My Lebanon, My Tripoli

So at a public park in Southern California, a little boy came and took my son’s toy truck. My son didn’t mind sharing at all.  In fact, he was excited to play with someone. I told the Hispanic mother, who seemed upset with her child, that it was fine. I answered her in Spanish, so she approached me and asked me where I was from. I simply told her I’m Lebanese. She grimaced to a point where her whole face changed, and she sighed. It took her a minute to say: well, you don’t look Lebanese so maybe it is better not to tell people that you’re from Lebanon.

Had this happened a few months ago, I would have just nodded and perhaps agreed with her silently. Before I left, I'd felt as if I was shrinking myself to fit in a place I have outgrown. I was constantly complaining about everything from traffic, to chaos down to every little detail. I could not wait for the moment I was out of there.

However, with all that is going on in my country for the past month, I could not have been prouder of my nationality and my homeland. I am so honored to belong to this country. I did not know I have this much patriotism running in my blood.

The people nationwide showed a great deal of strength, determination, resilience, creativity, sense of humor and courage. They demolished barriers of sectarianism. They erased labels. They stood up against the political monster, and they still do.

I could not be even prouder to be the daughter of Tripoli, the concrete Cinderella. Tripoli never had the chance to wear her gown, go to the ball and meet her prince charming. Tripoli was always exhausted and drained. Now Tripoli has sewn and worn its prettiest dress and has shown the world her true beauty. Tripoli is a princess, if not a queen.

Right this instant, I would trade everything to walk down Tripoli’s streets, eat its kaake, smell my mom’s cooking, hear my dad’s voice in prayer and talk to my sister and brother. Right this instant, I would trade everything to be there. I am not physically in my city for the time being, but I will always be there mentally, emotionally and spiritually.

From that day forward, I knew that I should raise my chin high when saying I am Lebanese. My people are making history!

Photo Credits: Omar El-Imady

Steep Stairs

People are made of souls, words and a whole lot of memories. Memories shape our smiles and frowns and leave traces on our faces. Memories of true joy, love and even sorrow never leave our brain. We just store them throughout the years, only to become hard to retrieve, yet never lost.

My memory looks like a giant art gallery or a conference hall: spacious, lit in some parts, dim in others and very vivid.
I keep in the center of the hall my favorite mental images. These special images are placed in fancy frames which are mounted on the walls with a light shed on each one. They include souvenirs with my loved ones and most of my "firsts". The biggest frame belongs to the first time I held my son.

Down memory lane exist rooms, designated for specific people. My husband, mom, sister, niece and nephew, dad, brother, cousins and all my close friends and family have their own room.
These rooms are so big, they can accommodate millions of images and moments. 

And a few steps down the corridor, there is an attic, only accessible through steep stairs.
In that attic in my brain, I have piled up memories I was too afraid to let go of. I hoarded these dusty memories over the years until they became worthless and useless. So it was time to clean up.

I decided to let go of thoughts which no longer served their purpose, reminiscences of people whom I imagined would stay in my life but chose otherwise, and moments that got replaced by better ones. 
I got rid of grudges, sad flashbacks, negative feelings and a bunch of anger.
I threw a huge box of guilt, regret, self blame and anything that would weigh me down.
I destroyed photos, kisses and hugs from people I crossed oceans for but didn't even bother jump a puddle for me. And I moved on.

My attic is now all cleaned up, rearranged with valuable remembrances, happy childhood stories and plenty of positivity.

My last day!

Yesterday was my last day wearing my pink teacher uniform. Yesterday, I ended a career which lasted eight years; a career that started off a bit rough, then got smoother around the edges with time.

I have mixed feelings, beautiful memories and a great outlook for the new change coming my way.

I am proud to call myself a teacher. I am proud to belong to this faction of people who dedicate their time, effort and mental, emotional and physical abilities to their learners.

I have loved each and every person I taught. I still remember their names whenever I meet them outside the school, even if years have passed . I am still in contact with a lot of my old students. They have grown to become fine young ladies, and what warms my heart is that they never fail to smile, hug or talk to me each time they see me.

A teacher’s job is far from easy, however, it is very rewarding.
It is rewarding when a girl I taught six years ago meets me in a shop and tells you how she can never forget me.
It is rewarding when a girl tells me that I have changed her life and I was her motivation.
It is rewarding when a student I taught when she was in grade 1 came to visit me seven years later, when I gave birth.
It is rewarding when siblings of old students get excited when they find out I am their teacher.
It is rewarding when my 6^th graders throw me a farewell party, make a buffet, bring gifts and flowers, write letters and cry when I said goodbye.
It is rewarding when I know I helped shape up personalities, build characters and encourage positive thinking.

I may not be the greatest teacher. I made mistakes, just like every human being. We all slack off at times, too. But deep inside, I know I have loved my students like my own kids.

As much as I helped them, they helped me as well. As much as they grew, I have grown with them, too.
They helped me become a better person, a better version of me, a more patient, compassionate and loving person.
I am glad to have got to know beautiful people and coworkers, whom I call friends now.
I am so thankful for this experience. And I’m looking forward to what the future holds.

Two...

