tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68972131555924461112024-03-13T07:20:25.369-04:00Reflections of a SoulAmarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-50339819088425761592014-12-01T02:08:00.002-05:002014-12-01T02:08:42.976-05:00Memories of Living Under War and Occupation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
While I was away the past twelve days learning how to meditated I noticed that whenever my mind wanders during meditation, it always went back to my memories and my childhood in Palestine. I remembered things, I couldn't believe I had forgotten. Here is what I remember in chronological order.<br />
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1989- age 3 </div>
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First Palestinian Uprising </div>
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My earliest memory as a child was when I was 3 years old, and it was during the 1st Palestinian uprising. The Israeli Occupy Forces (IOF) used to come to our home to search for youth that were throwing stones at them during clashes. It was common for the youth to seek refuge in peoples home or use it to get from one safe place to another without being on the main road. My mother would always hide them in our house and then when it was safe enough for her to leave would drive them home. Whenever the IOF would come to our home my mom would say to me "the Jews are coming" "the Jews are coming" and I would run under the table in our living room to hide until they left. I of course our of fear would always pee my pants when I was under the table. </div>
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1990- age 4</div>
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Gulf War </div>
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When we would hear the alarm siren go on that indicates that the bombing was about to begin, my parents, sister, brother, and my paternal grandmother who was living with us at the time would all come to my sister and I's room. It was the safest in the house. We had the the windows and door sealed with duct tape, we had stocked up on enough food for at least 1 week and we had buckets to use when we had to go to the bathroom. Amin my brother had a Canary bird that was in the veranda outside my room and he would listen for any noise it would make; we knew that if it made noise it was still alive and we were not hit with chemical gas. However, to be safe my dad would drench towels in Clorox that we would have to keep on our nose, because he believed that if we were hit with chemical gas that that would save us, but my dad would put so much Clorox on the towels that my mom would say if you didn't die for chemical gas, you will sure enough die from inhaling too much Clorox. During the war my parents tried to get gas masks from the U.S embassy but there was a long wait to get them. Finally we got a hold of one gas mask. My dad couldn't decide which one of his children he should give it too so he decided to give it to my grandmother. My mother immediately got upset and stated that if her kids didn't get gas masks then no one gets gas masks and we die together. Finally, my parents decided to leave to the U.S for a couple of months hoping the war would be over by then. On the day we were getting ready to leave to the airport we finally got our gas masks form the U.S embassy and they were expired. </div>
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1993- age 7 </div>
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Oslo Agreement</div>
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I remember exactly where I was during the time it was declared. I was in my uncle's apartment in Ramallah and him and all my cousins were sitting in his bedroom watching the news. I remember the energy of people in the city was hopeful people wanted peace. However, my mother being the realist that she is wasn't hopeful at all. I remember her saying "when the Israeli's punch you in the face it hurts, wait until your own people start doing it to you" and she as usual was right. </div>
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** More updates tomorrow. Second Palestinian uprising and beyond. </div>
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Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-86687674827028293492012-06-27T22:41:00.008-04:002012-06-28T18:12:42.657-04:00Souls Connecting<span><span style="font-size: 100%;">Your voice so smooth.</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size: 100%; "> I can feel my heart expanding, making room for you. </span><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size: 100%; "> </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size: 100%; ">You remind me of things I've lost and things I've found.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size: 100%; ">Your heart, so pure, puts my heart at ease.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size: 100%; ">Your words, tell me stories about love and lovers... life and death... and it all makes me feel so alive.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size: 100%; ">I ask you how long will you stay? You tell me I'm asking the wrong questions. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size: 100%; "><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size: 100%; ">I smile, because I know what you mean... and you smile back.</span></div>Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-33811343313765373242012-06-05T23:57:00.002-04:002013-02-13T22:09:14.026-05:00Words Attempting to Find ThemselvesHeart beat, listening... as you sleep.<br />
