice, namely my in-laws.

I had problems then, but I was trying to talk myself out of dealing with them, facing them, or even feeling them. In that blog, I talked about my inability to forgive; about how tired I was from waiting for good things to happen; about how I felt my life was not going anyway like I planned; all in abstract manner, or at least that was what I thought!

A fellow blogger once told me she liked how I talked so openly about whatever crossed my mind and how she liked the way I made fun of everything. She had no idea I had that many issues, so I just told her I hid behind my alias and said the things I felt comfortable saying.

I remember I tried to let my anger and frustration out by talking about my marriage; I started a series of posts called “Diaries of an Angry Pregnant Woman”. I talked about my childhood and the years before I met him; I just couldn’t talk about him back then… probably because I was still trying to talk myself into staying in the marriage. I couldn’t just get it out in the open that I was badly hurt by him and somehow continue living with him.

I think shortly after I killed that project, I deleted my blog; I don’t remember why exactly, but I guess I was tired of not being able to channel any of my turmoil at that time. It was exactly a year ago when I deleted it. If memory serves, I deleted after I posted about my late nana; I think that was the closest I have come to talking about my personal pain.

Then I started an older version of this blog that lasted three whole months after I gave birth to my mocha. I named it My Oblivia to leave all the thoughts that haunted in my own oblivion, where I could just have them out of my real life, into the blogsphere; a place where they wouldn’t find their way back to haunt me, while on the other hand I could find them if I was ever ready to deal with them.

I deleted it because he asked me if I had a blog and that he wanted its address if I did. I lied about having a blog, and deleted it after we hung up because I hated having to lie the way he always lied to my face. This is how I punished myself for not being able to tell him the truth!!
After deleting the blog, my thoughts remained in my head depriving me of sleep and peace. I felt nostalgic to my little place that seemed to be more than just an oblivion, but a place I could somehow clear my mind… nostalgia and oblivion; two of my favorite words, two words that somehow contradict, yet made more sense together in my head.

It was where I spilled all my tears when he was playing all his sick games and emotionally manipulating me until I was drained. It was where I spent the first few hours of my 26th birthday shortly after he told me every possible hurtful word he could think of. It was the last time I had a death wish. Sad memories I know, but it was the time I finally decided to stop the abuse he subjected me to and return to who I once was; this makes up for how sad the memories are.

My blog was the way I found my way back to ME, at least one of the ways. I figured that if I missed my blog and cared about having it back more than I cared about my x, then I definitely did not need him in my life. This is why two days later, I revived my blog.

By the end of the same month, I came out. The more I wrote about my failure of a marriage, the better I felt, and the more I realized it was ok, and that it wasn’t as terrible as it felt when I kept piling the things I was unable to talk about except with a couple of people who were probably sick and tired of seeing me ache the way I did and unable to tell me to walk out because they were afraid they did not know better. Yeah, my sisters and my two best friends didn’t tell me it was time to walk out until I decided it on my own; I am grateful that way because I know it came from me.

People kept commenting and telling me the nicest and most supportive words, words I thought I would never really hear because my dear father was so afraid of the whole divorce procedure he decided to scare me! It’s ok, I know where he comes from and I know how badly it must hurt to see his big girl failing in what everyone viewed as a big achievement!!

Through my blog, I got to know some quite interesting people who didn’t know who I was, yet somehow knew me through all the things I wrote. It felt good to be heard and understood after years of me speaking to someone who never bothered listening.

I no longer had to hide from anything!! My Oblivia became who I am. The only reason I kept the name is because I wanted to always remember how I got here, and well, I am too lazy to think of something original.

I am not always in my best moods, but I am content and peaceful most of the time, which I think should be better than happy at some point. I know more hardships are meant to come my way one way or another, but I don’t care; not out of carelessness, but because I would like to believe that deep down I have found my strength, my peace, and most importantly my faith to overcome whatever awaits me. For that, I am thankful.

I am thankful for my father for doing the best he could to rise above his fears and prejudices.

I am trying to be thankful for my mother for her compassion that she hides for some reason under thick layers of insults and hurtful accusations.

I am grateful for Maat for waking up early in the morning to listen to my doubts and pat my back as she talked me out of them, although I turned out to be right after all!!!

I am grateful for my Goody for feeling for me that way she always does despite how she always says she’s apathetic. She’s not! She’s the most sympathetic person I have known, and it’s not because I know 7alaleef.

I am thankful for D, for the way she could just listen to me say nothing for almost an hour, and then tell me “I understand”; I miss her and I wish her nothing but the best, God bless her.

