الكرسي الخالي

في قلبها كرسيٌّ خالٍ، متناهٍ في الصِغَر، كلّما أغمضَت عينيها وأنصَتَت جيّدًا سمِعَت صوت أنفاس الرضيع النائم في هذا الكرسي.

طالَ انتظارُها له، وعلا بحرُ الدّمعِ الذي يملأ مهدًا صغيرًا لم تشترِه بعد، وكثُرَت المحاولات ومعها كثُرَت مُناجاتُها لطفلٍها: «آه لو تعلم يا حبيبي كم أحتمل وأصبر كلما لمحتُ أُمّا وكلما حملتُ طفلا وكلما دخلت عيادة الطبيب وكلما استلقيت على ظهري لأسابيع طِوال منتظرة نتيجة آخر محاولة طِبية وطريقة زرع مجهرية.

«قل لي يا صغيري، هل أنت قادم؟ إعفِني من عذاب الانتظار، قد يكون اليأس أكثرَ رأفة بي من أملٍ كاذب.»

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في بيته كرسيٌّ خالٍ، يجلس عليه كلما ضاقت به الدنيا واحتاج أن يشتمّ رائحة الحكمة التي لا تزال تنبعث من خشبٍ عتيقٍ باقٍ حتى بعد رحيل صاحبه. «هل أنا أنانيٌّ يا أبي؟ هل اشتقتُ إليك بصدقٍ أم أنني فقط أفتقد ما كنتُ أحصل عليه من وجودك؟

«يدّعي البعض أن الموتى يسمعوننا إذا خاطبناهم، لكنني أحتاج أن أسمعك أنت، أن أسألك وأستشيرك، أن أعرف رأيك وأختلف معك. لماذا رحلت وتركتني بلا سند؟ الآن عرفتُ ثِقل الحمل الذي كان على أكتافك. اصبحتُ أنا الآن ’كبير الأسرة’ وهم لا يعلمون أني في أعماقي مكسور الظهر، جريح الجناح.»

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على سُفرتها كرسيٌّ خالٍ، تعتصر مَعِدَتها ألمًا لرؤيته. لا يجد الطعام مكانًا في أحشائها لأنها جائعة طوال الوقت، جائعة لأن تقبّل وجنتيه للمرة الأخيرة، وتهمس في أذنه: «أنا أحبك، وسأظل أحبك حتى آخر نفَسٍ في عمري... عمري الذي لو كان بيدي لأعطيتك إياه ورحلتُ أنا عوضًا عنك.

«أنا آسفة يا ولدي، سامحني لأني ككل الأمهات الثكالى، نادمة على كل مرة حرمتك فيها من أمر أو أجّلته لأن قراري كان لصالحك، يا ليتني كنتُ أعلم...

«سريرك خالٍ في بيتنا، لكنك تنام في قلبي كل ليلة، ومثلما اتحد نبضي بنبضك تسعة شهوروأنت في أحشائي، عاد نبضينا ليتّحدا تسعة دهور وأنت تسكن قلبي وعقلي وفكري وتعشش في كل خلية في كياني... لأني أمك... وسأبقى أمك إلى مدى الأزمان...»

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في أحلامِها كرسيٌّ خالٍ، تَحِيكُ له كلّ عامٍ غطاءً جديدًا من حرير صفاتٍها، وترصّعه بلآلئ شخصيّتها. تفرش الغطاء على الكرسيّ يوم عيد ميلادها وتتأمله بعدساتٍ من الدموع المنهمرة مع كل "عقبالِك" و "شدّي حيلك" و "نفرح بيكي" سمِعَتها طوال عامٍ آخر مرّ من دونه. وتسأل نفسها: «كم عامًا قادمًا سيشهد عدم وصوله؟ هل يفكر هو فيّ ويستعد للقائي كما أفعل أنا؟ هل أتاني متخفيًا فلم أعرف أنه هو، بل ظننته مجرد "عريس" آخر أو شابٍ "طالِب القرب" وأنا التي رفضتُه وأغلقتً أبواب قلبي وشغّلتُ عقلي أكثر من اللازم؟

«هل حصلتُ أخيرا على ذلك الوشم الذي يراه الجميع على جبين كل من تتأخر في الزواج مع أنها "كاملة الأوصاف" فيغدو عيبها الوحيد أنها "مغرورة" وتتحول الكلمة إلى لافتة تحذير في شارع حياتها كُتب عليها "إحذر الإقتراب". حتى وإن نجَحتُ في نزعِها من على الرصيف، إلا أنني سأفشل حتمًا في نزعها من عقول كل من أقابله في العمل ودور العبادة وأثناء السفَر والتجمعات العائلية واللقاءات الودية.»

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وسط لياليها كرسيٌّ خالٍ، لا تراه بوضوح إلا في الظلام، بعد انسدال الهدوء، فضجيج منزلِها نهارًا يصُمّ الآذان، وعجيج أفكارها يزيد من علوّ الموج الذي يلطم وجهها فتتعذر الرؤية. لكن الكرسيّ قابعٌ هناك كالسراب، كلما ظنّت أنها اقتربت منه تجده قد استدار وابتعد... تمامًا كما استدار الخاتم وأحاط بإصبعها يوم زفافها، وكما استدار بطنها وتكوّر يوم أصبحت أمًّا، وكما استدارت أيامها كالدوامات مبتلعة أحلامها لنفسها ولمستقبلها. تغتال كلََ كلمة محذوفة من قاموس الأمومة، وتشتكي على أية فكرة كي تعتقلها شرطة مكافحة الأحلام، وتنبذ أي هدف لا ينصبّ في صلب بئر التضحيات الأنثوية لأسرتها.

الـ"أنا" تحوّلَت إلى "نحن"، لا بل تحوّلَت إلى "هم" وفقط هم: «ما هو هدف حياتي غير زوجي وأبنائي وأهلي؟ إنها أسمى الأهداف وأرقى التطلّعات وتتمناها ملايين النساء حول العالم وها أنا متذمّرة.. شاكية.. باكية.. منعدمة الضمير.. قليلة الإمتنان.. ناكرة للجميل...»

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داخل مرآتها كرسيٌّ خالٍ، لا بل كرسيان، يتمركز كل واحد في سواد بؤبؤ عينيها. لذا كَرِهَت المرايا وتجنّبتْ النظر لانعكاس صورتها أينما كانت. «ما الفائدة يا أمي إن كنتُ أُشبِهُك في ملامحي لكنني أعجز عن أن أشبهَكِ في حياتي؟ لماذا لم تتركي لي دليلا شاملا يشرح بالتفصيل كيف يمكنني أن أكون ولو رُبعَ ما كنتِ أنتِ عليه في حياتك وما يقوله الناس عنك حتى بعد رحيلك؟ أتعلمين يا "ماما"... أسمع هذه الكلمة كل يوم عشرات المرات، نعم لقد أصبحتُ أنا أُمًّا. ومنذ أن حدث هذا وأنا تائهة... أهيم على وجهي في غابة الأمومة، أتخبط في قراراتي وفي تقصيري وعجزي.

«أحتاجك أكثر من أي وقت مضى. فقدتُكِ ... وبفُقدانِكِ فقدتُ بوصِلَتي وملاذي... فقدتُ ذلك الشخصَ الوحيدَ الذي كان سيفتخرُ بي، وسيخاف عليّ، وسينصحني بحنان، ويعاتبني بحب... فقدتُ كل ما هو "غير مشروط" وغدتُ "يتيمة" بكل مافي الكلمة من معنى وألم.»

