Dear Syria

 Dear Syria,

I can’t believe your streets are hollow while people hide in basements and attics or flee across borders… I miss you, as I am sure thousands of your other children do.

I remember my dad taking me to Bab Touma and Kassah, where he grew up, and taking us through the streets and shops, retracing the footsteps he used to take to school and my mom showing us her university campus in Aleppo where she would spend hours finishing up her architecture projects and where she used to buy a sandwich from every time she was hungry…  I remember eating “sabbarah” after a tis’eeyeh dinner at Tric Trac café at Le Meridian hotel, then having provenceal style frog legs for lunch at the Shallal. I even remember that odd restaurant called “the Station” the best escalope of my life. I wonder what happened to that one waiter that served at the restaurant for the eight or so years we used frequent in our visits. Is he still alive?  I remember going to the monastery where my uncle lives nestled in the heart of Tellal, one of the popular market streets, attending mass with the Armenian Syrians gathered up in Sunday mass in the church just beside the monastery… I couldn’t then believe why my uncle would come back to Syria when he had the option to stay in Italy. I couldn’t believe it because I was too young to understand what it means to love your country with all its cracks and holes.

I remember standing from my grandparents’ balcony, on Baghdad street, overlooking the park  and my grandpa would just stare out into the hot summer day, polluted with diesel fuel and car horns. I miss those yellow decorated cabs with the sarcastic cab drivers and hearing some old guy in a tattered beanie yelling “JABBBASS” (watermelon in Allepo dialect) as he pulled the half broken carriage from a donkey. I miss the sound of the church bells and the call to prayer from the mosque that stood in their magnificent pride side by side. I don’t know when I will stand on that balcony again…

I am sorry for all the times I thought you did not live up to “western” standards, for making fun of you for having “Cheer up” instead of “7Up”. Forgive me for calling you backward in the face of modern society. Being unique and different was a flaw to me, now I see it as beautiful. Forgive me Syria, I was only a kid. Forgive your children who abandoned you many years ago, those who couldn’t live out their dream under a single “house” had no choice but to make a home on foreign soil…

Come back to us stronger and more beautiful. Keep your solidarity and pride. I know my parents and grandparents’ heart aches to watch you suffer as you bury your children in the land they call home. I am sorry you had to watch history take its toll on your soil once more… but I hope this is the last time. I hope the future brings you peace and serenity. I hope it restores the comradeship that Syrians once had for each other. I hope you blossom once more, Damascus you beautiful rose.

Love always,

Celine

The Start of my Day

9:23am Snooze alarm again. It always seems like a battle even with the hour grace period for Ramadan. Flip over to switch on the light. Crap my body is soar, my hamstrings especially. I flip back over slamming my head back onto the pillow that has taken the form of the side of my head. 2 more minutes. 9:28 damn iPhone alarm ringing again as I was about to continue my interrupted dream. My eyes yank open to a lit room. I tear myself away from under the sheets and put my hand on my lip. My scar is still there… aghh bikini waxing was never as painful as this upper lip tear. I remind myself to never go back to her. I slip on my ballerina slippers and check my blackberry and iPhone for any messages or emails. Nothing, except for junk mail. There are a few status updates on my blackberry friends list. Why do I have a need to do that, it’s almost become automatic. I drag myself to my beauty cabinet, and take out my hydra-moisturizer. Damn scar still hurts every time I move my lips. I continue on as usual, Vaseline Rose lip balm from London, concealer, light pink blush, mascara. Now my hair, an untamed mess of brown locks. God bless the clip, I just grab my hair into a semi bun and clip it altogether. There this ought to do it. I swing open my closet door and stare blankly at the pile of clothes. I reach for the tanned jumpsuit that my mom bought me from her trip to from Greece, Corfu to be more exact. More importantly it is comfortable under my abaya. I open my door to my maltese acting like a circus monkey jumping and turning and dancing on his hind feet. How can anyone be that jolly in the morning? I pat him on his head before I go in to the bathroom to brush my teeth.


10:05am Glasses still on, I climb up one flight on stairs. My hamstrings are still tight, I need to tell Pat. I walk into the foyer and through the glass doors into my office floor. Another week, but I can’t eat or drink in the office. It’s a good thing I remembered to put yoghurt in my purse in case I got hungry later. I knock onto the door of the kitchenette and Jalal opens the door babbling in Urdu on the phone. I give him the yoghurt and packed spoon and give him one of those “I am sorry but can you please but this in the fridge” smiles. I quickly grab a bottle of Nestle water and place it in the women’s bathroom. I am ready to start my day. I love Saturday’s for one reason only, most markets are closed which means I can catch up on my reading. I sit on my black swivel chair and place my purse and laptop bag on the mahogany desk. I look at my calendar and realize that I have four days before I know my CFA fate. My heart is suddenly in my throat and I felt queasy. I really don’t want to fail.

Cross Roads

When you are too consumed in the dailies, and the “looking forward to” moments are reduced to weekend plans, that end up being pretty much the same every week, it is easy to lose track of time, and more importantly of yourself.
Taking a step back to capture a panoramic view of your life is always a good reflection, or at least a confessional. Being objective about YOU is tough, but acknowledging your life in its entirety is a good start. You can see where you are at the cross roads, and decide “where do I go next?” I often find myself at that cross road situation, but it’s too short lived to take root and evolve into anything substantial because I resume into “life as usual”.

Perhaps this cross raods is different....