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Thoughts. Sleepless... consumed.<br />
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Intimacy, longing and belonging... alive.<br />
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Truth, truth, truth, say it...repeat it.<br />
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Trust, loyalty, betrayal, heartbreak, love break... repetition.<br />
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Confused, road unknown, moving forward... no option.<br />
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Time, too fast, aging... frightened.<br />
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Disappointments. God... silence.<br />
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Life, body, beauty... all in transit.<br />
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Forgiveness... forgive me.<br />
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Compassion. Breathe... heart expanding.<br />
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Secrets heavy. Darkness... still love.<br />
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Brightest... at your darkest.<br />
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Selfish. Learning selflessness....liberating.<br />
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Missing warmth. Between your arms... Fit perfectly.<br />
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Your heart beat. My lullaby... as I dream.Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-36613289741015998762012-05-21T21:12:00.001-04:002012-05-21T21:14:50.154-04:00Learning is a Slow Process<div style="text-align: left;">
I want to learn how to love, a love that is liberating.<br />
I want to learn how to love, a love that is beyond possession.<br />
I want to learn how to love, a love that is beyond fear and pain.<br />
I want to learn how to love, a love that is pure and innocent.<br />
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I want to learn how to love you, all of you at your darkest and at your brightest.<br />
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And I want to learn how to accept that same love in return.</div>Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-29414641772822119782012-02-19T11:27:00.013-05:002012-02-23T00:21:42.804-05:00Morning Maze<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span style="font-size: 100%;">Sunday morning, struggling to get out of bed. Trying to find a reason to start my day, but no reason seems good enough. I attempted getting out of bed twice, I walked to the kitchen, noticed the huge pile of dishes and then walked back to bed. I then laid there trying to figure out how to get out of bed again, and I thought if I have some coffee, perhaps it will give me the strength I need to start my day, but making the coffee required sorting through the dishes. It required dealing with the chaotic situation that existed in the kitchen, and I did not know how to maneuver through it all, it took too much energy already, so I went back to bed again, and closed the door. </span></span><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">Today seems to be harder than most days. Today there is nothing that I can say to myself that can soothe my aching heart enough to get myself out of bed. Darkness consumes me today, and it frightens me... I am a strong willed person, and I know that I will try again, but for now I will close my eyes and hope to dream of a place where breathing comes easy and my soul is light.</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">------------------</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; ">Update from later today:</div><div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><br /></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">I did eventually make it out of bed. A friend of mine did the dishes, made me some coffee, and did a good job at distracting me from my thoughts. Another friend who lives in another state, texted me saying "I thinks I found a way out of the maze", she (and I truly believe this woman could rule the world all on her own) looked up yoga </span>exercises<span style="font-size: 100%;"> for me, that were conveniently near by and free; knowing that I probably wouldn't go </span><span style="font-size: 100%;">if I had to travel too far or if I had to pay. She thought that yoga would help me breathe more easily and will lighten the weight of my soul. </span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-size: 100%;">I am so blessed to have people that are so thoughtful and kind in my life. </span></span></div>Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-66086248945014973012012-02-17T21:40:00.009-05:002013-02-13T22:09:58.045-05:00Saba7 El Khair<span style="font-size: 100%;">I have my graduation picture that we took together on my desk in my room. Right next to it is your watch that still deeps every hour. Every morning I look at it, and I close my eyes trying to remember the sound of your voice whenever I would see you in the mornings. Our conversation used to go like this:</span><br />