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في العيد... كرسي خالٍ... يتمركز حولَه عيدُنا... فإما أن نجتر أحزاننا ونبقى عالقين في حلقة مفرغة لا أمل بالخروج منها طالما أبقينا ذلك الكرسي في المركز... أو أن نتجرأ ونفرح بعد رحيل الغوالي فيباغتنا الذنب كالإرهابي مرتديًا حزامًا ناسفًا لأي فرحة وماسحًا لأي ابتسامة...يعتلي الكرسي الذي في المركز ويشد الزناد ويفجّرنا...

ما أكثرها...

تلك الكراسي الخالية في بلادنا، وفي بيوتنا، وفي حياتنا...

وما أصعبها...

رحلة التعافي والشفاء والتدرب والتعلم والتعثر، كي نصل إلى عيدٍ ما، في سنةٍ ما، يومًا ما ونقرر أن ننزع الكرسي الخالي من المركز وندمجه في خط الدائرة ليأخد مكانه ومكانته في حياتنا لكن دون أن تتمحور بمجملها من حولِه...

يومئذٍ سنسمح لأنفسنا أن نعيّد من جديد، أن نذوق طعم الفرح الذي نسيناه ونسِيَنا، أن تحفر الإبتسامة طريقا جديدا تشقّه بجهد على وجوهنا... رغم الكرسي الخالي...

مذكرات زوجة قسيس شابة: المكنسة

قُصاصات وقِصص ومجازفة وأمل. ها هي بين أيديكم أعزائي القُرّاء أشارككم بها، قصاصاتٍ من دفتر مذكراتي فيها قصصٌ من رحلة أشبه بمغامرات الخيال فقد قبلتُ المجازفة بأن تخرج تلك الكلمات لترى النور وكلي أمل بأن تتحول ما بيننا السطورُ إلى جسورٍ طمعاً بحفنة صداقات وفيض بركات والمزيد من المحبة أبداً.

مذكرات زوجة قسيس شابة

/المكنسَة/

اكتشفتُ بالصدفة البحتة أن حلول عام 2018 يعني مرور 45 سنة على رائعة فيروز "إيماني ساطع" أغنية أشبه بالترتيلة حيث تقول كلمات الأخوين الرحباني:

مهما اتأخر جايي / ما بيضيع اللي جايي / ع غفلة بيوصل من قلب الضو / من خلف الغيم / ما حدا بيعرف هاللي جايي / كيف يبقى جايي

تطالعك الأسطر الأولى من هذه الأغنية بمصاحبة لحن أشبه بتفتح وردة مع شروق الشمس، تتمطى ساقُها مُرحبة بأشعة طال انتظارُها خلال الليل وتتوالى رقصات البتلات وهي تفرد جسمها على غير استحياء مع كل نوتة موسيقية بعذوبة ندى الصباح. وفجأة...

إيماني ساطع يا بحر الليل / إيماني الشمس المدى والليل / ما بيتكسر إيماني / ولا بيتعب إيماني / إنت اللي ما بتنساني

مالذي حصل؟ مع أن نغمات البيانو لا تزال تلوّن الخلفية برِقّة إلا أن اللحن بحد ذاته قد تحول إلى مارش عسكري مبطّن، فأراني أغني كالجندية بوقفتها المنتصبة وقد ارتديت زيّا حربيّا، ينعكس بريق الشمس في لمعان قبعتي، أرفع يدي كمن يؤدي القسم الكانونيّ (نسبة للتسمية السريانية لشهر كانون الثاني – يناير) على خشبة المسرح مع بداية عام جديد أتلو فيه نوعاً من أنواع الـ  statement of faith ليس عن حفظ وتكرار فارغ بل عن اختبار مُعاش في السنين الطويلة التي مضت... والرب معتني بي، وكل يوم محمولة... ع الأذرع الأبدية.

أنا إيماني الفرح الوسيع / من خلف العواصف جايي ربيع / إزا كِبرِت أحزاني / نسيني العمر التاني / انت اللي ما بتنساني

"كزّابة" ... تصرخ إحدى الحاضرات واقفة بين صفوف المتفرجين وتتقدم بخطاها نحوي كما فعل ذلك الشاب في الدقيقة 1:08 من كانتاتا الميلاد بالكنيسة الإنجيلية الثانية بأسيوط مقاطعاً القراءة الكتابية. فأسألها مقتبسة كلمات الدكتور ماجد عزمي: "مالِك، في إيه؟"

وتجيب المشاغِبة: "مافي شي، بس عم قلِك انك انتِ واحدة كزابة! عن أي إيمان عم تحكي وتغني؟"

تداعبني فكرة الإنهاء السريع للموقف وإجهاض هذا العرض المسرحي الساخر. بإشارة مني سيتم إطفاء الأنوار وإسدال الستار لأَخرج متنكرة في زي عامل نظافة أحمل مكنستي مخاطبة القراء: "شو مستنيين؟ خلّصنا خلاص، كل واحد يشوف شغله، بدنا نشطف (عايزين نرش مية)" فأفُضّ التجمهر وأنفُضُ الإحراج... بمكنستي.

لكن الحقيقة أن أُختَنا المشاغبة تلك على حق. فكلمات الأغنية الفيروزية رغم لين موسيقاها إلا أنها تمتلك أكثر من نصل حاد يقطع الشك باليقين، يقين أن إيماني في الحقيقة متكسّر ومتعَب، لا بل متهشّم ومتهالِك. تلك هي حالة "إيماني"، الآن وهنا، ليس إيماني على امتدات السنين وإنما إيماني تحديدا في هذه الحقبة من حياتي. في حقبة من الانتظارات الجديدة كما كتبتُ عنها في مقال "الإنتظار" وكما تكلم عنها عنوان وفحوى الكانتاتا يوم الأحد الماضي.

كيف أجرؤ إذا على ترداد هذه الترتيلة، ذاكرةً كلماتٍ كالفرح والسعة والربيع بينما يغُصّ قلبي بالدموع وتختنق كلماتي طلباً للأوكسيجين على رؤوس أصابعي المتجمدة؟

"أؤمن وأعترف"، كان هذا عنوان الصلاة التي كنا نتلوها في مدرستي "راهبات المعونة الخاصة للبنات" بدمشق قبل  التقدم لممارسة سر المناولة (فريضة العشاء الرباني) وها أنا أستخدم العنوان ذاته لكن لتلاوة صلاة هي صلاتي غير "الكاذبة" مع مطلع عام جديد، صلاة المكنسة، فمع كل إقرار إيمان هناك كَنْسةُ اعترافٍ أصرِفُ بها كلَّ ما يقف حائلاً دون تحوّلِ إقراراتي النظرية تلك إلى واقعٍ يوميٍ مُعاش.

-         أؤمن وأعترف -

أؤمن يارب بأنك الله الخالق، وأنك قد خلقتني على صورتك ومثالك..

وأعترف بأنني خلقتك على مقاسي وحشرتك داخل محدوديتي..

أؤمن بأنك صالح وأن أفكارك نحوي أفكار خير..

وأعترف بأنني لازلت أرفع قبضتي الغاضبة إلى السماء عالياً وأعترض على صلاحك لأني عاجزة عن فهمه..

أؤمن بأن مستقبلي مضمون فيك..

وأعترف بأنني غارقةٌ حتى أذنيّ ببحرٍ من الشكك والتساؤلات والتمرد والتهكمات..

أؤمن بأن أشواق قلبي مُحققة في شخصك..

وأعترف بأنني أشتهي ما هو ليس لي، وليس لخيري، وليس بحسب قصدك لحياتي..

أؤمن بأنك روح وبأنني بالروح و الحق ينبغي أن أسجدَ لك..

