My week in thoughts.

Eid has come to an end, and predictably, we did all the visiting. Perhaps its because this generation of Muslims expect an explicit invitation, or perhaps its because visiting people is no longer the 'traditional' way of celebrating Eid, what with the multitude of Eid festivals, carnivals and the like. Most of my friends with children either went away for Eid or didn't take any time off work to do anything. And those without children, well even they haven't made an appearance. Which is sad, really, because I would love for my children to experience the Eids that I grew up with. We were always visited by family and friends- in fact, that's what Eid was all about for me. Seeing the people that I love, gorging on maamul, and overdosing on lollies. It wasn't about the Eideeyeh (monetary gifts) though much appreciated they were. In fact I can't remember a single purchase I made. But I do remember I remember kissing my grandparent's beautiful hands, I remember being greeted with welcoming smiles by my friends and I remember licking the icing sugar off the maamul until I felt sick.
Ah, such is life I suppose. Every generation, there is change. Every generation redefines the meanings and adapts the customs to what they see fit.

Today, for the second consecutive day, I opened the letterbox with squeals of delight. Yesterday it was receiving a certain certificate I've been waiting for, one that will God-willing be the first step in a new and exciting path. Today, however, was something much more special. It was my favourite mail of all- a handwritten letter, addressed to me. From a beautiful friend that I've had the fortune of having in my life for the best part of 5 years now. We've known of each other much longer than that, but it took us both some time to open our doors to one another, not because we didn't want to but because the doors just never seemed to align. Still, better late than never is a sensible way of looking at these things, and indeed its been a blessing to know her and love her. I brought the letter in, sat down in my formal lounge room, sun beaming through the open blinds, and eagerly opened the envelope. I wanted to savour the moment, and I read it all with a smile. Sometimes, I found myself finishing her sentences, because we think alike in many ways. Or nodding in agreement at her observations and thoughts. It will be my turn now to write to her, something I shall look forward to until its done.

The last book I read was The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. A famous little novela that I'd been meaning to read since Wafa did 7 years ago! Still, it was a pleasant read, albeit sad, particularly when placed in the context of his disappearance. But that was almost six months ago. I've since started a number of books, only ever getting about a quarter of the way through, at best. The Man who Fell in Love with His Wife, Recipe for Scandal, Sunday Daffodil and Other Happy Endings, The Politically Incorrect guide to Teenagers, Confessions of a Slacker Wife. I will get around to finishing them, sooner than later now, as Taj will be starting day care next week! Oh, my apologies, I did also read The Gradual Demise of Phillipa Finch, though that took about 30 minutes so it doesn't really count. Entertaining though!

This weekend, I am going to picnic with a gorgeous girlfriend and her delightful children, one of the joyful families I know. They radiate positivity, and I will bask in it and hope that some of it rubs off on me. I will try to give Wafa the space and quiet she needs to prepare for week 2 of trials. She's been under the weather this week, so hopefully she is back to her normal self before the next lot of exams.

I was toying with the idea of reinventing my 'look', something I do quite often. It makes looking in the mirror that much more tolerable. It's like meeting a new person sometimes, and their unfamiliarity is comforting, until familiarity barges in again and she becomes boring and restless and old. But, for some reason, I've managed to talk myself out of it. Not quite sure why, but when I work it out, I will deconstruct my rationale and try to hold on to it to use at a later time. For now though, I am quite content with what I see.

I've been thinking a lot lately about spiritual connections/mental telepathy/unseen communication. I've been thinking about a certain friend whom I have much admiration for and keep meaning to see but it just hasn't happened. Then, I got added by her on FB. Weird eh?! I'm hoping we can reconnect over coffee and/or turkish baths soon.

And that's about it. I have all the usual running around that I always have- meetings with teachers/deputies, cooking, cleaning, taxiing,  counselling, loving etc etc, but that's pretty standard. Nothing so exciting as the lives lead by some of those wonderfuls around me. Still, I can't complain. I won't complain. I'm blessed more than I deserve. Alhamdulilah.

Advice to my children: On Love

When you look for love, look at the soul.

A soul is honest. It cannot masquerade as something it is not.
If it is beautiful, it is the mark of true beauty, a beauty that will never fade.
If it is ugly, it cannot be masked by a chiseled jawline or a perfectly painted canvass.
A soul is bare. It has no colour and sings only God's Creed.
A soul is real. It is the essential transcendent being.
A soul is timeless. It lives and can be loved forever.
So find one that is beautiful to love.