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<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
Me: Saba7 el khair dad.</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
You: Saba7 el noor ya 7elwati ya chil 7ali... ta3li hon khaleeni ashofek. </div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">And I would get closer to you, </span>annoyed<span style="font-size: 100%;"> at how loud your voice was in the mornings, and annoyed that you had to hug and kiss me EVERY morning (it was always 3 kisses). Looking back now, I don't know how you had the energy to show so much excitement every time you saw me, I am never that excited about anything. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;">You used to tell me that I was very special, but you were really the special one dad.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 100%;"> </span></div>
Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-42977107906630740962012-02-13T23:40:00.017-05:002012-02-16T21:48:05.509-05:00When are we going home?<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jlBc7ZSQojU/Tz28dXArvpI/AAAAAAAAByM/eM7V8irCZvc/s1600/da.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jlBc7ZSQojU/Tz28dXArvpI/AAAAAAAAByM/eM7V8irCZvc/s400/da.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5709927115154767506" /></a><br />The cancer was spreading rapidly. Your pain intensified, and the doctors had to put you on morphine. That's when I first felt that I had lost you forever. You were going in and out of consciousness, your speech became incoherent, and your thoughts were scattered. The only thing you repeatedly kept asking is, "wenta bedna nraw7 3al balad (when are we going home?)", and all I could say to you is, soon... when you get some rest, we will go home.<br /><br /><div>#LoveUnderAparthied is not being able to give the person you love the things that they want. </div><div><br /><div>My father Mamoun Husain, came to the US in August of 2011 seeking medical treatment for pancreatic cancer after being misdiagnosed in Palestine. My father had to travel outside his own country to seek medical treatment because of inadequate healthcare in Palestine, and racist Israeli laws that prevented him access to more advanced hospitals in Jerusalem (which were only 40 minutes away). My father died on December 4th, 2011, his final wish was to die in his own country, in his own home, where he raised his family and grew old. </div></div>Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-41968802521549731072012-02-09T00:06:00.008-05:002012-02-09T00:46:03.985-05:00Are you having Trouble Sleeping?She asked me if I was having any trouble sleeping. I thought about it for a moment and told her that I wasn't having any trouble sleeping, but that I was having trouble waking up. <div><br /></div><div>The mornings are the hardest for me. Every morning before I get out of bed, I open my eyes and wonder if it was all just a bad dream, and then I slowly begin recalling what happened.</div><div><br /></div><div>Every morning is a reaffirmation that you are no longer here, and it catches me by surprise every time.</div><div><br /></div><div>In my dreams I can hear your voice again. You look like your handsome self before your illness, you smile, you laugh at your own silly jokes, and you tell me that you love me. That's the reality that I want to exist in, that's where I want to be. </div>Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-15631918404245312952011-12-21T18:43:00.013-05:002014-12-01T01:49:32.776-05:00Mom Remembers the First Intifada (1987-1993)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Me: What is the name of the 7ara (neighnorhood) where we had the taxi office and grocery store?<br />
Mom: I don't know... Shit Hole Anonymous<br />
Me: (laughing) you really don't know?<br />
Mom: How the fuck am I supposed to know?<br />
Me: Ok, moving on...<br />
<br />
Me: What do you remember about the first Intifada?<br />
Mom: The Taxi office and the grocery store were located on the street that leads to The Jabal Al Taweel settlement. At the time it was the only road the lead to the settlement and whenever the settlers would pass by the kids would start throwing rocks, and then the Israeli soldiers would come and start shooting live ammunition. It sucked.<br />
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Mom: I remember when the guys would write graffiti on the walls and then the Israeli soldier would come and make us paint it. We used to use shoe polish to cover it up. Pain in the ass. Fuckers.<br />
Me: Why did you have to do it?<br />
Mom: Well, because it was right next to our store.<br />