وأعترف بأنني أريدك جسداً كي أضع إصبعي في أثر المسامير وأسنِد رأسي على صدرك وأبتدعَ سبعَ حواسٍ جديدة كي أمتلك دزينة منها فبدل أن أتمتعَ بك، أستخدمك لإشباع رغباتي واحتياجاتي الخاصة بطريقتي أنا بعيدا عن طبيعتك وكينونتك أنت..

أؤمن بأنك مصدر كل حكمة وفهم..

وأعترف بأن خلايا دماغي التي سبكَتْها يداك قد وصل بها الجبروت لأن تدّعي تفوُقَها عليك ..

أؤمن بأنك كُليّ الوجود..

وأعترف بأنني وحيدة، وأنك قد نسيتني، فلا أشعر بقُربِك، ولا أُدرك بأنك تلفّني بحضورك حولي وفي داخلي ومن خلالي..

...تتكاثف تدريجياً غمامة الغبار الناتج عن عملية الكنس يرافقها هيستيريا من الدموع والسعال فأٌقرر التوقف عند هذا الحد. أسند ذراع مكنستي على الحائط وأجلس القرفصاء بجوارها متخذة قسطاً من الراحة... ولكن إلى حين...

بدون تعليق: ولازلت في 2018 أستمتع بالأعمال المنزلية كالكنس والطبخ والتنظيف مع كرهي الأزلي الأبدي لأمرين أمقتهما وبشدة: الأول أن هذه المهام by default مفروضة عليّ ومتوَقَعة مني لمجرّد أن الله خلقني أنثى!!! مين اللي قال؟ والثاني أنها مهام تدور في دائرة مفرغة عقيمة تستنزف لا طاقتي ووقتي فقط بل عمري كله... البيت لما بانضفه بيتوسخ، والغسيل لما باخلصه بينلبس، والأكل لما باعمله بيتاكل... طب وبعدين؟ أما من مُنقِذ؟

مذكرات زوجة قسيس شابة : العيد

مع غروب الشمس في مصر وسوريا ينتهي يومنا وتبقى أمامنا  ساعات نختم بها عاما انصرم بكل ما حمله لنا وصار في عداد الماضي ونستقبل عاما ذو صفحات بيضاء تخفي في جعبتها الكثير من "المكتوب" بالحبر السري ... الكثير لا يزال غير مرئي لنا... ولكن إلى حين

في هذه الساعات تغزوني مشاعر وأفكار لا أجد لها رفاهية المساحة التي تستحقها فآثرت الرجوع إلى هذا المقال

إنه المقال الثالث من سلسلة "مذكرات زوجة قسيس شابة" تم نشره في مجلة "أعمدة الزوايا" التابعة لسينودس النيل الإنجيلي في عدد ديسمبر 2014 أتمنى من خلاله للجميع عاماً جديداً بكل ما تحمله الكلمة من مفاجآت

قصاصات وقصص ومجازفة وأمل. ها هي بين أيديكم أعزائي القراء أشارككم بها، قصاصات من دفتر مذكراتي فيها قصص من رحلة أشبه بمغامرات الخيال فقد قبلتُ المجازفة بأن تخرج تلك الكلمات لترى النور وكلي أمل بأن تتحول ما بيننا السطور إلى جسور طمعاً بحفنة صداقات وفيض بركات والمزيد من المحبة أبداً.

مذكرات زوجة قسيس شابة

/العيد/

" السنة دي دور أهلك ولا أهلي نعيد عندهم؟" تلك الجملة المتكررة في كثير من الزيجات لا تجد لها مكاناً في بيت القسيس إذ أن الغالبية العظمى من القسوس يخدمون في قرى أو مدن أو بلاد غير تلك التي نشأوا وترعرعوا فيها هم وزوجاتهم, وبالتالي تعاني أسرهم من الانسلاخ عن العائلة والأصدقاء والمكان المألوف، وفي العيد تتفاقم هذه الحالة من الشوق والحنين خاصة بالنسبة لزوجة قسيس مثلي نشأَت في كنف عائلة كبيرة كان العيد فيها أقرب إلى المهرجان بطقوسه وذكرياته التي كنا نكررها بالحرف الواحد وكأنها "شريعة مادي وفارس".

بعد زواجي صرت أتمنى لو يحصل أولادي على ذكريات مشابهة لذكرياتي وبدأت أشعر بالحسرة لاستحالة الأمر. لكنني سرعان ما حولت تلك الحسرة إلى "مشروع نهضة" وقررت أن أخترع نشاطات خاصة بأسرتي الصغيرة نكررها فتتحول إلى تقاليد سنوية ومن ثم إلى ذكريات سعيدة.

أول تقليد سنوي بدأت به هو الصورة العائلية كل عيد ميلاد، نرتدي خلالها ثياب العيد قديمة كانت أم جديدة لا يهم، المهم أننا في خضم الزحمة والضجيج الذين انتشرا حول العالم واقترنا بميلاد طفل المذود نتلقّف لحظة سعادة فنحولها إلى صورة هادئة صامتة تحكي بعلو الصوت عن سلام الميلاد وفرحه الذي نعيشه في أسرتنا.

ثاني تقليد هو مسرحية الميلاد التي انتظرت إلى أن يكبر أولادي قليلا ويزداد وعيهم وفهمهم لقصة الميلاد ليتمكنوا العام الماضي من تمثيلها أمام جمهور لا يتجاوز عدده أصابع اليد الواحدة. مسرحية "مهضومة" بطلها يوسف بأعوامه الأربعة والنصف ومريم التي تصغره بعامين يرتديان أزياء حاكتها لهم تيتا ليديا التي لم تنس أن تجهز زياً للطفل يسوع أيضا.

ثالث تقليد هو شجرة الميلاد، فبعد سنوات من الاكتفاء بشجرة "ميكروسكوبية" كانت رفيقتي في سنوات غربة الدراسة الجامعية قررنا العام الماضي شراء شجرة أكبر وجدت فيها إحياءً لتقليد أسري حافظ عليه أبي وأمي لسنوات طوال إلى أن غيّبَتها عنا طبول الحرب في سوريا. كنا كل عام نذهب إلى المشتل لاختيار شجرة طبيعية ننقلها إلى البيت فيفوح منها عطر الصنوبر ويملأ أرجاء المنزل برائحة ميلادية لاتزال تدغدغ أنفي. كانت تلك الشجرة بعد تزيينها شاهدا لاحتفالاتنا وللأمسيات التي تجمعنا حول البيانو بينما أخي يعزف ونحن نرنم ترانيم الميلاد التي حفظناها عن ظهر قلب فيرن الصوت في أعالي بيتنا بأناشيد السرور عن رحمة الله الغفور. مع انتهاء العيد كل عام كنا نزرع أشجارنا تلك في الـ "ضيعة" ونسعد اذ نراها تكبر كلما زرنا قرية أجدادنا. لم أتبع الوصفة بحذافيرها في الاسكندرية فشجرتنا بلاستيكية نزينها مع منتصف شهر ديسمبر، والسبب في الموعد المبكر هو التقليد الرابع.

