مذكرات زوجة قسيس شابة: التجسّد

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

/التجسُّد/

ماما: "ما ينفعش يا رهام تكتبي "تجسّد خوفي" في المقالة، لأن المسيح وحده اللي اتجسد."

أنا: "ده صحيح ان الله المتجسد كان في شخص المسيح بس، لكن فعل التجسّد بينطبق على أشخاص ومشاعر وحالات... الخ"

ماما: "لأ، احنا في إيماننا المسيحي بنؤمن ان التجسّد كان ليسوع بس، وما ينفعش يتقال على أي حاجة أو حد تاني انه اتجسد. قولي "ظهر خوفي"، مثلا."

أنا: "باختلف مع حضرتك لأن اللغة العربية كانت موجودة قبل المسيحية، والفعل نفسه نقدر نستخدمه لغوياّ، لكن لو كلامنا لاهوتي بخصوص التجسد الإلهي فهو كان حصري من خلال يسوع المسيح."

كان هذا جزءا من نقاش طويل دار بيني وبين ماما في مكالمة هاتفية، لم تكن أمي البيولوجية، وإنما هي ماما لمئات، بل وأجرؤ على القول آلاف، الشابات والسيدات خلال سنوات خدمتها الطوال كزوجة قسيس مباركة أكنّ لها فائق المحبة والاحترام، حتى وإن كنت أختلف معها في وجهة النظر اللغوية-اللاهوتية فيما يخص استخدامي لكلمة "تجسّد" وتوظيفي لها في إحدى مقالاتي منذ أعوام.

مع مطلع عام 2018 اخترتُ لنفسي شعاراً أتبناه خلال السنة الجديدة وهو مبنيّ على مقولة استوقفَتني منذ مدة ورافقتني لأشهُر طِوال مع مقولات أخرى، إلا أن هذه الحكمة على وجه التحديد أبَتْ إلا أن تعاوِدَني مِرارا وتكرارا في مواقف عدة كنت خلالها بأمس الحاجة إليها:

“Be who you needed when you were younger.”

"كُن الشخصَ الذي احتجتَ إليهِ وأنت أصغرُ سِنّاً."

لازلتُ أذكر عندما قرأت هذه الجملة للمرة الأولى كم من الوقت استغرقتُ في محاولة استيعابها والغوص في معانيها. فقد كانت بالنسبة لي بمثابة السدّ الذي انفتح فأفرج عن مياهٍ متدفقة لم أكن أعي وجودها مُخزّنةً خلفَه. وبدأَتْ تتلاحق الصور في ذهني مع محاولاتي لِلّحاقِ بكثافتها وسرعة جريانها، فما كان بي إلا أن سارعتُ في تصنيفها وترتيبها وفقاً لجدولٍ يحفظ التسلسل الزمني لظهور تلك الأحداث والشخصيات والمواقف في حياتي في الماضي القريب والبعيد.

من ضمن تلك الشخصيات التي استرجَعَها ذهني خانةٌ كاملةٌ مَعنيّةٌ بتسميةِ ودورِ وقالَبِ "زوجة القسيس"، حيث عاد بي الزمن إلى سنوات مدارس الأحد وزوجة الراعي في كنيستي بدمشق آنذاك وكيف كنت أراها وما الذي كنت أراقبُه فيها وأتوقعُه منها وأنا أرفع رأسي لأنظر إليها بقامتي الصغيرة.

مرحلة المراهقة خرجَتْ من الحسبان لأنني كنت خلالها مشغولة بمراقبة إبنة القسيس أكثر من زوجته، وكانت هي تكبرني بعام واحد فقط، لكن في المرحلة الجامعية تبلورَتْ أكثر صورة ُزوجة القسيس في ذهني حيث كنا، ولا زلنا، في سينودس سوريا ولبنان نخاطب زوجة القسيس بلقب "قسيسة" إدراكاً واعترافاً مِنّا بثِقَلِ المسؤولية المُلقاة على عاتِقِها داخل الخدمة وخارجها على حد سواء.

تزامن حصولي على شهادة الدراسة الثانوية عام 1996 وبدء دراستي الجامعية مع عدة أسفار لبلاد ومدن مختلفة تعرفتُ فيها على زوجات قسوسٍ من شتّى الطوائف والجنسيات ابتداء من بيروت، وديترويت، وأتلانتا، وإدنبرة، وجلاسكو، وأوهايو، ولندن، ونيويورك، حيث وإن تنوّعَتْ أسباب السفر وظروفه إلا أن ما كان يوحّدُها كلّها في هذه المدن الثماني هو حضور الكنيسة صباح أيام الآحاد. حيث كنت أختبر غِنى الاختلاف في أشكال العبادة والترنيم والصلاة في كنائس عِدّة، وأتعرف إلى رعاتها وزوجاتهم لتقتصر المعرفة على سلام وكلام بُعَيدَ الاجتماع أو تمتدّ تلك المعرفة إلى وجبة غداءٍ أو قضاء يوم بصحبة أسرة الراعي المهتمة بالتعرف بفتاة مسيحية إنجيلية سوريّة تُمثل بالنسبة إليهم نافذةً لحياة فتياتِ الشرق الأوسط في زمنِ ما قبل الانترنت والعولمة.

Fast forward 10 years

وتمر سنواتٌ عشر لم أكن أعلم خلالها أني سأخضعُ أنا نفسي لذلك الميكروسكوب الإنترناشنال الذي صنعَتْهُ يداي وكنتُ به أراقب كل أولئك "القسيسات" اللاتي خضعن لفحصٍ وتمحيصٍ وتدقيقٍ لا يخلو من إجحافِ وقسوةِ عينِيَ الساعيةَ إلى الكمال. ومع انقضاء سنة تلو الأخرى باتَ لسانُ حالي أشبهَ بالترنيمةِ الميلادية التي أعشقها:
“Mary Did You Know”

حيث قمتُ بالتعديل اللازم:

“Riham Did You Know?”