And when you love, love with your soul.

This love is born of the same love you have for God.
It is the only kind of  love that can tame your nafs (ego).
It is the only kind of love that will satisfy you, because it is not formed in the primitive, fleeting realm of desire; rather, creating a sacred space for yearning to bloom.
It has no lexicon, but speaks the most sophisticated language.
It is the purest love, because it exists in an incorruptible plane; it knows only good.
It is unconditional love, because it sets no expectations, it does not only give when it has taken, it is not bound by contracts or agreements.
It is a selfless love, because it is not defined by the confines of 'self'. Rather, it sees two as one, the loved becoming an extension of you.

Love with your soul because only then will you have known what it is to truly love.

But know this.

Not all those we love will requite with soul. There are no guarantees of reciprocity.
That's okay. You should still love. Because, you are only keeper of your own soul,
and there is nothing so nourishing, so exhilarating for the soul as love...


 

Untitled

It's true, we are not all equal.
Some lives are worth more than others
Just like couture is a cut above
that which you find hanging on the store rack.

Some people are made from a priceless fabric
their skin lined with supernal radiance
Their essence the lonsdaleite of mortal form-
Standing shoulder to shoulder with
Perfection.
They are born with light in their eyes,
that can never be extinguished
Not in life and not by death.

Yes, you are right when you choose to ignore
Those precious souls departed
For you could never do justice
with your limited, earthly narrative
In telling the story whose language
is beyond our knowing;

It's unfolding will come on That Day
with the seraphic tongue of the Other-World
It will ring loud and overhead,
It will command an ubiquitous audience.

And after it's telling, it will
Bear witness to Perfect Justice
and effloresce onto paperless scrolls
 released into Timeless Time
For all to remember:

Those that were not born equal
Their lives worth more than others
Their essence the lonsdaleite of mortal form-
Standing shoulder to shoulder with
Perfection.
They were born with light in their eyes,
that was never extinguished
Not in life and
not by death.

Another 30 or so tips for my children

In the same vain as the earlier list of 30 (hard to believe its almost 2 years old now!), again in no particular order. Just an opportunity/excuse to vent publicly really.

* Check that the kettle has water in it before turning it on.
* Don't play with the toaster settings.
* Eat toast over a plate. In fact, eat everything over a plate.
* Finish what's on your plate even if you don't like it.
* Chew with your mouth closed.
* Sit down when eating or drinking.
* When you drink a glass of water, rinse the damn cup! Don't leave it in the sink.
* Eat from what's directly in front of you.
* Never describe food as 'yucky'- that you even have food is a blessing.
* When offered a slice of cake, don't go for the biggest slice.
* Use a peeler to peel potatoes, unless you are an expert at using a knife, otherwise you will be wasting so much of the potato.
* Don't eat or drink anywhere near technology. We can't afford any more keyboards.
* Run the water on any crockery you use, even if you're not the one doing the washing up.
* When you take off your socks, make sure both end up in the dirty washing basket, otherwise don't be surprised if you don't get a pair back.
* Reuse a towel. You used it when you were your cleanest. It doesn't need to be washed after a single use!
* Jeans can be worn at least 3 times. Unless you're a grub. They get more comfortable after a couple of wears.
* Put CDs and DVDs back in their case after using them.
* Better yet, don't use them at all unless you have express permission.
* Pack your Lego away after playing with it. My feet can't take any more damage.
* Put your puzzles away. A lost piece of the puzzle makes me really unhappy.
* Turn off computers when you have finished using them.
* Don't read in the dark- you'll damage your eyes.
* Own up when you do something wrong- you'll be in far less trouble than if we find out you did it.
* Brush your teeth!!!
* Do your homework the day you get it.
* Don't yell.
* Don't slam doors. EVER.
* Don't call me from another room. Come and speak to me.
* Bring your school bag in from the car when we get home.
* Don't call each other names, even in jest.

Marrying outside the box.

Yomna Touni, a dear friend of mine, once asked me to blog about

"How you managed to get your way. And not do what all the Arab mums expect from you"

Perhaps some might wonder what she meant by that. I know, as I'm sure many other Arabs will too,  though the word 'Arab' could be just as readily swapped for any number of other cultural groups.