جاء هذا التقليد من حقيقة أن الانجيليين في سينودس سوريا ولبنان يعيدون وباقي مسيحيي البلدين وفقا للتقويم الغربي يوم 25 كانون الأول / ديسمبر وفي سينودس النيل يأتي الميلاد يوم 7 كانون الثاني / يناير. أما في منزل القس مايكل أنور فهناك عيدان للميلاد يفصل بينهما أسبوعان ويوم رأس السنة والعديد من ترانيم كتاب نظم المزامير وترانيم فريق الحياة الأفضل وأغاني الميلاد لحواديت الخضروات باللغة الإنجليزية نرددها بصحبة فيليب ويانا يوميا مع النشاطات الكنسية التي نحرص كأسرة على المشاركة في الإعداد لها والاستمتاع بها فنصل إلى نهاية الموسم المجيد وقد انتهى العيد بتقاليده وطقوسه ولكن ذكرياته لم ولن تنتهي، نجترّ السعيد منها لنقتات عليه طيلة شتاء اسكندراني بارد وماطر متمنين للجميع عيد ميلاد مجيد مصلين أن تقطر سنة 2015 دسماً وخيراً وسلاماً ومسرة، سنة تكللها البدايات الجديدة فنحيك لعائلاتنا أحلى الذكريات في العيد.

جميع  الحقوق محفوظة لمدونة رهاميات

mother's day and pastors!!!

most countries in the MENA region celebrate Mother's Day on March 21st, so tomorrow is the day for.... well... i don't know exactly

facebook will give us a detailed report of what will be going on during the coming hours as people post photos of them with their mothers, some mothers share photos of great gifts they already received and some plans for celebration too... it's interesting to follow how people "facebookly" express their feelings about the day... which is fine, but it hurts when i think of all the "silent facebookers" out there, who are watching what's going on yet aren't able to join in and "celebrate"... if i categorize them into groups of motherless sons and daughters, widows, childless wives, single girls, i'd have to say that the group experiencing the hardest kind of pain would be mothers who lost a son or daughter... these coming hours won't be easy for them, i know that they carry this pain of loosing a child every hour of every day but tomorrow will sure be one of the most difficult days of the year

as a family we don't stress Mother's Day much, in my family we used to take mom out and treat her to a lunch at a nice restaurant, visit my grandmother, and bring gifts to both ladies and my aunt too, end the day with a few phone calls and that would be it. i remember at my Evangelical Church in Damascus, the Sunday before Mother's Day, a few ladies would stand at the door and hand a red flower to every mother entering the morning service (or pin it to their chest) and a white flower to "future mothers", for many years i proudly received that white flower

on March 21st of 2006 i was already engaged and that white flower meant a lot to me
March 21st of 2007 and 2008 i started celebrating in Egypt as a Mrs. and there were no more white flowers
March 21st of 2009 i was pregnant with our son so i officially started celebrating Mother's Day as a MOTHER myself (or a mother-to-be)
since then things started to change and kept doing so
.
March 21st of 2010 my son celebrated with us
March 21st of 2011 i was pregnant with our daughter
March 21st of 2012 my daughter joined and i celebrated as a mother of TWO.
March 21st of 2013 should be no different than the previous one, but shockingly it IS different, not because of any bad news, God forbid, but for a few subtle reasons hiding right underneath the surface, waiting for somebody to dig a little deeper than the casual "how are you" to find them

a while ago, by mere coincidence, more than one of my friends changed their profile pictures on facebook. they are all married and have kids so of course all their previous profile pictures were of either a couple or the new family or a new baby or the growing kids, but how dare they change it into a picture of themselves... all alone... as if each one of them is an unmarried princess waiting for her prince charming to come on a white horse so they could live together happily ever after!!! there's absolutely nothing wrong with that, when i joined facebook i was already married and had plenty of time to select any kind of profile picture i wanted, still i chose photos of me with my husband, then the ultra sound print out of our embryo, and the domino pieces kept falling...and since then i have never added a photo of me all by myself and never thought it was an issue.
when i saw what my friends did, i got shocked and for some reason i even thought it's inappropriate or weird... but why? WHY was that unacceptable for me? WHY did i unconsciously reject the idea of them changing their pictures this way? i was taken by surprise, i needed to stop and think:  now that i have a husband and two kids, why is it hard for me (and unacceptable for others) to post a photo of a gorgeous me? a FRESH photo may i add not one from the archives of high school albums... why?

this got me thinking of my own identity, the capital "I" not the sound "aaii" which in Arabic indicates pain آي / آه / أخ mush similar to "ouch"
has motherhood gradually erased my "I" and left me with a sheer sound of pain? did i do this to myself? or is it some kind of a mama hormone that changed the wiring of my brain to think of the kids, their needs, food, the husband, the apartment, the finance, the future... the endless lists of things to do all related to OTHERS and not me, not "moi" and not "ana"... it's interesting that SELFishness in Arabic is ANAnya ... also starts with "me"... but i'm not talking about the other extreme of being a selfish mother, i'm just talking about being a mother, or actually just BEING...

so i challenged myself to get a new gift this year on Mother's Day, i'm the one who gets me gifts on my birthday and a few other special occasions, and the gift was to: change my profile picture, post one of me alone, the most recent and wonderful picture i could find of myself... and i found none
no photos taken by our camera (because usually i'm the photographer here) no photos taken by our family's friend Magui, the dear photographer (even during the recent Christmas and last Easter's photo shoots... it never occurred to me in the middle of all the detailed preparations and work i usually do for these photo shoots to say: "hey Magui, could you please take a photo of me with the kids? or ME ALONE?", no photos taken by mistake during a wedding or any recent big event... i didn't want to crop any photos, i even looked for a passport photo but we haven't applied for any document or visa recently and my last visit to a photography studio was to take shots of the two kids together...

change of plan, i thought of buying myself something nice and useful, so what do i do best? what is the thing i like the most? what am i good at? i wanted to find out one area of expertise so i could get a relevant gift but to my surprise (shock number 2) i found out that i'm not an expert at doing anything, yet at the same time i do EVERYTHING around here... well i have to say that my husband is very understanding, supportive, and helpful (hi honey) but if there's no plan and no request or no offer... then MAMA, by default, is the one who automatically jumps (or is asked) to do everything ... this is the way our family is automatically programmed, like many other families... and i'm not talking about house chores and kids' related responsibilities here, no, i also put food on the table (earn money from my work in translation and my Rihamiat project) i also drive the kids to and from their school and nursery (add to it weekends when i take them out so they could have some outdoor fun) when we have no electricity i climb 11 floors with them (tip: we do 7 floors in one shot, rest, then resume and finish the remaining and most difficult 4 floors) ...

to feel less bad (not "good" or "better" yet) i thought of my husband, he's a pastor, and in my opinion pastors are pretty much like mothers, it's a paid job, yes, but the payment is NOTHING compared to what they do 24/7 simply because it's less of a job and more of a service and sacrifice (volunteering, ministry, خدمة), mothers don't get paid (even though they save a FORTUNE out of what they do just because they do it for free) so everything a mother does is a service and a sacrifice. so both mothers and pastors do "nothing" in people's eyes but the truth is that they do EVERYTHING (at home and outside / at church and outside)

mothers have no special area of strength, even if they graduate with a BA or a BS, an MA or a PhD...they are expected (and forced) to do everything, so they become experts in cooking, baby sitting, cleaning, teaching, nursing... you name it
pastors too have no special area of expertise, they graduate from the School of Theology with a BA or an MA, even if they take a few years off to get a PhD, once they get back they do everything at church and become experts in counseling, preaching, teaching, disciplining, visiting, problem solving... you name it. sometimes when the elevator is broken at our church people call my husband!

most jobs have a certain amount of work hours, once the person gets home, then he's home (except for doctors when they are on call) but moms and pastors have no time off, day or night, summer or winter, they are always ON CALL, they get no vacations or any other kind of privileges from their work, their regular duties already fill their entire day till a very late hour into the night, not to mention conferences and emergencies that put everything else on hold

so i'd like to dedicate this post to my husband, and also to all mothers who are at the same time pastor's wives, because when a person whose whole existence is about "nurturing" marries another person whose whole existence is also about "nurturing" then you'd expect their own kids to be the most nurtured kids in the whole wide world (WWW. wel-com 2 my life), but unfortunately this is not true, it takes a great deal of awareness and hard work to maintain a healthy environment at home. roles of mom and dad in such a family can sometimes get intertwined and there comes the role of both parents to shield their kids against possible and definite negative results

men usually don't get it when it comes to mothers, why is my wife constantly exhausted? it's easy to look after the kids, my wife must be exaggerating, she was waiting her whole life to become a mother and now she's complaining... i could think of an endless number of similar sentences, so it's a fact that only a fellow-mother TRULY understands the challenges of another mother. in the same way, only a fellow-pastor and a fellow-pastor's wife TRULY understands what it's like to serve and dedicate your life to church ministry to the fullest and most faithful extent ever

now i have to get two gifts on Mother's Day, one for myself and one for my husband. Happy Mother's Day to us both...

photo cutline : speaking of great photos, another shot by the one and only Magui Samir taken last week after the ordination of 2 new elders and 3 new deacons (including the first female elder) at our church

This essay and I are part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn more and join us, CLICK HERE And to learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, CLICK HERE!