واستعنتُ بالترجمة العربية البديعة: "هل كُنتِ تعلمين؟"

هل كُنتِ تعلمين أنكِ ستتزوجين من طالبٍ بكلية اللاهوت سيُرتَسَمُ قِسيساً قُبَيلَ عيدِ زواجكُما الثاني بقليل؟

هل كُنتِ تعلمين أنكِ ستختبرين أصنافاً وأشكالاً وأنواعاً من الغُربة لم تقرأي عنها في رواياتك وكتبك المُحبّبة ولا شاهدْتِها في الأفلام الرومنسية أو أفلام الخيال العلمي؟

هل كُنتِ تعلمين أنكِ ستقومين بتربية "ابن قسيس" و "ابنة قسيس" مع كل التحديات التي يحملُها ذلك اللقب بين طيّاته؟

هل كُنتِ تعلمين أن صديقاتِ ابنك وابنتك سيغمُرنَكِ بكل المحبة الطفولية الأنثوية التي يمكنُكِ أن تتخيّليها أو تتمنّيها أو تصدّقيها أو حتى تحتمليها؟

هل كُنتِ تعلمين أن شاباتٍ من كنيستك ومن كنائسَ أُخرى سيلجأنَ إليكِ طلباً للمشورة والحكمة لأنهنّ يرَيْنَ فيكِ سيدةً وصديقةً وأختاً كبرى تتمتّعُ بالنّضوجِ والكِتمان الذي يحتَجْنَ إليهِ ليُفضيْنَ إليكِ بأسرارهِنّ فتصطَكّ عظامُكِ خوفاً ورهبةً من عَظَمة المسؤولية؟

هل كُنتِ تعلمين أنه من أحشائكِ سيخرجُ مسيحٌ مُخلّصٌ مادّاً ذراعيهِ ليحتضِنَ صديقةً تئِنّ، ذارفاً دموعَهُ هو من مآقيكِ أنتِ، فتراها هي وتتعزى؟

هل كُنتِ تعلمين أن صديقة أخرى لن تجد أحداً يشاركُها فرحتَها دونَ غيرةٍ أو حسد أو ضغينة سواكِ، فتستبقُ مشاركة الخبر السار بأن تزفّهُ لكِ أنتِ أولاً فيتقافزَ قلبُكِ سعادةً في ضلوعِكِ بكُلّ عفوية وكأنّ الخبرَ يعنيكِ أنتِ؟

هل كُنتِ تعلمين أنك ستُجسّدينَ كلّ هذه الأدوار وغيرها من المسؤوليات والشخصيات التي يحتاجُها من حَولُكِ ليس كاحتياجهم للرفاهيات، وإنما لأنكِ أنتِ، بدرجة أو بأخرى، "فارقة" كل الفرق في حياتهم؟

هل تعلمين؟

سؤالي الأخير هذا موجّهٌ إليكِ عزيزتي القارئة، وإليك عزيزي القارئ. فأنت أدرى الناس بظروفك ومحيطك وحياتك السرية والعلنية.

مع اقتراب احتفالنا بمولد المخلص يوم 7 يناير/كانون الثاني بحسب التقويم القبطي، وخلال هذه الأيام من فصل المجيء أو ما يسمى بالـ Advent  أو The Advent Season  تُلِحُّ عليّ هذه الأسئلة والتساؤلات، فأبحثُ لها عن أجوبة في تأملاتي وقراءاتي وصلواتي. لن أدّعي أني توصّلتُ إلى إجاباتٍ شافية وافية، ففي أغلبِ الأحيان قد لا تكونُ الإجاباتُ هي المهمة، بل الأهم منها هي الأسئلة. حتى وإن لم نجد الجواب الصحيح، علينا أن نبحث عن السؤال الصحيح.

ما هو فعل "التجسّد"؟ وما الذي يعنيه لي أنا شخصياً أن يتغيرَ معنى هذا الفِعلُ من جذورِهِ لمُجرّد أن يرتضِيَهُ الله على نفسه، لأجلي أنا. وكيف يُمكنُني أنا أيضاً أن أكونَ مريم العذراء؟ ليس من باب التضامن والتفهّم "كُلُّنا مريمُ العذراء"، الأمرُ الذي عَهِدناهُ مؤخراً على شبكات التواصل الاجتماعي. بل أن نكون "كلُّنا مريمَ العذراء" بشكلٍ فردي. أن تكون أحشاؤنا من العُذريّة بمكان لأن يتجسّد منها الله ويولدَ في حياة مَن حولنا ليخلصهم من وحدتِهم وحيرَتِهم وتخبُّطهم. أن نعود إلى مقاعد مدارس الأحد الخشبيّة ونصلّي صلاة الأطفال في كل ميلاد: "تعال يا يسوع لتولَدَ في قلبي." ومن ثمّ نقفَ وقفة الكبار ونَعِي أعماق هذه الحقيقة وعَظَمة المسؤولية ورهبة التكليف والتشريف، كيما بعدها نركعَ على إثر ذلك ركوعَ العذراء مريم ونَخضعَ قائلين: "ليَكُن لي كَقولِكَ." فنعيش عامنا الجديد بفعل متجدد للتجسُّد، نُجسِّدُ ذلك الشخص الذي احتجنا إليه عنما كُنا أصغرَ سناً، ويكون عام 2018 عام التجسُّد المتجدِّدِ فينا وبنا ومن خلالنا.

بدون تعليق: هذه شجرة الميلاد في ساحة Rockefeller Center  الشهيرة في نيويورك خلال موسم المجيء في ديسمبر 2017. ويعود الفضل إلى أربعة أشخاص لولاهم لما كنت التقطتُ هذه الصورة أو عرفتُ أن هناك دائماً أملٌ في تذوق لحظات من السعادة المُقطّرة حتى وإن طال الانتظار... شكراً وشكراً وشكراً وشكراً... انتوا بتعرفوا حالكم... وشكراً لشخصين صغيرين تحمّلا غيابي عنهما لأول مرة ولمدة طويلة نسبياً... 