She was the ripest peach in the batch,
he just didn’t like fruit
She was a cup of coffee freshly brewed,
but he drank tea instead
She was a sunset;
orange, purple and red;
but he was color blind
She was a joyful parade,
and he was a grey cloud
She was a cool summer breeze,
yet he preferred to stay inside
She was a tear of joy,
well, he never cried.

                                     Nisreen Naja

Celebrating my first!

On April 26^th, 2016, at 10:50 am, I saw his face for the first time. They put him against my chest and the tears streamed down my face. I knew from that moment that I’ll never be alone and I’ll cease being nothing. Because now I am everything, to him, I am his MOTHER!

And as I see him crawling or taking little steps before my eyes, I know that my soul is embodied in that tiny human. My soul is in the shape of my son.

There is no proper arrangement of letters which form words that describe the amount of love I feel towards him. I'm usually capable of expressing myself, however, when it comes to him, I’m speechless.

My whole purpose in life is watching him grow. There’s nothing I want more for him than inner happiness. No wealth, no fame is important, just pure happiness.

I will allow my body to decay as long as he is fine.
I will continue to spend nights standing on my feet holding him tight, until he falls asleep.
I will always smile when I see his face.

May God be content with him. May He guard him and protect him. May he grow to become a caring son, a loving husband and an amazing dad.

A guest blogger: Ahmed

Hello everybody! This is Ahmed. Today, I’m taking over Mommy’s blog. I hope she doesn’t notice until after I publish my post.

So, there it goes.

My name is Ahmed Alexander. I’ll be seven months old soon. I still live with my parents. I sleep in my own bedroom though.
 My favorite foods are bananas. But I hate avocados, they are gross! I love books and songs. I attack phones and remote controls.  I enjoy the outdoors and I like flowers.
Sleeping is my enemy so I fight it all the time! Oh, and I dislike wearing shoes.

Here is some more insight about my logic!

      The food that falls on my bib is tastier than what Mommy is feeding me. So I’m going to lick it instead and completely ignore her.

      Oh, here comes the spoon! Let me put two fingers in my mouth while eating, so my Mom can use a whole box of tissues to clean up just one feeding.

      Let me wait until Mommy is stuck in traffic, so I can throw a fit, cry and whine and make her life miserable.

      We are leaving the house! How about a surprise: a huge poopoo. It’ll come out of my diaper and reach my back. This way, my Mommy will spend half an hour wiping it and will run late.

      My mom is changing my diaper, so I will escape her grip and roll on my belly.

      A nap? Haha! I’ll pretend I want to sleep until she runs out of songs and patience, then I’ll show her that it’s a false alarm.

      I ate, slept and I’m all clean! How about I cry and confuse the hell out of my Mommy?

      It’s 4:30 AM! Ahhhh, perfect time to play!

      I’m staying with daddy. So I’m going to be the nicest boy in the world. I will not nag or bother him.

      I’m getting dressed. I will scream so loud, the neighbors will know how much I hate it.

      A clean and nice bib! You know what can make it nicer? A milk stain or spit! Maybe both!

Well, I won’t tell you everything today because I’m still learning! And even when I do all this and more, my mom still gives me cuddles and kisses, reads me stories and sings funny songs! So I’m very happy to be her son!

My SUN!!!

At a certain point in time, I thought I had everything in life figured out. I was able to juggle between work, university, foreign language classes, gym, housework  (the least possible - of course), writing, going out and all the regular things normal people do.
Until something happened and it all changed: I became a mom!
I watched my normal routines fade away and new habits and things I have thought I’d ever do, replace them.

Now, after almost 6 weeks, I have embraced my motherhood. I find it completely normal to sniff butts to check out for poop. To get peed on. To suck boogers out of tiny noses using a special device. To differentiate between 700 different types of creams and medications. And to use only one hand to do a thousand thing while carrying an infant on the other arm. And the list goes on...

Now, most of my afternoons consist of a crying baby, a hungry cat, food attempted to be cooked but burning on the oven instead and me wanting to pee all at the same time. And nights turned into a cycle of showers, sterilizing bottles and doing laundry!

Now, it’s okay to arrive late to any event looking like an old pair of socks and smelling like a rotten mushroom. Now, it’s fine surviving on four to five hours of sleep. Now, rotating between 3 outfits is acceptable, and wearing a milk-stained shirt is the new trend.

And I think by now, my husband made peace with my new Zombie look. And the bags under my eyes believe they are designer.

My new hobbies include walking around the house trying to calm my colic baby. I also took up singing; only nursery rhymes and songs I make up. I can now balance holding a car seat, a diaper bag, my purse and the groceries all at once. Travelling is enjoyable too, however, we only travel to one destination: Grandma Land. What else?

Well, all of that doesn’t weigh a feather compared to the smile I see on my son’s face. Watching him grow, interact with us, fall asleep peacefully in my arms are ridiculously and insanely rewarding.
Looking him in the eye and kissing his little toes are the new meaning to my life. And keeping him safe is what I live and die for.

If I were to go through all the pain and sufferings of pregnancy and labor, I would all over again, in a heartbeat. Besides, he’s the one who heard my heartbeats from the inside, and he became the one my heart beats for. I now have a small piece of heaven, I have a son.