365.25 Christmases

a couple of days ago i was bored to the point that i needed anything to help me face "the hours", i couldn't read or play with the children yet there were a couple of hours left before my husband comes back home and it's time to put the kids to bed when i'll crash right beside them on what's now called our "family bed" since the cold storm that hit the MENA region ... last MONTH !

so i made the tough decision of watching a movie, i'm very aware and careful of what appears on our T.V screen (practically nothing but cartoon shows, i'm even selective there too) i had to choose wisely because even though the kids will pretend to be busy playing around me in the living room, they'll repeat words from the movie and some scenes will catch their attention every few minutes... i had two options (on DVD): "Four Christmases" and "The Holiday"... because i love the second one so much i hated the idea of a possibility of me not giving my full attention to one of my favorite movies and i decided to watch Four Christmases... it wasn't too long before i discovered what a bad choice this was and switched DVD's

this morning, one of my Armenian friends who is a pastor was wondering if it's accurate to call the 6th of January (today) "Armenian Christmas" and my comment on his facebook status was: "Egyptian Christians (Orthodox and Evangelical) celebrate Christmas on the 7th of January so why not have 365 names for Christmas to experience it every single day..."

this got me thinking about Christmas, aside from the cliche words and ideas we parrot every year, what does Christmas mean to me? on the 24th of December i missed the chance to reflect and celebrate, read this post if you're wondering why, so the great news was that i get to have a second chance while the majority of Christians around the world have started to make plans of how to take down their Christmas decoration, we (Armenians and Egyptian Christians) are just getting started. 

as excited as i was to FULLY benefit from this 2nd chance i quickly realized that i am me... i need more than just a 2nd chance that comes in the middle of THE SEASON, duh... Christmas (1st or 2nd chances) just HAVE to come during the season of celebration... but this defeats the purpose, for me this can't count as a chance because we'd be still busy with events, celebrations, church activities... etc we shower, wear our clothes and smiles, and show up as happily as socially expected and accepted of our family.... add to this craziness my daughters fever of more than 40 C for three nights (including New Year's Eve) and my son's long school vacation... just tell me where exactly is this chance to TRULY celebrate Christmas? unless Christmas after all really means new clothes (for the kids), wrapped gifts (also for the kids, but i wrapped two old yet unused items for myself and two for my husband because you know, kids under the age of 5 still believe that Santa Clause exists and i wanted him to be a fan of equal rights between children and adults), food (ready, simple, complex... just any kind of edible material, btw this year i added pickles which turned out to be a great idea), and tree (which looked like this eventually and won the "best tree" award in 8 Christmases)

(sharpening my primitive photography skills i also applied for the "best blur" award hoping that this photo will win and guest what? it did)

so if i, so far, know of 3 official Christmases that somehow i find myself entitled to celebrate (yes all 3 of them) yet can't find, understand and reflect on the true essence of Christmas then why not have 365.25 Christmases? one for every day of the year with an extra one during leap years, this way we'll get a new chance every morning to celebrate what Christmas really means.

and if you're waiting for an answer to the question "what does Christmas mean to me/you?" that's why you're reading on, then i have to tell you at this point that you won't find one here simply because my only New Year's resolution for 2014 so far is to celebrate Christmas every day of the year this year hoping that maybe along the journey, with some trial and error, i might find the answer, i might even find 365.25 answers when 2015 arrives, i don't know, but for a start i've decided to take some practical steps the first of which is to follow the advise of one of my friends who is committed to writing one thing she's "thankful for" every day, and last night, the thing i was thankful for was a moment of happiness that i haven't realized was there until it was already gone, i had finished brushing my teeth and while i was flossing something reminded me of the war in Syria, i had forgotten about it for a few hours during the day and when i remembered it again, it was too late, the magic effect of that potion i call "forgetfulness and neglect" was already gone and my tongue said good bye to the taste of happiness so familiar yet so remote ever since my country started aching... and me too... that's why a few days ago when i watched The Holiday movie there was a whole new set of depths and meanings to my favorite quote when Simpkins says to Miles:

"I understand feeling as small and insignificant as humanly possible. And how it can actually ache in places you didn't know you had inside you. And it doesn't matter how many new haircuts you get, or gyms you join, or how many glasses of chardonnay you drink with your girlfriends... you still go to bed every night going over every detail and wonder what you did wrong or how you could have misunderstood. And how in the hell of that brief moment you could think that you were that happy. And sometimes you can even convince yourself that he'll see the light and show up at your door. And after all that, however long all that may be, you'll go somewhere new. And you'll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again. And little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And all that fuzzy stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade."

... and THAT's how much i love my country... Merry Christmas to you all celebrating today and every day...

a tale of two goodbyes

date: 1 October 2006

city: Cairo

she carried her handbag, left her apartment which was right next to "Kobry El Kobba" metro station, took the Cairo underground metro to "Esaaf" station. she felt more comfortable riding one of the first two metro cars for women and children only. half an hour later she got off, walked upstairs to hail a taxi: "26 July St. please". At Shagaret El Dor St. corner the taxi stopped and she had no problem remembering the address because she came here a few days earlier for an interview, it was September 27th and when her husband came to pick her up in their FiFi (that was the nick name of their red Fiat 128 hatchback car) she found a wrapped gift on her seat. "happy 1st montharsary dear" her husband said. he bought her a wooden salad set of one large bowel and two small ones because he knew how much she loves colorful salads. 

the Cairo bureau of this newspaper was located in Zamalek, the balcony overlooked nice gardens and she could hear birds singing in harmony with the sound of the computer keyboard. her fingers played quickly on the computer, her head moved from the Arabic newspapers spread open next to her on the large table at the center of the rectangular office to the screen in front of her, her brain raced to translate news headlines from Arabic to English. she had a great first day on her part-time job. 

for a whole year, this was her daily routine with a one-hour commute to work, sometimes she preferred to walk the first half of the distance on her way back home even though the Boulak and Abou El Ela area can give you a "cultural shock" walking down that bridge connecting Zamalek with that poor market place, but an experience in Cairo's public transportation wasn't on her list because it was a whole package of filthy mini vans, over crowded buses, and a selection of harassment incidents she can't pick and choose from. 