كلنا "أورم" ... 20 حقيقة تهمك

ينتشر باللغة الإنجليزية مصطلح SAHM وهو اختصار لـ: Stay At Home Mom للتعبير عن الأمهات غير العاملات خارج المنزل، نطلق عليهن بالعربية إسم "ربات البيوت". وقد قرأت مؤخرا الكثير من المقالات الفكاهية ولكن الواقعية إلى أبعد حدود عن طرق تكتشفين بها أنك SAHM وهي تلامس عميقا واقع الأم التي تركت عملها عندما أنجبت سواء كان ذلك نابعا عن اختيار حر أو لأن الظروف الجديدة قد أجبرتها على ذلك. لكنني كنت أتمنى أن أقرأ مقالا يمس واقعي كأم عربية ويخاطب حياتي اليومية وإن كنت لم أختبر الأمومة في بلدي الحبيب سوريا إلا بضعة مرات سافرت بها مع ابني كان أخرها في سن السنة والنصف وهو الآن قد دخل عامه الخامس أما ابنتي ذات الأعوام الثلاث فلم تطأ أرض الياسمين بعد. ومع ذلك فالأمومة في مصر يمكننا تعميمها على الأمومة في الوطن العربي كما يفعل الأمريكان عندما يعممون حياتهم على كل البلدان الناطقة باللغة الأنجليزية. لكنني وإن كنت سأكتب من واقع أمومتي في مصر إلا أنني لن أستخدم العامية المصرية فقد يكون في هذا إهانة وتهميش لباقي الأمهات الناطقات بالعربية سواء كن يعشن مغامرة الأمومة داخل أو خارج الوطن العربي فآثرت الكتابة بالفصحى (وليس العامية السورية أيضا) لأنها تخاطبنا جميعا على قدم المساواة. إليك عزيزتي القارئة الحقائق العشين التي بها تجيبين عن السؤال: هل أنا "أورم"؟ وهي وحدها تعطيكي الحق في أن تقولي: أنا أم و ربة منزل. ولك عزيزي القارئ كل الاحترام والتقدير لاهتمامك بأن تتعرف أكثر على هذا الجانب من حياة آنثى قريبة منك سواء كانت أماً أو اختاً أو زوجة أو ابنة.

ستتأكدين من حقك في التصريح والقول أنا "أورم" :