I am thankful for H for being with me on the phone saying all the prayers I needed to hear and making me repeat after her until peace found its way back into my heart. I try to show her that I am always here if she ever needs me; however, I don’t think I could ever pay her back.

I am thankful for G for making me laugh so hard when all I wanted was to cry. He’s in my prayers right next to my Nana.

I am thankful for B for always telling me the right words that would make me pause and think of the ways should be done… istikharas are the best :)

I am grateful for N’s beautiful email that helped me realize I wasn’t as radical as I was made to believe by him… N, you have a beautiful soul.

I am grateful for Will E’s Art Therapy recommendation; I never got the chance to see it through, but I got the chance to have a good friend.

There are more people for whom I am more than thankful. Some of them in my real life and some came from My Oblivia, but this was written to thank my blog for getting me out of oblivion to where there is light and hope of better days. Thank you My Oblivia, I wish I could promise I would never desert you, but such promises are silly, I’d rather promise that I will always be thankful.

** Did this just sound like one of those Oscar speeches?!!!!

To my best childhood memory

March 15th marks a sad sad memory in my calendar. It’s the day she passed away, my nana (may she RIP).

I remember that day very clearly starting from the moment my uncle K walked in the apartment, my mom’s loud voice which practically woke me up... walking out of my room, the moment I saw K all collapsed on the couch, I knew it. I posted all about that day in my old blog, in painful details.

What I never said in that post is how angry I was at myself after she died! I never said it because until lately, I had not recognized this anger, probably because I had more stuff to be angry about.


I was angry at myself for not taking enough time to sit with her in the hospital instead of stealing few minutes on my way back home from college to see her… I should have never let my fear of hospitals keep me away from her.

I was angry at myself for not sitting by her side day in and day out begging for her to get well and be there to make me feel as loved as she always did… I should have never let my fear of seeing the strongest person I have ever known collapsing that way cripple me from being by her side.

I was angry at myself for not crying when K held me in his arms saying “khalas, maba2ash feeh neena”… I should have let my tears flow rivers because I knew I would miss her, even when I believed death was her relief from the pain of being so helpless.

I was angry at myself for going to college the next day and doing my presentation, instead of going with every one else to funeral… I should have allowed myself to grief then, instead of telling myself that she will always be there in my heart, not her grave.

I was angry at myself for not crying as hard as I needed until almost a year had passed… I make up for that by crying so hard every time I realize how much I miss her.


Oh my God, every time I think of her, my eyes are filled with tears, I feel that huge lump in my throat, my nose starts running, and I start trembling. Someone told me that our tears over our dead loved ones cause them discomfort. I don’t know that for sure but I make up for my inability to control my tears by praying for her as much as I can and wishing her the best one can get; prayers do help, so I have been told, and so I believe.

Once I start relaxing, I smile and think of her, and start reminiscing… her words… her wits… her slightly tanned skin… her always red cheeks… her beautiful white hair that she used to hide her face with, as an attempt to play with me when I was little… her warm hug that used to make me as safe and protected as I have never felt… her rice pudding… her cooking… how she used to teach me how to roll vine leaves, to work on ka7k el 3eed with that thing… how she’d check if I had washed the glass of water and before filling it up and giving to her… how she’d tell me that rhyming prayer, I seem to fail to remember… all the pet names she used to call me with…and more and more beautiful memories that make my heart feel warm despite the pain of missing her.

Thank you Maat for writing this post about her when I first mentioned on my old blog that I miss her, thanks for dedicating it to me; it inspired me to remember the good things and it reminded me of things I had almost forgotten.

So that’s why March sucks!! That’s why it’s wrong to think Moher’s Day when my own mother figure died 6 days ahead of it!!

And also, my last dream of her was in March 2006, right after my ERCP. It was a scary dream with a golden scorpion (!!!) trying to bite me and my baby sister; she was the one who warned me soon enough to jump and push it away, and the one who told me not to worry as I freaked out…

I miss having her in my dreams; I miss the peace I felt waking up giggling… I hope I would dream of her this month, perhaps I can forgive March then.

Oummi...*

I discovered Marcel Khalife last year (thanks to Maat). I have to say, I am taken by him; his music, his voice, and oh my God the lyrics; courtesy of Mahmoud Darwish of course.

I would like to share this song “Oummi” with lyrics right below… I did not post the video from utube because when I first listened to the song I heard it while driving, so I advise to listen to the song while minimized and feel free to read the lyrics for easy reference.

أمي ...