at the end of that year she and her husband had to move from Cairo to Alexandria, this young couple decided to inform family, friends, and acquaintances in Cairo ahead of time, so she went to tell her boss that she's leaving. to her surprise, the assistant journalist came up with a brilliant idea and the boss approved of it: "How about you do the same translation but from home? You'll be online during the same working hours you spend here. Let's try it while you're still in Cairo then we'll surely know that it's going to work after you move to Alex." and this was the first e-mail she sent :

the years passed by and she spent a total 7 years and 3 months in this part-time job. so much happened during these 86 months, but she kept sending that e-mail every morning and waiting for more translation requests from the boss. the Cairo bureau of this newspaper changed 5 journalists during her stay, each one of them appreciated her work and she kept the job, even when she traveled she would e-mail the headlines and when she gave birth to her first son she took two weeks off then went back to work even if it meant typing the translation at 3 or 4 am with the newborn baby on her arm. when the Global Financial Crisis started she didn't ask for a raise but when her daughter arrived she did and the request was rejected. when the last boss informed her that the end of 2013 will witness the end of her work she had mixed feelings.

at first she felt sad and scared, she was sad to lose a job that was more like a miracle, it was very convenient for her to work form home while she was pregnant the first and second time and even more convenient when she had the kids with no help around she was able to both look after them and work from home, but she felt sad because whatever income her salary added was more needed now than ever, even though her salary witnessed no change what so ever during these 7 years and 3 months regardless of the climb that prices witnessed between 2006 and 2013 yet she did not wish for this income to stop.

a few weeks after she received the news the initial fear and sadness started to fade and were gradually replaced by excitement and hope, she felt that she's set free, this job was perfect but only for a while, it's no longer the best thing for her and she enjoyed this feeling of anticipation, waiting, searching, and guessing what could be her next perfect step... now she's free, the sky is the limit (with 2 kids in the picture! or the frame maybe), she can think outside the box and decide what she loves and can do for a living.

so the end of 2013 witnessed the first goodbye for her, the last time she types the word "Headlines" in the morning e-mail subject-line, the last time she opens these three newspapers first thing in the morning, the last time she clicks "send" so that the e-mail would arrive on time... there's nothing else in her life that she was committed to doing for so long, doing the very same thing every single day (except on weekends) for 87 months, not even her quite time... it was hard to send this last e-mail

and say goodbye to what has become part of who she is, but she wondered which one of these two goodbyes was more painful...

2013 wasn't as good as all Syrians expected, hoped, and prayed for... it wasn't as bad as our worst nightmare either... it was much worse... one might think that saying goodbye to a bad year is easy because one can't wait to put it behind them and open a new page, but the year 2013 is hard to say goodbye to, because it has to make up for the mess she's leaving behind, we can't just forgive her and let her pass (the word "year" in the Arabic language is feminine) shouldn't she pay for the damage she caused before bidding us farewell? but to be realistic, if 2013 is to be sent to prison until she pays her dept then she'll be in jail for a decade, a century, or maybe forever. so we have no choice but to let 2013 go and make some room for 2014 to deal with the old package and unfold what she has prepared for us.

date: 31 December 2013
city: Alexandria

she, the blog writer, at the end of this day, made peace with these two goodbyes looking forward to new beginnings, to finding a new job, to peace being restored in Syria, to a new year as sweet and flavored as our homemade ginger Christmas cookies...

HAPPY NEW YEAR DEAR BLOG READERS AROUND THE WORLD

all i w-a-n-t need for Christmas

the title should look like this: all i want  need for Christmas

i'm raising the white flag... giving up, on so many things, including getting this post title appear as i want!!!

yesterday i was watching the sunset, from our famous window, and i started panting all of a sudden, i wanted to scream at the sun "STOP... don't set... yet... i'm not ready" i didn't actually yell, i just kept taking photos of the clouds with shades of gray and salmon pink pretending that everything is under control and that all is "cool" while NOTHING was...

as i listened to the clicking sound of my camera to distract my attention i got even more nervous... it sounded like a clock... the more photos i took the more clicks i heard the more clock ticking there was...

Christmas Eve of the year 2013 arrived so suddenly for me i almost had a panic attack. being the control-freak-perfectionist-pintrest-addict-mama i am, i couldn't accept the fact that "it's here"... khalas... it's Christmas Eve already...

EVERYTHING is a mess... my brain is a mess and i can't trace my thoughts... my heart is a mess and i no longer recognize my feelings and i'm unable to give each one a proper universal name... my sorrow is a mess and my tears drop here and there while i want to have an "organized" grief and "well distributed" tears... even the space i live in is a mess (unclean apartment, untidy rooms, no food, no matching outfits for all 4 of us, no celebration plans.... so much is missing) i need the sun to give me just a little more time so i could "fill in the blanks" with proper and relevant ideas, emotions, reactions, tangible stuff and pinned down Christmas-related dates and places an activities...

but it was too late to do all of that in just a few minutes or even hours... i had no plan B, i usually do, even though i hate plan B's, i'm a perfectionist and i can only have a plan A and it HAS to go well, but yeah with two kids under the age of five i "learned" how to make plans other than A.... keep a plan B, C all the way to plan Z within reach... just in case... but this time i did not plan AT ALL, what a shame... this shame tastes different, it's Christmas Shame... Rihamic Christmas Shame... the new disease that i seem to have developed this year... RCS

similar to every other sudden incident, you need to know a few standard safety procedures to tell you what to do in case of a fire, an earthquake, an attack by aliens... or in case of an RCS

a peak through the window into our home could've given you a glimpse of what's it like inside my head&heart... i had the choice to either keep pretending and just say that it's not Christmas Eve, borrow the first stage of grief "denial", anyhow in Egypt we celebrate Christmas on January 7th so Christmas Eve is still two weeks away... OR... look my RCS in the face and start fighting back... i chose the latter

i'm new to my RCS so i didn't know whether just shaking it off would work or i need serious fighting, like armor and weapons and all of that so at first i tried to scare my RCS away gently but this didn't work... so it was time for some serious fighting and if it's "shame" then according to Daring Greatly book/manual the first anti-shame tool is LIGHT... i need more LIGHT to come into my head, heart, and home... 

Tip/Armor Number One: The first (and maybe only) anti-RCS weapon is Light, apply it to the 3 H's (head/heart/home)

once i was able to allow some light to come in through a few cracks i could see clearly that things are not THAT bad... it's enough that we're all healthy, we have an actual home with actual walls and a ceiling... how about starting there, anywhere, there's always a point i can start from and not just tell myself that everything will be ok... no... i should practice saying: "everything IS ok... already"... everything is ok, everything is acceptable, is good enough, is sufficient enough, is perfect enough... 

so the sunset was over and it was dark... there was no time to use the vacuum cleaner, no time to cook dinner or prepare any dessert, no time to sort out all the depressing thoughts about refugees and no time to categorize feelings about how bitter Christmas tastes with the war in Syria... i had to get started, i had to decide that i was ready for Christmas eve... decide to enjoy it... just the way things are... prepare Him room (maybe tidy the living room up a little, just this room)... when there's room my ears will be sensitive enough to hear the knock at the door... i'll be so imperfectly ready with whatever room is available in my 3 H's... so i opened the door wide enough (as wide as i could at that point) and THE light came in and took care of a few things inside... i didn't witness any miracle yesterday night, it was a Christmas Eve like never before (in a bad sense) i was missing my family's traditions in Damascus... the longing was too bad to bear this year... the cold, the smell in the air, the lights, the ordinary yearly Christmas stupid stuff we did... just counting a few things makes my heart ache... i never imagined that in addition to destroying the present and the future of a country and a people, war can also sneak into your past and rob parts of your warmest memories... 

regardless of this bad state of my 3 H's i was able to prepare Him room, a very small one but it was big enough... i was able to be still, for a very short while, but it was long enough... it was a very humble room but in His eyes it was perfect enough... because if somebody can know and understand what i'm going through then it's the very Child who was born last night for THIS VERY REASON... Hebrews 2 : 18 says: "Because he himself was born a refugee away from his home, he is able to help those who are refugees"... (you can look up the original verse if this new Syrian version looks unfamiliar to you)

on the less philosophical/depressing level ... i mean domestically speaking... this is how our feast, eventually, looked like (the menu mainly featured pop corn, french fries and nuts, a fruit salad and a bar of chocolate cut in pieces!!)