1. عندما تسألين نفسك عن أقصى أحلامك وأمنياتك فتجدينها تتلخص في ثلاثة أمور: أن تستحمي، أن تنامي ساعة من الزمن، أن تأكلي وجبة ساخنة في طبق خاص بك وحدك يحتوي على شوكة كبيرة فقط لا ترافقها ملعقة صغيرة
2. عندما تتسائلين كيف أتى يوم الأربعاء بعد يوم الاثنين على خلاف العادة ان يكون هناك ثلاثاء ما بينهما !
3. عندما تجدين نفسك ترددين أغاني أفلام الكرتون من قناة براعم للأطفال لتسلي نفسك أثناء نشر الغسيل "عمي مصلح، عمي مصلح، اصنع لي بيتا جميلا... عمي مصلح، عمي مصلح، ركب لي برجاً طويلا"
4. عندما تبحثين عن فرشاة شعرك بلا جدوى فقد مرت أيام لم تحتاجي استخدامها لأنك لا تجدين نفعا من تمشيط شعرك إذا كنت لن تري مخلوقات بشرية أخرى غير أولادك اليوم، وغدا، وبعد غد، وبعد بعد غد
5. عندما تكتشفين أن أياما مرت تحولت إلى أسابيع وشهور وسنوات بدون أدنى مبالغة لم تنامي فيها ليلة متواصلة... ولا ليلة واحدة لأن النوم المتواصل لمدة تتجاوز الثلاث ساعات يعد ضربا من الرفاهية المشتهاة
6. عندما تتكاثر أسئلة أطفالك: "إلى أين انت ذاهبة يا أمي؟" لحظة أن يروكي ترتدين بنطالا من الجينز
7. عندما تجدين صعوبة في المشي في الشارع وحيدة لأنك نسيتي ماذا كنت تفعلين بذراعيك الفارغتين من قبل؟ هل ألوح بهما؟ أم أضع إحداهما في جيبي وأمسك بشنطتي باليد الأخرى؟
8. عندما تتمنين في سرك لو أن لك أذرعا بعدد أرجل العنكبوت
9. عندما يتساءل ابنك كيف رأيته يتصرف تصرفا خاطئا دون أن تلتفتي حتى، فيعتقد حقا أن للأمهات زوجا إضافيا من الأعين في مؤخرة رؤوسهن
10. عندما تركضين للاختباء في الحمام بحجة قضاء حاجة فور وصول زوجك لأن الأطفال سيركضون لملاقاته "بابااااا" وذلك يعطيك بضعة دقائق من الهدوء قبل أن يجدوك وتلك فرصة نادرة لدخول الحمام بمفردك دون وفد المرافقة المعتاد والذي أخذ على عاتقه مهمة حمايتك طوال اليوم حتى في هذه الزاوية من المنزل
11. عندما تحسين بالذنب لأن كلمة "ماما" أصبحت أخر كلمة تودين سماعها في يومك وأكثر كلمة تخافينها وأسرع كلمة تملين منها، فكيف تجرؤين على التقزز من أطهر وأقدس كلمة في الوجود، كلمة "أم" فكم من إناث ينتظرن سماعها ومنهن من قد حُرمت منها إلى الأبد وها أنت تنفرين منها؟ لابد أن هناك خطبا ما قد حل بك حتى تتذمري على نعمة الأمومة، لابد وأنك لا تستحقين هذا اللقب أصلا، أنت أم فاشلة... لكن كل ما في الأمر هو أن طاقتك على التحمل قد تخطت الخط الأحمر ولو سمعت نداء "مامااااا" مرة أخرى... بعد المليون اليوم ستنفجرين
12. عندما تستعدين للخروج في نزهة عائلية نادرة وأنت تحتفطين بابتسامة بلاستيكية على وجهك ويستشيط باطنك غضبا وأنت تلبسين الأطفال وتملئين حقيبة كبيرة بكافة تفاصيل احتياجاتهم وتستعدين أنت نفسك للمغادرة بينما يحلق زوحك ذقنه ويرتدي ملابسه بكل بساطة ويسألك باستغراب: لم تجهزوا بعد؟ لقد تأخرنا!!!!!
13. عندما تطوين الغسيل النظيف لتكتشفي أن ليس لك فيه أية قطعة ثياب لأنك لازلت ترتدين نفس "البيجامة" المنزلية منذ أيام لكنك نسيتي أنها هي نفسها لأن بقع الأكل والحليب تزينها بنقوش مختلفة كل يوم كي لا تملي تكرار التصميم 
14. عندما تستخدمين رفاهية الاختراع الملقب بالهاتف ويعلوا صراخ وبكاء أبنائك فتجدين المتحدث بكل أدب يقترح أن يتصل في وقت لاحق وتعجزين أنت عن الشرح له/لها أن هذا الوضع هو أحسن الأحوال وتتمنين لو كان بإمكانك قولها بصراحة: أرجوكي لا تغلقي الخط فأنا بحاجة لأن تكلم مع أحد ما... أيا كان الشخص وموضوع الحديث
15. عندما تقومين بكل أدوارك ومسؤولياتك لوحدك ثم يحدث أن تغيبي فترة ما (والغياب يكون عادة لأسباب قاهرة كالمرض وليس لرفاهية أنك أخذتي "بريك" والعياذ بالله) فإن مهمة تغطية كل تلك الثغرات تتطلب فريق عمل متكامل يتكون على الأقل من5 أشخاص (والدتك، حماتك، أختك، أخت زوجك، وزوحك نفسه) للقيام بما يلزم وضمان سير المركب بينما كنت وحدك قادرة على إنجاز كل ذلك دون مساعدة أحد، وفي كل الأحوال لن يتم العمل كاملا فعندما تتعافين بإذن الله ستجدين كل ما يمكن تأجيله قد تأجل فعلا وتراكم فوق بعضه البعض في انتظارك
16. عندما يختلف تسلسل الأولويات لدى مغادرتك المنزل (أو أي مكان) فتقومين بمراجعة ما بحوزتك وضمان عدم ضياع أي شيء/أو شخص: الأولاد، ثم الأولاد، ثم محفظة النقود، ثم مفاتيح المنزل والسيارة، ثم الموبايل... أي شيء غير هذا مسموح أن يضيع أو يُنسى، حتى هذه يمكن تعويضها باستثناء أول الأولويات
17. عندما يسأل الناس زوجك: "هل تعمل زوجتك؟" وتأتي الإجابة التقليدية: "حاليا هي لا تعمل، إنها فقط ربة منزل"، فقط؟!!!!!! أنت لا تعملين بساعات محددة مع أوقات راحة وأيام عطلة ومرتب شهري وحوافز وتشكرات واحترام الزملاء وتحقيق الذات، أنت فقط: خادمة لتنظيف المنزل مجانا، جليسة أطفال مجانا، طبيبة إسعافات أولية مجانا، طباخ ماهر مجانا، معالج نفسي مجانا، خبير حل نزاعات مجانا، حارس ليلي مجانا، ألة نشر وكي وطوي غسيل مجانا، مصممة أزياء مجانا، مغنية وقارئة قصص مجانا، مهرج مجانا، ماكينة صراخ وعقابات مجانا... وكل ذلك بساعات عمل مفتوحة 24 ساعة في اليوم 7 أيام في الأسبوع بلا عطل أو راحة أو فرصة حتى للاستماع إلى صوت أفكارك... عدى عن شح وندرة الكلمة السحرية: "شكرا"
18. عندما تتذكرين أخر أسبوع مر عليك وتكتشفين أن الشخص البالغ الوحيد الذي تكلمت معه كان بواب المبنى أو موظف الكاشير في السوبر ماركت أما باقي أيامك فكانت مفعمة بالكتب الملونة وأفلام الكرتون والدباديب إضافة إلى أصوات أبعد ما تكون عن حديث البالغين: "دودو، نونو، تاتا، دادي، أوفف، واوا، بو، تش، بح، كخ... الخ" وتخشين أن يكون قد أصابك فعلا نوع من أنواع التخلف العقلي
19. عندما تتخذين قرارات غريبة كأن تقضي فترة قيلولة طفلك في التقاط الصور له وهو نائم (لأنه "كيوت") ثم يستيقظ وأنت لم تنامي بعد، أو أن تشعري بالإنجاز والفخر وكأنك تسلقت قمة إفريست للتو لمجرد أن ابنتك عملت "بي بي" داخل الـ"بوتي"، أو أن تطوري مهارة جديدة لديك وهي القدرة على تنظيف البيت بأكمله باستخدام علبة مناديل مبللة "وايبس" فقط لا غير
20. أخيرا وليس أخرا لأنني ببساطة قررت التوقف عند الرقم 20 وليس الـ 2000: عندما تجدين نفسك تقومين بتصرفات غريبة كأن تفقسي البيضة في سلة المهملات وتضعين القشر في المقلاة ثم تندهشين أين "الأومليت"؟ أو أن ترتدي فردتي حذاء مختلفتين وتكتشفي ذلك بعد أن تكوني قد مشيت مسافة لا بأس بها بعيدا عن المنزل، أو أن تجهزي حقائب الحضانة فتضعين زجاجتي الماء في إحداها وعلبتي الأكل في الثانية فتكتشف ذلك الـ "ميس" وتصلح خطأك بالمقايضة مع الـ "ميس" في الفصل المجاور...