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Mom: One time when I was working at the store the Israeli soldiers threw sound bombs and I couldn't hear for three damn days.<br />
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Mom: Oh lord... Amin (my brother who was a teenager at the time) is the one that gave me gray hair. He used to lie all the time. He used to come home all dirty and sweaty and I knew it was because he was throwing rocks, but he would say he was playing soccer.<br />
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Mom: I remember once they (the Israeli soldiers) shot my dog. I forgot her name.<br />
Me: Why did they shoot her?<br />
Mom: They said because she kept barking, but I told them she keeps barking because YOU keep walking around. That night I stood in front of the dog and told them that if you want to shoot the dog you have to shoot me first, and then they left. But the next night they came back and shot her right in the head. I then complained to the 7akam el 3askari and he offered me a German Shepherd puppy, but I refused. I told him that I didn't want a new fucking dog, I wanted mine.<br />
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Mom: I remember when Hamed's son killed a settler on shar3 Nablus... Amin and his friends went running to see what happened. I was so worried about Amin I ran after him and jumped over the fence... can you imagine me jumping over a fence? your dad followed me and when we got to the korba 3ind el Shinny supermarket the Israeli soldiers were aiming the guns at Amin and he was lying flat on his chest, I got scared I thought they killed him and I started yelling at the Israeli soldiers telling them 'you killed my son!', Amin then got up, and I realized he was still alive and I started beating him for doing that to me.<br />
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Me: Tell me about the time Amin got arrested.<br />
Mom: Oh, that was the worst. Three Israeli jeeps came to our store asking for your dad, Mamoun Husain. I told them he wasn't here. They then said, we will take your son and when your husband comes send him to the police station. I said ok... god I felt so stupid, they fooled me... They wanted Amin, not your dad, but they knew if they said that I would have made a scene and we were right next to the kahwa... they didn't want trouble! So, when your dad came I told him to go immediately to the police station and salem 7alak, I didn't care I just wanted Amin back. But, when your dad went there they refused to release him... When your dad saw Amin in handcuffs he started crying. Your dad went there every day for three days trying to get Amin out. They kept him in a tent and tortured the hell out of him to make him sign the confession papers but he refused.<br />
Me: What did he do?<br />
Mom: Him and his friends were throwing Molotov cocktails at the police station by the Friends School. Anyway, they finally let him out and we had to pay 2500 NIS bond which we never saw again. But his friend stayed in prison for 6 months because he signed the confession papers and his dad wouldn't pay the bond.<br />
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Me: What did you think when the sulta (Palestinian Authority) came?<br />
Mom: It all just got worse. I remember when Arafat drove around in his car waving to everyone. I wouldn't come out of the store because I thought it was bullshit. I told everyone 'when el yahoodi bdrobak chaf booj3ak wait until your own people bodrobak chaf'.<br />
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My mom, Fatmah Salman was born and raised in Gary, Indiana. She is the daughter of a Palestinian man and a Syrian woman. She moved to Palestine in 1978 to raise her family.</div>
Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-21188567629508030182011-12-12T23:55:00.009-05:002011-12-13T01:42:07.104-05:00As She Waits For Her PlaneMom: People liked your dad. They didn't like me, but they liked your dad. He always had kelma mnee7a for them, and he used to always smile. <div>Me: Yeah, I remember. </div><div>Mom: I used to always yell at the fucking sh7ad when he would ask for money... "mish darory ta3teehom masaree, bs ma fish da3i tkoni mish mnee7a" that's what he used to always tell me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mom: I remember before your dad died I was looking at him while he was sleeping, and I was trying to think of all the bad things that happened between us over the years. I was trying to think of them so I could get mad at him and not feel so bad, but I couldn't think of anything. It all seemed so trivial. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mom: You guys all turned out tough. I am proud of you.</div><div>Me: You think so?</div><div>Mom: Oh yeah! Especially you! You always fool people; they think that you are the sweet soft spoken one, they have no idea what you are capable of when you get going! </div><div>Me: Yeah, I usually get like that when I have no doubt in me that the person is just an asshole. </div><div>Mom: Sometimes you don't have to wait that long to find out. Don't put up with people's shit. I never knew how to stay quiet. </div><div><br /></div><div>Me: You know, I keep thinking about our house back home. </div><div>Mom: yeah.