I make a shy comeback on the blog this morning.
It’s been almost two years. Too much has happened.
I’ve developed an undying affection for Lady Gaga (now always a star in my eyes), I’ve written my first book in Arabic AND for children (can’t get any better), I freelance on full-time basis now (I know, right?), and the most magical thing of all? Almost 1.5 years ago (around the same time I went MIA on the blog), Mr. Love and I were blessed with the most squishable and vibrant little energy ball. Everything I love about Mr. Love, and few things I don’t dislike about myself either, she’s an amalgam of warmth, but saying she’s been keeping me on my toes would be an understatement.
-Zaha in a Bekai field, August 2018-
Life has become, no matter how prepared I thought I was, chaotic. All this talk about making her part of our lives, and carrying on as carefree as I would have liked us to be, turned out to be nonsense. She became LIFE, as simple as that really. And then over a year later, having given her time, love, space to grow, I see in front of me a confident independent (except at bedtime naturally) kind little human, and my heart explodes every single day.
I would like to believe I did a pretty good job, Mr. Love too. He’s been a true rock throughout this whole parenthood journey, and I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings. Right now, I want it to bring more squeezing, more winter (Hey Dubai), and surely more writing. I’ve missed you.
I am usually overly excited around this time of the year. Thanksgiving Turkey dinners, UAE National Day celebrations, Christmas in Beirut, Wham! on repeat, Micheal Buble overdose, a new year with Mr. Love, December is a mashup of all my favorite things combined, except this year, I am fearing it.
Stereotyping, hatred and atrocity have plagued our lives and our world this year. Hence, as excited as I intend to be this December, a part of me fears what is to happen to the world amidst all the Holiday cheers.
We owe our world more tolerance, more empathy, more compassion, more solidarity.
We owe our world more love. Please start today #WhatMakesUsHuman
I’ve been having micro-nightmares, possibly implied by all things scary haunting the media on regular basis. Aging frightens me. Not my own aging, but my parents’. Having lived in a different country for the past 11 years, means that- in spite of all my efforts to be as present as I can- I am not by their side everyday. Surely technology is helping, but is not enough. Neither are the 30 days off I get per year (Thank God for the public sector).
– at the Soap House – #AFFOB
As hard as I try to brush the thought of it off my mind, and as true and realistic as I am, aging still frightens me. I know it’s the drill, and the cycle of life (and all that jazz), but these parents made me, and my siblings. Their love created me, and then nurtured me into becoming the person I am today. And as I woke up this morning with these deliberations in my head, I thought of the struggle I’ve been witnessing in the media, of refugees sharing their stories (Humans of New York ‘s Brandon Stanton depicts it best). As difficult as getting misplaced and humiliated is, their biggest ache always comes from losing family, and their biggest relief and hope, despite it all, is having managed to keep their family close.
I am grateful today, for having had my family near (far, but near), and having had the blessing to be raised amongst them, and my hope for me and Mr. Love, for our generation and generations to follow is to be able to give life and love to our children amongst our families, in a kinder and safer world.
“…Peru is a wake-up call, a reminder of “real” things that matter, of the beauty of a universe that we should strive to preserve. No matter what you expect, Peru will give you more: more nature, more beauty, more art, more food, but mostly more modesty, more simplicity, more love and more goodness.”
Mona Karaoui – A diary in Peru
Source: Mona Karaoui – A diary in Peru – Travel Junkie DiaryTravel Junkie Diary
I love this video.
Women speaking from the heart, reminiscing about their youth, the to-DON’T-do lists they wish they had, the goodnight kisses and the dancing they wish they indulged in.
These wise women argue that the most important thing to us as human beings should be “being” instead of doing. I couldn’t agree more #LetGo
I’ve been avoiding reading through Marion’s previous adventures. I feel as if I have disappointed her. I left her trapped inside the electronic pages of a fool for words’ blog, from which she never emerged. I tried, but the thing with writing (or with me) is I can’t force it. It has to call for me. It has to come to me. I can’t sit myself down and decide to take Marion places. She calls on me to go wherever she wants, and I take her: to her love and back, to her hometown and back, my words take her wherever she wishes – the romantic fool in me – and she’s always been happy that way. I always got her, and she got me, never forcing me into an area of discomfort. She’s been one of my realest friends for a very long time, but this year, she is laying so incredibly low, I can barely sense her presence, and it pains me, because Marion and I, we grew older together, we lived each other’s realities and fantasies, whilst always somehow managing to stay side by side.
-courtesy of a fist full of bolts-
I just finished reading Paula Hawkins’ Girl on the Train, and throughout the whole novel, I kept thinking to myself: how could her main protagonist be so rough of a character? How did Paula manage to bring her into life so vividly whilst preserving her own sanity? She seemed very much alive to me that I’m so envious of them both right now. I’ve got to make this happen, and I will. Hang in there Marion. I am coming for you.