أنا على يقين بأننا جميعا كأمهات يمكننا الإضافة إلى القائمة السابقة وإغناؤها بالمزيد من الكوميديا والتراجيديا على حد سواء ولن نستغرب اندهاش الناس وعلامات التعجب على وجوههم فنحن أنفسنا لم نكن نتخيل أن الأمومة يمكنها أن تكون صعبة إلى هذه الدرجة وفي نفس الوقت رائعة بلا حدود. قد يشوبها أحيانا بعض الحروب والمعارك ما بين الأمهات في مقارنات عقيمة: إبني قال ماما مبكرا جدا، ابنتي خطت أولى خطواتها قبل أن تتم عامها الأول، لماذا تطعمين رضيعك وهو في شهره الرابع؟ لماذا تأخرتي في إطعام ابنتك إلى شهرها السادس؟ بالإضافة إلى فكرة عودة الأم إلى العمل بعد الولادة والتي تحتاج إلى صفحات بحد ذاتها ما بين مؤيد ومعارض.

بعضنا تتمتع بنعمة وجود فريق العمل السابق الذكر أو بعض من أعضائه الخمسة ولكن مع ظروف التنقل والسفر والهجرة فإن عددنا نحن الذين نكافح وحدنا قد ازداد فتنظرين من حولك ولا معين، تستغيثين وليس من يسمع، وتتمنين حتى طبخة واحدة في الشهر تأكلين فيها أكلا شهيا ليس من صنعك وليس طعاما جاهزا "أكل سوق" بل "أكل ماما" أو "أكل حماتي"، تحاولين أن تتذكري متى كانت أخر مرة قابلتي إحدى صديقاتك أو خرجتي في نزهة تسوق مثلا وعبثا تحاولين إيجاد تفسير لكونك وحيدة بلا أصدقاء بعد أن صدّقت كلام الأخرين "الأولاد سيملأون الدنيا من حولك ولن تحتاجي غيرهم"... "الأمومة ستكون أسعد خبرة تتذوقينها في حياتك" وهذا صحيح جزئيا لكن هناك أمور لم ولن يخبرك أحد عنها وها أنت تعيشينها واقعا لا مفر منه.

 لو كانت خبرتك في الأمومة مشابهة لتلك التي أعيشها أنا فثقي أن هناك أمل... ولا تسأليني أين ومتى وكيف؟ فنحن "في الهوا سوا" والمهم أن نبقى "صامدين" ولو قست عليك الظروف أكثر فواجهتِ مصاعب إضافية تتنوع مصادرها وطول مدتها، ثقي أن هناك من تشعر بألمك وتحدياتك بل وقد يكون نصيبها أصعب. لا بأس في التذمر والشكوى ولا ضرر من التنفيس والفضفضة، حتى وإن كانت تلك أيضا قد تحولت إلى رفاهيات، المهم هو أن تؤمني بنفسك وبقوتك رغم عجز أو تقصير من حولك في التعبير عن تقديرهم وامتنانهم لكل تضحياتك، فسيأتي اليوم الذي به نسترجع ذكريات تلك السنوات الأولى من الأمومة بخليط من الدموع والابتسامات.

لكن المهم في الأمر، إلى جانب قراراتنا وخياراتنا اليومية لما نراه الأفضل لنا ولأبنائنا ، هو أن نكون أكثر لطفا وتفهما لبعضنا البعض كأمهات فنحن في نهاية الأمر أكثر الناس دراية بما يجري في عالم الأمومة من خفايا قليلون هم الذين يعترفون بها ويفضفضون في التكلم عنها... فالحقيقة أنها وإن تعددت الأشكال وتنوعت الظروف... إلا أننا كلنا "أورم"!

بدون تعليق: ما بين الرسم واللعب والكتب والأيباد والتلفزيون وحرب الشوارع... ينقضي يوم في المغامرة ويبدأ يوم أخر جديد مفعم بالإحباطات والـ "نرفزة" والضحك والإثارة... الأمومة ترحب بكم... رافقتنا السلامة

be still... take a break... get a tattoo !!!

these three sentences are lined up according to chronological order... so the story starts like this:

once upon a time, not too long ago, i was sinking under layers and layers of work, plans, and Rihamiat project material and i realized that it has been a while since i last visited Momastery and i decided to do some blog reading and there it was, G's POST, saying "see you next year" not using these exact words, but she's taking her advent break and will be back when December is over. "Be Still" was G's ADVent ADVice and i thought well, my December is not that busy, i don't get my kids too many gifts anyways and when i told my son you're having 3 gifts this year just as many as baby Jesus received, he was quit thrilled, so maybe i shouldn't grab my organizer and pencil and start crossing out plans and cancelling events blindly, honestly, there isn't much on this month's page.... so what's the problem then? why does this "Be Still" STILL sound relevant? i thought for a moment then a drawer opened in my head, it wasn't stuffed with useless things, everything there was useful, practical, and much needed, i could also close the drawer easily without the need of squishing things and squeezing them together, but the problem with this drawer was its lack of categorization and you know how much i love CATEGORIES and COMPARTMENTALIZING my life and my everything... THAT's it then, this is why Riham is unable to function well, even though compared to others i appear to be well organized and things are perfectly planned, TO ME they are NOT... and in order to do some winter clean up to my drawer i need to "Be Still" so that i can have a clear mind and sharp eyesight to decide what's important to me and my family and what's not, to separate jewelry from junk (figuratively and literally... again, because of the Rihamiat project material).

the next chapter of this story arrived with my decision to take a break, not in the sense of doing nothing, but actually doing more, and doing it differently. Where's the break then? the break is stepping outside my comfort zone of familiar people and familiar places, as much as i love the small circle of people i know in this city (which is 99% composed of church members) i still needed a break, i needed to walk away for a while until i can say "i miss you guys" far enough to feel like going back again. so i signed up for a Christmas bazaar, a gathering of 40 different groups or individuals who have their own projects and business from food to crafts  to clothes to leather bags to Christmas decoration ... you name it. the table rent was a bit expensive so i shared it with another lady who paints on cushions, so half the table had Rococo hand painted cushions and the other half had Rihamiat items.