... and the tree (the lights on the floor will twinkle on the tree at some point, but for now enjoy the neck exercise and tilt your head to the left... see? the tree is strait)

...and the kids (the Bible doesn't say there were THREE wise men... there could've been only two... with their own kind and degree of wisdom)

all of these photos are so imperfectly perfect that i found them worthy of my signature.

so there's nothing that i really want for Christmas this year, not because i have it all, i don't, but i'm trying to apply the Arabic proverb: "If what you want is not, then want what is" (does it make any sense at all in English? i'm trying to play on the verb to "be" to make it sound like the Arabic version... i guess you got the point) maybe i don't want anything this Christmas but there's so much that i NEED this Christmas... it's not "i" as in "me, myself and Riham" but a different kind of "i"... i'm speaking on behalf of a multitude of people who stand on different points along the "suffering spectrum"... i need peace in my country (Syria needs peace), i need a shelter for the homeless (displaced Syrians need a shelter), i need a normal childhood (Syrian children need a normal childhood), i need a place to call home (Syrian refugees need a place to call home)...

some people think that this still counts as self-centerdness when i keep saying Syria and Syrians... but aren't we the number 1 topic in news headline this Christmas? haven't we won the 1st place for so many categories recently? (worst humanitarian crisis in decades, largest death toll of children in such a short time, biggest displacement of civilians in so and so, worst educational and health conditions of a nation in the area.... )

so if by raising awareness about the Syrian crisis this Christmas i'm being self-centered then why not look at it in a different way and say that i'm being "cool" and following the latest "fashion" and staying up to date by speaking about the most "hot issue" globally... THE SYRIAN CRISIS... the "i"... 

this Christmas... "i" need it ALL... that's ALL "i" need for Christmas... 

happy "odd" day to me 9/11/13

it's not uncommon for me since the dawn of this era of technology and social media to receive an overwhelming number of wishes and greetings on my birthday, it's become something i expect every year on 9/11 (switch it if you're from a country which doesn't date: day, month, year!)

but the most unique birthday greeting was from my sister-in-law who sent me this interesting article about my birthday this year being a very special day that we can expect to see again in 92 years, "expecting" surely does't mean we will actually live to see it, but i'm saying what conclusion i made after reading the math.

this got me thinking about how "odd" my day has been (spending the last hour of my birthday blogging). having an "odd" day has become a "ritual" ever since i had children, most mothers can relate and they will sure understand if i told them that my birthday celebration plan this year was supposed to be spending the night outside the city all by myself! if your'e surprised, that's OK, my husband was. but unfortunately the two places i've selected (which are safe, affordable, and within a reasonable driving distance) one was fully booked and the other was completely empty!

it was frustrating that on my "odd" day i won't receive the gift i wanted: time alone, all by myself, away from any white noise or pollution or people. i needed to hear the voice of my thoughts, because the really good ones tend to whisper and we rarely catch that, but my thoughts have to YELL so i can hear them, any voice lower than that will go unnoticed. my plan didn't mean running AWAY from somebody or something, but running TOWARDS somebody and something... this somebody is me, whatever is left of the old me and definitely the new me too... in order to do that i had to escape, be alone and away from people including the 3 persons most dear to me, my husband and kids. i did want to celebrate with them, but i can no longer recognize myself recently, so i wondered who they will celebrate with, the actual person who's birthday is today... i wanted time for myself so that i can BE   ME   WITH   THEM, instead of this exhausted, frowning, nervous, monster of a mother/wife they have dragging herself around the house, driving them and herself crazy, going through the motions of endless responsibilities day after the other... let alone sleepless nights... i keep saying that in 5 years i haven't had a full night sleep... FIVE years during which the maximum consecutive hours of night sleep allowed for me is 4 or 5 hours max, on good days, but regular days mean an interruption every hour or two!

so the article gives examples of other odd days that passed recently like: 3/5/7 and 5/7/9 and 7/9/11 it's funny that i've never liked odd numbers when i was little, i liked even numbers and my favorite was 22 (number 2 twice) and last month was special for me because my son was 4 years and 4 months old and my daughter was 2 years and 2 months old... this is "odd" too but in an even way and will never ever come again, not even in 92 years. language might be a main reason for me to think of these numbers differently, the word "odd" in Arabic is "fardi" which comes from the rout "fard" meaning single or individual, and the word "even" is "zawji" from the rout "zawj" meaning a couple or two. so it might be a mathematical reason or a linguistic one, but we do have good feelings about certain things and bad feelings about other things.

maybe my birthday/odday this year is trying to teach me something, to like what i disliked before, to try new things outside my comfort zone (try odd number instead of even ones), i don't know, but it might carry a certain message for me embedded in between its numbers and the sequence of 9/11/13. i still need to figure this out, but till then i'll be replying to people who greeted me, fighting my bad cold, planning on buying a fancy cake (ice-cream cake to be specific) when my sense of taste is restored, and celebrating my new project i launched on facebook called "Rihamiat" to sell hand-made things starting with a collection of Christmas crafts i called "Christmasiat", here's the logo and motto i came up with

and tomorrow i can start looking back at today, 9/11/13 and say: "it was a good ODD day"...

a mother's blog post on her son's 1st day of school

so THIS is how it really feels like on your son's 1st day of school... actually there wasn't much drama this morning because i had a strong enough dose yesterday...

we get to have two first days of school, yesterday and today, the very first one was more like an orientation day for parents and students, to get familiar with the school and the class teachers, to get done with photos and photos and some more photos, to get to meet other parents even if we haven't had a real conversation with any couple in particular.

i started the day happy and excited, helped my son put on his clean and ironed new uniform, there was no drama when i helped him get dressed because i was already picturing how cute he'll look in the pictures i'll take of him throughout the short school day. Our car was broken and spent the night at the mechanics so we took a taxi. i was glad that my husband wanted to come with us without even me having to ask him, he was as excited and it really meant a lot for our boy.

some photos at home, one in the taxi, a few at the school's front gate, more in the playground, then the meeting started in the auditorium, oh and why not take a photo of the school principal and the head of the Kinder Garten department as they addressed us... then something happened, i was taken off guard, i started to choke and tears welled up in my eyes... "my son is starting his academic journey today"... "what did i do to deserve this much joy and content"... "how bitter mothers just like me must feel because they crave the honor of sending their sons to school"... "if i were in Syria..." then i realized that things might get a bit messy and out of control and i needed an emergency plan to put in immediate action... "SHUT UP and STOP THINKING"... no these weren't the principal's words but my own while he was still speaking.... then the KG head of department started talking and none of her words were supposed to trigger this much tears, fears and hopes... it turned out that all of these strong emotions were hibernating in my head and heart, latent, waiting for a day such as this to wake up and attack me when my defenses were down and the only thing i held was a camera.

so today i've decided to capture here what the camera couldn't capture yesterday at school. school shootings are not familiar in the MENA region, maybe school bombing or shelling can make the headlines, or a number of different other disasters that happen in schools, but mothers in the MENA region pray for their kids' safety at school just as hard if not more than mothers around the world. it was yesterday that i knew deep down in my heart how precious "a mother's prayer on her child's first day of school" is... not just the first day, but every single day as she entrusts her jewel to teachers, administrators, workers, other than HER, it doesn't matter how much she knows or doesn't know them, it's not about trust and optimism, it's nothing personal against any specific person, it's just that this precious child is not any more in the safety of the comfort zone land marked by her arms... this is a dangerous enough territory in a mama's map for her children... you go to extremes during the long process of selecting a school for your children then you're too afraid to send them there!!!!