</div><div>Me: I keep thinking how it used to be so full. So many people lived there and we had so many pets and now nothing is left there. No one lives there anymore, not even our pets. It's kinda sad. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mom: I can't believe I'm a widow now. It sounds so weird saying it.</div><div>Me: You don't have to say it mom. It's just a word. You can call yourself whatever you want. </div><div>Mom: Yeah, I don't wanna be a widow. Being a widow sucks. </div><div><br /></div><div>Me: I think dad didn't want to do chemo because he knew it wouldn't have prolonged his life or at least it wouldn't have given him 'quality' life. I think he did it for us, he didn't want us to suffer more. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mom: Your dad was so happy during the last few months he was in the states. He told me so himself. He loved being involved and in control of your lives again. You know how your dad is, you all remained his babies. He is not like me, I couldn't give a shit what you guys do (laugh). </div><div>Me: You're mean. </div><div>Mom: Oh, come on... you know I love you. I'm just not like that. You are old enough to make the right decision. </div><div>Me: I know, but it's still nice to feel like you care. Dad used to contain me. He really put my life together during his last months here. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Me: I remember when I spent the night with dad at the hospital when the doctors were adjusting his pain medication. We spent most of the night arguing. He would get upset every time I woke up when I heard him cough. He was worried I wouldn't get enough sleep for work. Then we would argue about who gets the blanket. He insisted I cover up with two blankets although I was not cold, he was worried I would get sick. It's amazing to me that someone could be in such excruciating pain and still worry so much about the other person. I guess that's what it means to be a father. </div>Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-36072654616144827462011-12-08T22:36:00.007-05:002011-12-08T23:26:07.099-05:00Its Been Five DaysI'm wearing your watch dad... The one I bought you. You said it was the best watch you ever had. It still smells like you; sometimes if I close my eyes and smell it I can imagine you are still here. I also found your cooking recipes the ones you wrote down when you would watch cooking shows back home in Palestine. I promise I will learn how to cook a decent meal soon. I wish I paid more attention when you tried to teach me. <div><br /></div><div>It's hard to believe you're gone, I can't imagine not being able to hear your voice again or calling you whenever I need help. Nitasha came over yesterday and said, " You know, when I come into your apartment now, it feels like nothing ever happened" and I agreed with her, it does feel that way, but I find that even more disturbing, because something did happen here. I am having a hard time making sense out this dad. I know you said you will keep loving me wherever you are, but it's not the same and I really miss you. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-74211832246375184932011-12-06T23:55:00.007-05:002011-12-07T16:29:56.002-05:00Inappropriately Appropriate<div>Mom: Who did you love more, me or your dad?</div><div>Me: I love you both the same. You are both special to me. </div>Mom: Whatever, the dead one always wins.<div><br /></div><div>Mom: (Talking to my aunt and uncle after my dad died) Well, you guys are just dropping off like flies. I wonder which one of you will be next? (awkward silence). <div><div><div><br /></div></div><div>Friend: How's your mom handling everything?</div><div>Summer: She is ok, but no matter what it's different for her. We knew the father, she knew the man himself. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mom: I really did love your dad. He was my best friend. Yeah, he was an asshole sometimes. But I know he loved me too. </div><div><br /></div><div>Me: You know it's amazing that dad died and was able to leave so much love and positive energy between all of us. He really knew what he was doing. </div><div><br /></div><div>Me: What are you thinking about?</div><div>Mom: Your dad. I keep thinking about him with his cigarette in his hand with one leg over the other. It's hard to believe he is no longer here. I keep going over things, wondering if I did anything wrong.</div><div>Me: You can't think like that mom, he loved us. That's all that matters in the end. </div><div><br /></div><div>Me: I thought this would be so much harder. But I feel his energy and his love and it's giving me so much strength. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mom: I just talked to your aunt today back in Palestine and she says that a lot of people came to your dad's funeral. She said that everyone was really sad and kept talking about what a great man he was. That made me so happy, he would have liked that.