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 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.
I sometimes lose sight of “a bit of me” in the process of planning my happy ever after, and I’m not particularly fussy, nor detail- oriented. I like looking at the big picture, but I still lose sight of “a bit of me”, which brings me to the conclusion that the conviction I’ve always had about life remaining indefinitely the same is really a myth. Life changes.
“Meet you halfway”
It just does, and when you’re planning your happy ever after, you plan for two. You think for two. You live for two. It seems simple in theory, but practice can be tricky, so I’m learning that the key to making ends meet is really to preempt what is awaiting instead of diving into it blindfolded. It helps.
You’ve got to envision the end result, and think to yourself: it’s me, Mr. Love, our warm fuzzy little home, our happy big books, and to get there, there are just a few (transitional) facts that you would want to come to terms with:
- You will prioritise: and by prioritising, I mean Mr. Love will come first, not your reading, not your writing, and yes (sorry to break the news), not your friends. He will (so effortlessly to your heart) come first.
- Your social life will take a temporary nap: and that is OK because the truth is: read no 1. again, and you are also constantly trying to find the right balance between you time, you-two time, his friends time, your friends time, and there’s just not enough time in the day, or week to juggle it all in. There is no digital magic wand for that just yet (sorry).
- And then there will be those days when you get the urge to flee, and you will wonder (yes, you will) what on God’s (not so) green earth are you doing it all for?
And love will (not so) surprisingly be your answer. It will so uncommonly be your voice of reason, and for the sake of love, you will walk steady and be just fine. You will prioritise. You will be less of a social butterfly. You will (sometimes happily- sometimes less happily) exchange a wild night out with a movie night in. You will introduce a new small section to your wardrobe (for when you meet the parents). You will choose to move into a house with a kitchenette instead of a proper kitchen (because you can see the look on Mr. Love’s face when he finds his dream house). You will do it all, and you will not risk losing any bit of “you”, because you two are meeting halfway and finding a common ground, and once you do (and you will), there you will have it: your happy ever after.