أحنُّ إلى خبز أُمي
وقهوة أمي
ولمسة أُمي ..
وتكبُر في الطفولةُ
يوماً على صدر يومِ
وأعشَقُ عمرِي لأني
إذا مُتُّ,
أخجل من دمع أُمي !
خذينيِ إذا عدتُ يوماً
وشاحاً لهُدْبِكْ
وغطّي عظامي بعشب
تعمّد من طهر كعبك
وشُدي وثاقي ..
بخصلة شَعر..
بخيطٍ يلوِّح في ذيل ثوبك ..
عساني أصير ُإلهاً
إلهاً أصير..
إذا ما لمستُ قرارة قلبك !
ضعيني , إذا ما رجعتُ
وقوداً بتنور ناركْ ..
وحبل غسيل على سطح دارك
لأني فقدتُ الوقوفَ
بدون صلاة نهارك
هَرِمْتُ فردّي نجوم الطفولة
حتى أُشارك صغار العصافير
درب الرجوع .. لعُش انتظارِك!!

(من ديوان "عاشق من فلسطين" 1966)

Now isn’t this beautiful!!! I made my favorite part in bold and bigger font!

* This is to you Nana, I miss you… may you rest in peace.

Something to hold on to…

Unlike what my husband thinks, I don’t cry easily and in fact I do hate crying. It is more likely that I would cry out of anger than hurt, but then again, I get angry when I’m hurt. Thanks to him, I’ve cried rivers. They were not over him, they were over me and that’s it.

When I was a child, I would run to the phone and call my late nana (Allah yerhamha), and complain to her about my parents. She used to give mama some real hard time, and always defended baba although she was his mother in-law!! She would ask baba’s permission to send me over so that I can spend a few days with her, and he could never say no.

There were a couple of years that she spent at my uncle’s in the US, and another year spent at my aunt’s in the UAE, where I couldn’t just pick up the phone and call her. Whenever I cried, I always whispered her name to make myself feel better, to remind myself that there’s someone out there who can take all my pain away and make it up to me.

Yesterday, when I finally broke down and cried right there in front of everyone, I looked at my father’s eyes and saw how angry he was at me for losing my temper. I looked at my husband eyes, and instantly looked away. Then I avoided looking at mama or the husband’s aunts, I just couldn’t deal with what I might have seen in their eyes.

For the first time in my life, I looked down!! I found my lips trembling and saying her name. I wanted nothing in the world but her arms to shelter me from it all. I wished she were right there as healthy as she once was, yelling at them and telling them that they just can’t do that to me. I kept repeating her name to myself, but the more I did, the more I cried as if she just died again. I felt alone, helpless and oppressed.

I wonder if she would have taken my dad’s side on this one. I don’t think she would have. She would have never asked me to remain in a marriage like that. She maintained her wreck of a marriage for more than 30 years!! She got a divorce shortly after my youngest aunt got married. I was old enough to remember it all. I didn’t understand the reasons, all I ever remember is how agonized she was. How she used to wish he’d suffer for the rest of his life (my grandpa).

When I grew up a little I knew some of the facts from my uncles and aunts, not that they sat me down and told me the story, but it was more of bits and pieces that I overheard them as they argued about. He was all she knew, she married him pretty young. Apparently she was the more mature one and the stronger character nevertheless. The fact, that made him feel inferior that he would impose too many rules in the name of religion that he didn’t really live by at that time.

Of course, being the strong willed, opinionated woman she was, she never submitted to what she thought was wrong or unfair. He remarried, one time after the other to spite and humiliate her. He always said things like how he’d marry someone else who knows how to be a better wife whatever that meant. He even had a daughter who’s seven years older than me!! As far as religion goes, he was never fair to her or to any of his kids, including that daughter.

She resented him for a life time. I have seen first hand how her hate and anger consumed her. How her face would change when his name was mentioned. I could never like him, and I could never respect him. I always blamed him for everything that went wrong with my youngest uncle.

He was an absent father. I don’t even have any good memory of him as a grandfather!! He was cold and distant and had no compassion, all in the name of religion… and the sad thing was, he was convinced he was right.

I say all that about him, and I know he was a 100 times better than the man I am married to. I understand he did what he thought was right and he was blinded by his wrong convictions. Nevertheless, he killed her spirit and had her waste all her good years on his account. If anyone asks me, I think my nana died of anger.

This is exactly why I know she would have never told me to stay. She would know exactly how I feel right now and she would have never allowed me to have the same ending she had, not for my kids and not for anyone.

No matter how this ends, I promise you nana I will not let anger consume me. I will not hate him, for he doesn’t deserve any kind of emotion really. I will not let him kill my spirit, that spirit I took after you. Every time he gets to me, I will think of you and remember my promise to you. May your soul rest in peace.