i carefully selected which items to take with me on that day and accurately calculated the discount i want to add on some pieces. i didn't know what to expect during the 9 hours i'm spending on that chair but i was open and ready for anything and everything only to discover that one can't be fully prepared for "anything and everything" specially when the attack comes from your own memory with floods of images, feelings, smells, people's faces, songs and languages... it was overwhelming and at some point i felt that i can't take it so i remembered the "Be Still" technique and it seemed to work right then and there...

the general atmosphere was so familiar, when i was growing up, one year after another we used to organize and participate in Christmas bazaars just like this one, Christmas music, cold outside (it was the last day of the "Alexa" storm), warm and cozy inside with dim yellow lights in a beautiful huge room... there were pieces from my Damascus there... several times during the day i wondered just for a split second why people were speaking Egyptian Arabic and not Syrian!

then the language i heard brought back memories from my collage years in Beirut, i tried to remember words and sentences with some Christmas and New Year greetings too and shared it with a few people who spoke Armenian, they were total strangers and the Arabic they spoke was Egyptian (again not Syrian), but they made me miss my Armenian friends and a flow of memories rushed inside my head of how i first fell in love with the Armenian language and culture 13 years ago because i saw it through the eyes of my friends who were proud of their nationality and heritage just as proud as i am today of my Alma Mater, my Haigazian University...

little did i know that by logging out of my present i'll be automatically logging in-to my past and wearing the glasses that show me again who i am, where i come from, and how and where a major part of my character was shaped, these 9 hours spent on one chair at one table were a trip back in time visiting places so dear to me giving life to memories i stopped feeding for such a long time i thought were dead... in the middle of the trip i was still meeting new people, getting to know amazing potential friends, exchanging experiences and ideas with a fellow soldier on the battlefield of establishing her personal project... in every new encounter i had and during every hour of this bliss i felt grateful for my husband and mother who took turns looking after the kids until it was time for them to pick me up...

whenever i step into unfamiliar territory i take with me a weapon or a defense mechanism that i might need to use and on that specific day the first thing i could think of (other than three photos of my husband and two kids) was Brené Brown's book "Daring Greatly" and i was on the "Mind The Gap" chapter...

      

(by the way, the organizers of this huge event made sure all tables were covered with  a nice green plain table cloth, but they gave us the freedom to change or add to it, so this was my "sharshaf aghabani" a Syrian red Christmas table cloth i chose to come along with me on this journey for luck, good vibes, positive energy... all of the above and much more)

whenever i felt weak and hungry during that adventure i would read a few lines and re-energize: "Minding the gap is a daring strategy. We have to pay attention to the space between where we're actually standing and where we want to be. More importantly, we have to practice the values that we're holding out as important in our culture. Minding the gap requires both an embrace of our own vulnerability and cultivation of shame resilience - we're going to be called upon to show up as leaders and parents and educators in new and uncomfortable ways. We don't have to be perfect, just engaged and committed to aligning values with action." and i may add to Rene's paragraph Glennon's famous phrase: "We can do hard things".

towards the end of the day, Christine, the  mastermind behind this event and the most energetic authentic extrovert i've ever met, came to my table with her big smile: "Izzayek (how are you) Riham? Eh el akhbar? (how is everything going)". i asked her about this henna tatto lady downstairs, i noticed her table earlier when i went down to grab a super tasty lasagna piece with an extra yummy éclair mini cakes for lunch, "Go go now, she's leaving" Christine ordered in her usual over-excited mode. so i ran downstairs and the lady was just finishing when she looked up to me and smiled, the last customer left admiring her Christmas bells tattoo and another bell rang in my head "Be Still"... it's my very first henna tattoo ever and it's for free so shouldn't i feel guilty for choosing anything other than my kids' names or my husband's or a Christmas symbol? no, because "Be Still" encapsulates all of the above including myself... the lady looked puzzled so i wrote the two words down, she admitted her English handwriting is not as great as other tattoo shapes she masters, but i told her it was ok, yet she added a heart instead of the dot above the "i" and this looked beautiful  enough to me... and a couple of minutes later i walked back upstairs holding my left sleeve up with a "Mind The Tattoo" look on my face addressing the crowds till i reached my table safely and waited for an expected Rihamic regret to creep into my heart and wash away my internal big smile.... but it didn't...

"dare greatly" doesn't literally translate "go get a henna tattoo", and it's such an adolescence-ish behavior to say "i want a tattoo like Glennon's" but this was my visible proof to myself that i've sealed the deal (with black ink instead of red wax), i can do hard things, i can get a henna tattoo (was that story i heard about a henna tattoo that never came out as promised true?!!!!), i can participate at a huge Christmas bazaar and display my work for the public opinion to crucify me or carry me to the seventh heaven, i can leave my kids for 9 hours for the first time in my life (for as long i've had them, inside or outside of my womb, Sep.2008), i can be sociable and presentable with total strangers once again all on my own since the day i got married (Aug.2006), i can step into the arena and say this is who i am, i can show up and be there one hour at a time.... then i can go back home and justify to my kids why "mama wrote on her arm" while they are not allowed to draw on their faces and each other's skin !!! (but the actual message was that mama gets away with it without anyone yelling at her but poor them, they get yelled at and sent to the bathroom to step on their stool and keep washing the paint off their hands and faces, life is so unfair i know)...

the story doesn't have a happy ending though, to be honest there isn't an actual ending, yet.

the next morning i had to take a picture of my tattoo (of course) in daylight, and (of course) near my beloved window (the one you're sick of hearing about in almost every post)

but then the effect of yesterday's ecstasy faded away and i went back into my regular daily routines of unexpected routines, the kids were fighting and demanding breakfast, i couldn't get up early enough to have my coffee before i could recognize their voices, the house was more messy and unclean than ever because i was too busy in the past few days preparing for this stupid Christmas bazaar, i had no plan for lunch, and things got out of control inside that drawer once again...

i tried to silence all the voices in my head so i could "Be Still" for one minute... SHUT UP I WANT TO BE STILL... the magic left the tattoo and i had to handle things all by myself without the super powers of any wand...      

maybe there's no such thing as a quick fix, bazze2 lazze2 (spit and paste: a term my friend taught me about work done quickly to glue things up with your own spit, sorry if the image is too disgusting), a tattoo is only a tattoo, a book is only a book, a blog is only a blog, unless each one of us finds her own steps like in step 1 step 2... step infinity... to be still in her own noisy way, to prepare Him room in her own messy heart 'n house, to feel the true joy, gratitude, and magic of Christmas in her own wandless life... i can't say that i've figured it out yet, but i'm working on it, and right now all i need to do, the step i've planned is go take a shower with the hope that the tattoo will be one degree less dark on my pail skin !