It's the whole 'marrying from your own background' thing. It's meant to be the better choice, because, in theory, it gives you the best chance at success. It's meant to remove at least one obstacle, namely cultural differences, hence making it easier for a couple to 'mesh'. In theory, they should have a relatively comparable upbringing, with similar everyday practices, a common language, familiar foods and most importantly, a shared understanding of gender roles and responsibilities. It minimises the risk of a culture clash whether it be between the couple or their families.

Yomna wanted to know how I managed to marry outside of my culture, assuming that it was effectively me 'getting my way'.

Well, if I'm being completely honest, it wasn't that difficult. I guess, in some ways, I had the 'benefit' of having tried the theoretically sound option- my first husband had been Lebanese. He'd spent much of his formative years in the same city as my mother, so he effectively shared her, and to a large extent, my cultural upbringing. He'd also gone to school here, so statistically, we should have been an almost perfect match, culturally speaking. But we weren't. Without going into the detail of it, our marriage failed. We got divorced and our relationship now, as parents to three wonderful children, is, to put it mildly, fractured.

You'll notice my frequent use of the term 'theoretically'. That's because theory can often have very little to do with practice. This is especially true where human relationships are concerned, because there is nothing linear or straightforward about humans. There is no formula, no balanced equation. Balancing an equation requires certain knowledge of the elements involved; in a relationship, there is no way of even knowing what all of those elements are never mind what their value will be. And so, in my opinion, the whole 'marry from your own background to improve your chances' hypothesis isn't as solid as one might hope. As far as I'm concerned, insisting on cultural sameness adds another layer of constraint.

But I digress. So, here I was, a divorced mother of three at just 24 years old. I had no real intention to remarry, in fact I was quite content being on my own. But that's by the by. Destiny would have it that Sean and I would meet. Two individuals. At least that's how we chose to look at it. We spoke a similar narrative, in terms of our histories and our hopes for the future. Intellectually, we matched. And whilst our cultures couldn't be more different, we were very explicit in articulating what we would and wouldn't accept, what we did and didn't want. We came into it with eyes wide open, without the foggy screens of happily-ever-afters and the chimerical promise of forevers.

I informed my parents and introduced him to my dad almost immediately, because I knew that he was a far better judge of character than I was and because I am fortunate enough to have that sort of relationship with them. Dad liked him. I was relieved. The truth was that they too had accepted the unpredictability of marriage, courtesy of my example. So they kept an open mind. They trusted my judgement. Their only wish was my happiness, and if that meant sanctioning an intercultural marriage, then so be it.

Of course, not everyone in our community (or our family for that matter!) is as accepting as that. I remember one particular uncle sternly telling my father that by allowing this union, he was opening the door for other girls in our family to follow suit. Tsk Tsk. And a cousin refused to attend the family meet-and-greet, stating that "I'd probably be onto husband no. 3 in no time".  So, I know that it's still new terrain for many of the old-schoolers. And we got many a stare for both communities in those early years, where the contrast was most stark. ''Fallen woman" scowls from mine, and "terrorist sell-out" from his.

Time is beginning to change that, and I'm happy to say I know quite a few people who have ventured into the world of mixed marriage. I can speak from almost 11 years experience when I say that it's a marriage just like any other, with its ups and downs, with its victories and its tribulations. Like most things, perspective is so important. I see him as another person. As a man. As an individual, flaws and all. And I'd like to think, he sees me in the same way. Not as his exotic Syrian wife, but as an equal, free from all the baggage that culture can bring.

I have told my children to do the same- to look beyond culture, and to not let what others think colour their judgement. Because marriage is hard without those added constraints.

So there's your answer Yomna. I can't say it was me 'getting my way', rather, it was destiny played out on fertile ground. 

Gone With the Wind

A poem I wrote over a decade ago... just stumbled across it, so thought I'd share.



Gone with the wind-- a tragedy
Gone with the wind-- mere memories
Tomorrow is another day
Today a chapter laid away
Seal it with red hot candle wax
Shut it away inside its box
Muzzle it in pressing urgency
With a 'safer' vocabulary
Pretense never before sufficed
Now it seems the only advice
Outward vision a less painful choice
Reject the cries of the inner voice
To have touched it is a blessing
Let it be a distant caressing
Resentment has no dwelling here
Tread gracefully in spite of fear
Gone with the wind-- a tragedy
Gone with the wind-- mere memories
Tomorrow is another day
Today a chapter laid away.