today is the actual 1st day of school for my son as he is now at school, all by himself, on his own, can i stress it enough that i'm not with him? and i can't stop praying for him and wondering.... are  you having a good time? did you meet new friends? what did you do when you needed to go to the toilet? are you enjoying the food i put in your lunch box? are you having fun in the playground? how do you feel about being with older kids in the same place? did you like your teachers? and a zillion other questions ....
i wish i could see him, like on a screen with a live-broadcast from inside his classroom, Class B, like reality T.V... i wish i could visit him, just for a while, to give him a hug in his now dusty uniform and give him a kiss on his now sweaty face, to hand him his water bottle and remind him to drink because the sun is too heavy... he's a big boy and for years i've taught him how to be independent, but now i feel as if he shrank again as he looks too little to do this on his own.

this morning i took a few minutes to talk to him about being kind, enjoying his first day, i asked him to learn as many new names of his classmates as possible, if he sees a boy crying to go give him a pat on the back and tell him "not to be afraid" as if i'm saying these very same words to my boy himself or maybe saying them to my son's mother!!! i also gave him a name tag that i made to replace the one we received yesterday with his name misspelled hoping that the teacher will remember to correct his school name tag and give it to him today, i know he knows his name very well but i didn't want him to go without this identification card pinned to his uniform shirt, i could've just ignored the misspelling yesterday and received the school name tag as it is but i wanted everything to be just perfect, fix the collar of his shirt, wipe his new black shoes till it shines brighter than his teeth, do anything to defuse the tension and convince myself that i'm in control, and nothing can go wrong as long as i'm capable of doing this or that, while the truth is that i'm only this much capable of protecting my son, so it's about time i gave up and handed him to the safety of the God who made him in the first place, who honored us to be his parents, and who is ALMIGHTY...

حبيبي إنت... i love you so much my big boy, my little munchkin, i pray that you'll have a safe and enjoyable day today and throughout this school year... wish you many many great school years to come...

living and remembering

today, 3 years ago, my maternal grandmother went to heaven... i was shocked when i did the math, only 3 years have passed since 1 October 2010, it feels like forever, years passed heavy and slow... whenever i talk about my grandmother Teta Badi'a i know that only people who were blessed with an extraordinary grandmother can relate... only a handful of people can understand that she's not just another grandmother who got old and sick then died... she's a legend, a second mother to me, and definitely a role model to many who knew her throughout her long and rich life...

my mother was a full time math teacher when her 4th child arrived, so it was natural and expected that my grandmother would look after me while my mom and 3 older siblings were at school, so i had the privilege of spending 5 years with my teta... the first 5 years of my life, which i later learned in my psychology and education classes that they are the most essential 5 years in one's life...

here is me, with teta, playing with my pet chick on the bench of her front yard... in the black and white photo i was almost 4 (i don't know why i don't have my glasses on, i was 2 when i started wearing them) with teta on the bed of the small room in the front yard... in 2005 i celebrated my 26th birthday with her, a year later she attended my wedding and in 2009 i couldn't believe that my dream would come true, she saw my son, held him and prayed for him... in the summer of 2010 i saw her for the last time when my son was exactly 1 year old, we flew to visit and he took his first steps right there in that living room and teta saw him, the photo shows him on top of the stairs leading to the front gate and the very same bench is down there behind him, but i didn't get him a chick to repeat his mom's photo taken 30 years ago...

on 26 September 2010, just five days before teta's departure, i wrote her a letter and e-mailed it to my mom (overseas) to print it out and read it to teta... i didn't want any words to stay unsaid, i didn't want regrets, i wasn't sure i'll be able to fly there and attend her funeral when her last day on earth arrives, but what's the use, she won't be able to hear what i have to say, (still i couldn't make it to her funeral)... my mom told me that when she read the letter, teta cried a bit and laughed a bit...

random images and stories came to my mind as i was writing that letter, i reminded  her of things she told me, things we did together... i reminded her of stories she shared with me from her childhood, a poor girl in a village who used to dig her feet inside ashes of the fire place to keep them warm, stories of when she left her country and went to Lebanon to study theology for two years while teenage girls her age had different preferences in life, she told me about the things she learned from missionaries when she spoke English and French fluently...

i wish i could remember details of what she shared with me many many years ago, but i'm grateful for whatever little bits and pieces i still remember, like the love story between her and my grandfather, jeddo Mtanos, who was only 2 years older than her, a graduate of the same theological seminary in the thirties of the 20th century... and what a great pastor's wife she was accompanying my grandfather on his travels for many years all over the country... giving birth to 7 children in 7 different villages and cities...

30 years later they settled in this warm big house in the capital where 19 grandchildren learned what a grandparents' house is, what unconditional love is, and there, we've accumulated one layer of memories after the other, the happiest memories of our lives... our Family House had the unique fragrance of orange peals burning by the fireplace in winter and the aroma of freshly cleaned front yard in the summer, a post-rain like smell...

i still remember her half automatic washing machine in the backyard which we could reach through the kitchen's second door, i used to stand stretching my hands so high to catch the laundry pieces which teta used to squeeze in between the two rotating cylinders, my job was to make sure they drop inside the laundry basket so teta can later on hang them on the laundry line as i hand her one peg after the other... the washing machine grew shorter over the years then got replaced by a full automatic one... 

my school was a three-minutes-walk from teta's house, i used to go see my grandparents daily after school with my sister then my mom would join us for the fifteen minute walk home, most evenings the outing was a visit to jeddo and teta's house, again, as if we actually lived there and only went home on occasional visits over night...

it was a tradition to celebrate our birthdays in the Family House, the cake was home made by teta, the icing was a layer of homemade jam with a big plain white candle in the middle, no one objected or expected a different sequence of events during the party celebration, first we sing Happy Birthday, then the hymn we all know by heart "Lord, a year has passed", then comes jeddo's prayer for the birthday person (a child or a grandchild)... teta took that role when jeddo went to meet the Lord, also in October but 6 years before her...

teta took me with her on "trips", the ones to the marketplace were my favorite, i got to pull behind me her empty shopping trolley on the way there (one that most elderly owned and took with them for easier grocery shopping) i remember feeling so proud of how strong i was, but she did that job when the trolley got full on the way back as i held teta's free hand. as for trips to church, my grandfather would walk ahead of us with his steady big steps, long and handsome in his neat suit with sermon papers tucked inside his jacket's upper pocket... us two used to walk slower and arrive there hand in hand, a few minutes later...

she was the first family member with whom i shared my love story and engagement plans, then several dreams of mine came true till the day my son, named after her youngest, met teta... my son has the name of my favorite uncle, when she held him she prayed that this little boy would continue the ministry of his parents and grandparents... i can still remember how she clapped with joy a year later when he walked for the first time, right there at her house...

what a unique and amazing woman she was as a girl, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a great grandmother, a friend, a companion, a teacher, a role model... she showered us all with love, gifts, hand made wool blankets and pullovers... her name Badi'a means "exquisite" and "marvelous"... she's Teta Badi'a, teta the exquisite... my marvelous grandmother...

i learned a line people exchange during funerals in Egypt: "may you live and remember"... i'll live remembering who you were and still are to me, i'll tell my children and hopefully my grandchildren of a living blessing i've had and will always carry with me as i live and remember...

love you tons and miss you more dear teta...