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"...

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...

the adventure of living abroad

a few days ago my friend went to France for a one-year masters program. she was both scared and excited about this new step she's taking away from the comfort of her family, friends, and country

so i wrote her a letter to read on the plane, typing brought back wonderful and difficult memories of my own experience of living abroad pursuing a degree that wasn't available in my country... here are parts of the letter i wrote her, i've changed her name for privacy reasons and had to exclude certain paragraphs...

Hi Aline, 

So you're on the plane now... i'm better at writing than face to face communication sometimes, specially lately with the two little distractions in my life.

your trip to France reminds me a lot of my trip to Beirut in 2000, i had spent 4 years at Damascus University (2 years at the faculty of Economics and 2 in Biology) so my friends were graduating and i was starting all over again, from zero, at age 21 minus a few months. it was the beginning of a five-year journey and there were two things that kept popping up in my mind during that specific bus ride. 

the first one is a cartoon series, a variation of a famous story: "Daddy Long Legs" with an orphan character called Judy Abbott. she attended a boarding school, so she was a lot younger than me, but her life in her room, the letters she wrote, the adventures she had were always mesmerizing to me. i saw my introvert self in her and then i found myself starting a life that's somehow similar to hers. i was excited about this new beginning at a new country where i know nobody, where i'm determined to excel academically, and to soak in whatever new experiences that come my way, like a dry sponge. i went by bus, i had a book with me but i couldn't read because i was looking outside the window lost in thoughts, fears, and anticipation. 

the second thing was a song i saw in a Disney animation called Anastasia. it arrived to the cinema in Damascus in 1997 or '89, i watched it with my cousins who were very little back then (my kids' ages now) one of them was sitting on my lap (distractions!), but i fell in love with the film specially the songs and i bought the sound track cassette and memorized all songs. one of them in particular was relevant 13 years later. it's called "Journey to the Past". Anastasia was searching for her Russian royal heritage and sang this song as she was traveling, if you make a few replacements ("future" instead of "past" for example) it will be just perfect:

"Heart don't fail me now

Courage don't desert me
Don't turn back now that we're here
People always say
Life is full of choices
No one ever mentions fear
or how a road can seem so long
or how the world can seem so vast
courage see me through
heart I trust in you
on this journey to the past

Somewhere down this road
I know someone's waiting
Years of dreams just can't be wrong
Arms will open wide
I'll be safe and wanted
Finally home where I belong
well starting here my life begins
starting now, I’m learning fast
courage see me through
heart I trust in you
On this journey to the past

Heart don't fail me now
courage don't desert me
Home, love, family
There was once a time
I must've had them too
Home, love, family
I will never be complete until I find you

One step at a time
One hope then another
Who knows where this road may go
Back to who I was
Onto find my future
Things my heart still needs to know
Yes, let this be a sign
Let this road be mine
Let it lead me to my past
courage see me through
heart I trust in you
And bring me home
At Last”

... so, time to get started, here comes the adventure, i'll be praying for you, take lots and lots of photos (silly ones and great ones. you can always delete what you don't like) and write names of places and some dates of major milestones (even if you don't get to start the blog i suggested you write, keep a private note of names and dates, i wish i've done that every time i traveled). and whenever you feel like sharing i'll be curious and exited enough to read or see photos :) 

under His umbrella

Riham

(Alex. Sep.2013)

talk about the effect of watching cartoons on kids (or teens) i wanted to BE Judy Abbot, i loved her skirts, her hats, her desk, her letters and trips to the mailbox, her love for children, her sense of humor, her tears and loneliness, her dreams and positive attitude... i'd love to watch that show all over again as if i'm watching scenes from my 5-year-adventure abroad, the differences between my experience and Judy's include the following, just to name a few: e-mailing my sister (instead of writing letters, even though i did actually receive lovely surprise packages she used to send me to my university inbox, the tangible one not the digital one), i had a single room during 3 years out of 5, i used to go home to visit a great family of mine with real parents and siblings.... 

i guess i should instead just "grow up" and read the original novel by Jean Webster, the characters in my imagination will always be influenced by the cartoon "The One With The Tall Shadow" (Arabic name) صاحب الظل الطويل... thank you Judy for having such a powerful effect on shaping my personality at a crucial age, here's a sentence i never imagined myself saying...

peek-a-blog

shocked? surprised? confused? it's "multigrain woman" you were looking for, a blog that looked like this...

it's the same space with a more real taste from now on. when i started blogging in 2007 i decided that our family blog should be a private one, so i created this other blog yet i didn't have enough courage or clear vision to actually use it. in November 2012 i was looking for a special gift i can give myself on my 33rd birthday, so i refreshed this blog selecting a name i liked "multi-grain woman" and a photo of the Russian doll, read this post to know why...