Birthdays

Next week, my oldest and my youngest celebrate their birthdays. She turns 17 and he 2. My children's birthdays are a time to pause and contemplate the people that they are. Where they are, and where they've come from. The evolution that has taken place since we last counted candles (metaphorically speaking, because we don't do candles anymore, but that's another story). I try to consciously consider them not as 'my children', because that carries with it too much subjectivity, too much bias, but as individuals in their own right.

Wafa. A passionate young woman, with much ambition and drive. This last 12 months, I have seen her flourish; she has the courage of her convictions and is tirelessly and persistently working towards them. She is much more willing to vocalise her views publicly, and has spoken at her first rally. She is less fraught about having to explain her beliefs, having accepted that its not something she should have to do but rather, she can choose to if she so wishes. She can debate (I would say argue, but I'm sure she would prefer I said debate) her way out of any situation, and often proves her points eloquently and convincingly, which is why I think a career as a lawyer or human rights activist would be quite fitting. And she is still the queen of hyperbole (she's been wearing the crown for a good few years now!) and has kvetching down to an art (just kidding, sweetheart :) ) .

She's cognizant of her strengths, and even more so of her weaknesses, which can be counterproductive at times, but better that than arrogant.

Wafa is clever, charismatic and beautiful. She still doubts my compliments because I'm her mum, but I'm not the only person who thinks as much. I'm hoping that once she transitions from high school student, to university student and has the opportunity to see her reflections in many more environments, she will be more willing and able to see what I see.

Taj. A little man in a toddler's body is how I could best describe him. He has boundless inquisitiveness that he's constantly trying to feed. Like his eldest sister, he seems to require very little sleep, and can function optimally and energetically on as little as 8 hours. He already has a well-developed sense of self, and is more than capable of asserting himself whenever he wants to. I guess, being the youngest child, his survival instinct is very strong.

Taj is also clever, charismatic and beautiful. He believes me though, when I tell him, and repays me smiles of agreement, hugs and kisses. That's the nice thing about babies. They haven't yet been jaded by the harsh inhabitants of this world. Sadly, I know Wafa has, and despite my desperate want to shield her, I didn't always succeed. She's learning how to deal with those people in her own way, using her own resilience to deflect and rise above it.

Birthdays are also a time to reflect on my own parenting, in the hope that it continues on an upward trajectory. I know I don't always get it right and I'm as flawed as the next mum irrespective of how well-intentioned I might be. But I also know that I love my children more than anything in this world, and that they will always come first, come what may. I know that my parenting can often be seasoned by my own experiences and that I need to be able to recognise and change that, if its unhealthy. I also recently learnt, from a very wise person, that I can't be mum and dad and should stop trying to be. It's easier said than done, because one thing I do know about myself is that I can be a bit of a control freak.

I'm also taken back to their births. Contrasted, they were vastly different experiences, and I was a vastly different person each time;  the 19 year old version is barely discernible to me, she seems such a stranger now. When I read some of my diary entries from around that time, I find it hard to find anything at all in common with that naive and hopeful child. To think that she was about to embark on the biggest life event and that her world would forever be changed is both awe and anxiety inspiring. I wish I could go back and assure her that she will be okay. That despite all that destiny would throw at her, she would get through it and emerge a more knowing woman.

And the mother of Taj, far more recognisable, I would tell her to savour every second of it, because it will (God-willing) be the very last time. Every kick, every contraction, that newborn perfume, the euphoria that only nursing can trigger- they will all be lasts. But never forgotten. Always treasured, and kept ready for retrieval when it gets overwhelming or lonely. Memories to take with me to next place, to remind them of the blessed and the beautiful times here.

Happy birthday darlings. May you both live fabulous lives, ones that you can be proud of and remember with fondness and love.

Thinking in numbers

When I was at university, I came across a very interesting and useful piece of research- Howard Gardner's Multiple Intelligences. This Harvard professor and developmental psychologist had identified 9 distinct types of intelligences. As teachers, we were meant to utilise these to better understand and therefore better cater for our students, by recognising the ways in which each of them thinks and using that to modify our modes of instruction, assessment etc. I've found this just as useful outside of the classroom, whether it be in better understanding my own children, the people in my life and even myself. It's also a useful tool to apply to the broader context of one's life, not just to problem-solve, but to interpret the world and all it contains. Whilst most people will have a unique blend of these intelligences, they will often have a leaning towards one more than others. Importantly, however, by understanding the different types, people can potentially work on developing aptitude in those types that they might be weaker in.