</div></div></div>Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-41891371478964564682011-12-02T23:13:00.004-05:002011-12-03T00:31:36.562-05:00Mom Talks about Dad and Other ThingsMom: You know, your dad told me that when he dies he wants me to have fun. <div>Me: *nodding my head* Thinking, 'of course that is what my dad would say he is just so freaking awesome like that'.</div><div>Mom: He really said that... I was still back home at the time and we were talking on the phone. He said he wants me to have fun... but you know what I told him? I told him that if he wanted me to have fun then he should have died when I was 20! Not now when I am 60 and I don't have the energy to do anything! </div><div>Me: (laughing) you really said that?</div><div>Mom: Yeah, I still didn't think he was going to die then... I just didn't believe it. </div><div>Me: I know... none of us wanted to believe it. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mom: I don't care what you all say... your dad had a fucking good life. So you just need to stop being sad. We're all gonna die. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mom: I always said your dad was a shitty husband but a good father. He loved you guys more than anything. God, it used to make me sick how much he loved you guys. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mom: The only time your dad was happy and relaxed is when you guys were all home and the door was locked. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mom: You know, they say that when one spouse dies the other shortly follows. God, I hope I am not next.</div><div>Me: (laughing) mom, I think you are thinking of the film The Note Book. Don't worry, I don't think you are going anywhere any time soon. </div><div>Mom: I better not. I am not done living yet. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mom: Shit man I hope when I die it's quick. They say that when you die of a heart attack that it's fucking painful, but at least it's for a short amount of time and then you're dead. </div><div>Me: Yeah mom, this is exactly the conversation I wanna be having right now. </div><div>Mom: *Chuckles* Well, I'm just saying.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-33923244683982762812011-11-27T02:57:00.002-05:002011-11-29T22:31:29.768-05:00Conversations with my Father-- Luck, money and everything in between<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-hyphenate:auto">Me: I don't get it. You made so much money in your life and you only finished the 7th grade. I have a Master's degree and I can barely make ends meet!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-hyphenate:auto">Dad: Yeah, I don't get it either, but you know, I was always a hard worker and luck was always on my side. Like, I used to work as a mechanic and when the 1967 war happened everyone left to Jordan because they were afraid, and there was a doctor who had just bought a new car but he couldn't take it to Jordan so he just gave it to me. And that is how I got my first car and became a taxi driver; I would send and pick people up from the bridge, and it wasn't too long before I opened my own Taxi company 'Taxi El Bireh'...It's funny how life is... that's why habibti dayman ba7kilak ma tez3ali men 2ay eshy, you never know how things will change around.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-hyphenate:auto"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-hyphenate:auto"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan;mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan;mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">Me: How does it make perfect sense to you to buy a winter coat for $500?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan;mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">Dad: la2no if you are going to spend money and buy something, you might as well buy the best. Ana ma b7eb albes el sh'3al el mish mnee7a.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan;mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan;mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan;mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan;mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">Dad: I liked making money and I liked spending money. I had a good life. I had fun... I used to renew sayaret el Mercedes every year! I loved cars.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt: 10.5pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan;mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-hyphenate:auto"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">Dad: Ya3ni ana mish fahem lesh 3aysheen fi Brooklyn bi 7ek 7ara?</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">Me: Because we are POOR dad!</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">Dad: Ya3ni bt2daro tla2olkom ma7al ween Amin a5dni el yoom (meaning the upper west side).</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">Me: No, dad we can't... places like that are very expensive. I don't think we can ever move there at least not now.</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">Dad: Well, I think if you guys manage your money better and you cut down on other expenses you can manage it. Life is too short not to live in a nice place.