9 months later i thought that maybe it was time for this new baby to see the light, it took me another month to collect my courage, finalize this decision, and change the name of my blog into a more personal one for me, a name that contains my REAL name in it, as i start the progress of changing this space into a more REAL one because it means a lot to me, it has been a place of refuge, a means of therapy, and a forum for creativity

so this is the announcement i wanted to make, the blog once called MULTIGRAIN WOMAN is now called RIHAMIAT (coming from my name Riham, with the suffices in Arabic that can be translated as "-ics", like electron-ics) the new look was a must, i was looking for bright basic colors with a white background to mark a new beginning, a white page, each time i visit this space, carrying my crayons, my paint brushes, any color i'd like to add through words and pictures. sometimes i'll choose words from the English languages, other times i'll write in Arabic, sometimes i'll google a picture to add, other times i'll use my primitive photography skills to take a photo and post it here... so THIS is what got me excited even thought TODAY might not be the best day in history for me to jump up and down about my blog, today might be the day when the decision was final, to start a war against Syria, i'm talking about white pages here on a day that might turn into a black day for my country (here's an interesting article for you to read)... yet i've decided to do something, if i can't change what will happen to my beloved Syria, then i'll try to change what happens during my days here in Egypt, to compartmentalize my life instead of surrender to depression and make my kids and husband pay the price...

so chin-chin to new beginnings... and please pray for the STOP of yet another ugly war on this earth... 

why the Russian doll and multi-grains?

this is the image i first selected for my blog, and i've been contemplating a change, so i thought of expressing my love for Russian dolls first in case, on any given day, without prior notice, i decided to change this picture:

it's just a cute picture of Russian dolls among many other photos i had selected from google images. but WHY the Russian doll? i guess it's one of the unconscious passions one has for something the reason might be rooted in one's childhood and later in life we try to find reasons for it...

my dad studied in the Russian Soviet Union for six years (1958-1964) then he came back to our country, married my mom and they had 4 children, I'm the youngest. After the year of my birth 1979 he visited Russia several times, but on business trips at work and he brought with him Russian souvenirs and toys. i remember one time he got my sister and i two dolls with blond hair wearing traditional Russian outfits and when he took them out of his suitcase out came a group of blond ants!!! we were used to black little ants but BLOND ANTS? is everyone and everything blond in Russia? the hard part was that we had to kill these blond ants and felt guilty about it...

the main Russian souvenir my dad brought with him had to be a wooden Russian doll, there's something about Russian dolls that attracts and speaks to children so i felt in love with this "forbidden toy", yes we weren't allowed to play with it, my mom spread all 9 of them (and all 7 of the other one) on the piano and the book shelves in our living room.

a decade and a half later i read a novel in Arabic by Ahlam Mostaghanmi, and a paragraph stopped me, the man was saying to his love:

"أي امرأة فيك هي التي أوقعتني؟ كنت معك في دهشة دائمة.فقد كنتِ شبيهة بتلك الدمية الروسية الخشبية التي تخفي داخلها دمية أخرى. وهذه تخفي دمية أصغر، وهكذا تكون سبع دمى داخل واحدة! كنت كل مرة أفاجأ بامرأة أخرى داخلك. وإذا بك تأخذين في بضعة أيام ملامح كل النساء. وإذا بي محاط بأكثر من امرأة، يتناوبن علي في حضورك وفي غيابك، فأقع في حبهن جميعاً. أكان يمكن لي إذن أن أحبك بطريقة واحدة؟ لم تكوني امرأة..كنت مدينة"

أحلام مستغانمي - ذاكرة الجسد

"Which woman in you made me fall? With you I was in constant astonishment because you were like that Russian wooden doll which hides another doll inside, and the latter hides a smaller one, to have seven dolls in one! Every time I'd be surprised with another woman inside you, within a few days you resembled all women and I was surrounded with more than just one woman taking turns with me in your presence and absence so I fell in love with them all. Was it possible for me to love you in a single way? You weren't a woman, you were a city"

i don't know if this is a fair translation, but this was supposed to be a positive thing this woman heard from her love and i in turn fell in love with the idea of a multi-layered female whose man was in constant awe of who she is and the depths of her personality.

i've always been a disciplined female, as a school girl i finished my homework before i started to play, i acted in an acceptable and pleasant manner, i learned to play the piano and later on the flute, as a teenager i was consistent with my quite time and spiritual relationship with God, i wrote poems and rhyme stories... so part of who i am came to me by chance, which means talent, and another part was a result of discipline and hard work.

for some reason, or maybe a reason i'm aware of but will discuss later, during my teenage years i started to develope low self esteem, being a perfectionist made my low self esteem "perfect" too, so during the early years of my adulthood i started to work on fighting these negative thoughs about myself. here i have to give credit to my sister who once said to me (and in English too): "you care TOO much about what people think!!!" and a lightbulb appeared in my head, the work plan was put in action:

1.nurture positive self esteem

2.care less of what people think of me

the problem was that there's a thin line between developing a positive self image and high self esteem on one hand and cultivating arrogance on the other hand. this meant more work on being as humble as a good Christian can be and as special as ME can be, hens the Russian doll, but i didn't want to name my blog after it because i didn't want to identify myself with a "doll" or with a country i've never visited but would like to visit one day, so i started with the fact that i'm a woman (a female) which is an idea i reconciled with after hating my female identity throughout my teenage years (man, i had a lot of serious issues in my past, i'm afraid i'm still carrying some with me :( and i added to it my love for hole grain bread and multi-grain muesli to come up with the name of this blog "multi-grain woman" and the current (above) photo of the Russian doll.

speaking of self image... i saw this amazing video this morning, it's worth watching...

once upon a blog

this is how it all started in 2007 when i decided to start blogging, i selected two names, one of them gradually developed into a VERY personal family blog with detailed news and photos of my life, and the other one was left hibernating...

five years later i decided to write an anonymous blog, this one, to be more free in expressing my thoughts on certain issues, mainly about being a woman and a mother, but much more than that.

so, this is the beginning of this blog's story, once upon a time, a phrase that i love...

in Arabic it's: kan ya ma kan

in Armenian: garou chi gar

being the youngest of 4 children, my mother used to tell me a bedtime story every single day, i wish she had written those story, then we would've had a treasure, but she used to come up with a different story every day then forget it a short while later, but i grew up as story lover, i will share stories from my life on this blog hoping that this space will turn into a story-exchange sphere online so if you felt like sharing a short or a long story, be sure that you're MOST welcome to do so...