Take the logical-mathematical mind- I have at least one child who has one! Known for their great ability to think abstractly, they are highly analytical and logical in their approach to problem-solving. In a nutshell, they 'think in numbers' and can identify and attach numerical patterns to almost everything. Whilst I am not a born logical-mathematical minded thinker, I can see the value in viewing the world in this way. There is much scope for clarity and order when using this approach to everyday functioning.

 

By thinking in numbers, one can better monitor their thought patterns, noting the proportions one spends thinking about things. And, if they notice a pattern emerging that is counter-productive, where, for example, they have thought of something negative a dozen times more than something positive, then they can address that more readily and constructively.

Scenario: So, I read to my children 8 times in the last 2 weeks, and that gave me a great sense of satisfaction. But I can recount 30 times that I focused on my impending commitments that would entail me being away from my children. That is disproportionately more than that 8 times. So how can I change that? Well, in any number of ways, but firstly, one must identify that often, it is the negatives that we tend to focus on, especially when it comes to self-reflection, and whilst there is a great deal of good that comes from that, there should be at the very least,  an equal and opposite amount of positive self-reflection and focus. By doing the math, we can actively calculate the gap that needs to be filled, in this case, 22 positives. Like, ‘I really enjoyed listening to that nasheed’, or ‘I am very happy with how productive I’ve been around the house’ etc etc. Make lists if necessary. Whatever it takes to ensure that equation is balanced.

The other advantage to tapping into that intelligence is that, in my humble opinion, it would keep emotions in check. None of this 'spiralling into a deep depressive state'- you'd be better able to catch yourself before it got that dire. You are more able to rationalise and reason, more equipped to focus on the nuts and bolts of any given situation. Which can only be a good thing. I reckon at least one person in any relationship needs to think in this way. To keep things grounded, to offer momentum when its needed, and offer an anchor when its not.

So that's my 2 cents on the issue. I'll be off to work on some logical-mathematical capacity building exercises. Until then, adieu!

 

...

I have a beautiful friend whom I've known for almost a decade. I met her as she was barely entering adulthood. She was still single then, and seemed to see the entire world through rose-coloured glasses. She appeared to be perpetually content, always wore a smile and saw the bright side of any situation. At the time of our meeting, I was going through a particularly dark time, and it certainly wasn't made any easier by my predisposition to depression/the blues/low mood (depending on who you ask). So, when I met this girl, and as I got to observe her consistency in outlook in a number of situations, I put it down to the fact that she was young, unmarried and for the most part, carefree. No one could be that happy otherwise, I'd say.

Fast forward a few tumultuous years- a marriage, a special needs child, a divorce and everything that those things entail, and her demeanour has not faltered any: she is still the content, perpetually positive, silver-lining-seeker that she always was.

Which got me thinking. What is that special something that makes people see the world in this way? How is it that despite all adversity, this woman can and does still smile? Why does she never appear lonely or sad or dissatisfied with her lot? What can I do to be more like her?

Perhaps, the answer lies in not looking beyond today.
Or prioritising, over all things, the one constant that we all have, our connection with The Creator.
Or marching to the beat of a different drum.
Or loving ourselves enough such that we are enough. Even alone, we are enough.
Or only ever focussing on the good things that come.
Or trivialising the things that don't go right, the things we don't have.
Or surrounding ourselves with people like her.
Or reminding ourselves of the temporal nature of this time.
Or taking up a new hobby.
Or accepting when something isn't working and letting it go.
Or moving away.
Or fasting.


Ramadan has put me in a pensive mood.

Handwritten Letters.

Let me explain why I write.

Because, I love.

And love can travel

from where it resides, 

the nourished blood its host-

through the arteries

until it arrives to the fibers of the hand.

And through that hand, 

It acquires a voice. 

A vulnerable voice that speaks 

an honest language. 

Guiding the pen across the page, 

it speaks with no qualms- 

A steady stream of raw reality.

It is an art- 

because its form conveys emotion

and gifts the reader with something beautiful to behold.

It is a science-

because it inspires a sense of wonder

reconciling thought with creative output.

-and that's why I write.