</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">Me: Yeah, you are right. We will see maybe in a few months we can get out of this place.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-hyphenate:auto"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination:widow-orphan; mso-hyphenate:auto"><span style="background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">-- After my dad's visit to the upper West Side and Columbia University, he began to think that not only does Bed-Stuy stink, but that Brooklyn in general is gross.</span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-76822217299356353482011-11-26T23:33:00.003-05:002011-11-26T23:44:27.529-05:00Too Far from Home<div>Today at around 7:00 PM </div><div><br /></div>Dad: I am going to throw you the best graduation party. <div>Me: Yeah? That would actually be really nice. It will be at our house back home right?</div><div>Dad: Right. Back home. </div><div>Me: You promise?</div><div>Dad: I promise.</div>Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-21462620170549740432011-11-26T23:24:00.006-05:002012-07-11T00:09:26.971-04:00Words that Brought him ComfortI was impressed with Amin's ability to make my dad happy and relaxed in the last stage of his illness. At this stage my dad lost his voice, and had limited mobility. He would get restless at times, trying to say something to us, but we couldn't understand what it was. It was only Amin that could make my dad smile at this stage, and he would say to him as he rubed his chest to soothe him:<br /><br /><br />"Everything is ok dad. I am going to take care of everything"<br /><br />"You're going to be ok dad. You did everything right"<br /><br />"I love you dad. I don't want you to worry about anything"<br /><br />"Sweet dreams dad. Try to remember your dreams. I'm going to ask you about them later"<br /><br /><br />I remember trying to use the same words as Amin to soothe my dad, but they did not have the same effect.<br /><br />I hope you realize how happy you made dad and how lucky he is to have someone reassure him that he did it all right... and not just anyone but his son.Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-29211513116128657662011-11-20T22:49:00.004-05:002011-11-20T23:42:51.727-05:00EphemeralWhenever I remember you, one particular memory keeps coming to mind. It was when I came back home last summer. I remember making my way down the road and ringing the doorbell. You weren't home, but the door was opened so I figured you had gone to pray. I remember putting my stuff down, thinking how wonderful it is that our house still looks the same. There is very little consistency in my life so it was comforting to know that some things never change (at least that was what I thought at the time). I then remember you coming in after a few minutes... you were running up the stairs with a bouquet of flowers. You had this huge smile on your face, I don't remember anyone ever being so happy to see me. You tell me that you ran out to get me flowers, and you then give me a huge hug that was almost suffocating and you shower me with kisses telling me how much you missed me and saying "heck bedashri abooki"... I then say "didn't you tell me to go find a future for myself?"... You then laugh and say "I know, I just missed you so much".... and I miss you so much dad. I really do.Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-3658758179882889212011-11-17T11:32:00.005-05:002012-02-23T15:21:06.053-05:00November in New YorkI never realized how hard it is to die. And whatching you die is even worse.<br /><br />I have nothing left to say to you, but how could it be that I have nothing left to say?<br /><br />I wanted more time. I think I got it.<br /><br />I love you. I love you eternally, without beginning or end, outside any space or time.Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-75246931128587917662011-10-09T09:30:00.000-04:002011-10-09T09:31:18.515-04:00Conversations With My Father Part III<div><div>Dad: No one can love you like your parents... a parents love is unconditional... they will love you no matter what you do. Ya3ni hani ana... ta7maltek kteer.<div>Me: Tayeb w ana t7maltak kaman... you think you were easy to live with!</div><div>Dad: *Chuckles*</div><div>Me: ya you know what you did...</div><div><br /></div><div>Dad: El father bydalo father... bydalo 2y7eb ya3ti la 2wlado... w ma bi7eb 7ada y3la 3aleh 2la wlado.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Dad:You know... Ma bathon 3indi cancer.</div><div>Me: Yeah...?</div><div>Dad: Ya3ni lo 3indi cancer can 7asaet 2ini 25taleft fi hal six months... bs ma 7aset bi 2shy different. You believe that?</div><div>Me: You never know dad... they are just doctors at the end of the day... anything is possible.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>Dad: What's wrong?</div><div>Me: Bad day. I don't get what's the point of anything... it all seems so pointless.</div><div>Dad: It's ok habibti... sometimes a person feels that way... bs 2etzakari allah w allah betzakarek.</div><div>Me: Dad, I don't know if you've noticed, but God doesn't give a shit about us!</div><div>Dad: Lah lah lah ya 7abibiti... Allah ma 7atna 3ala hal 2ard 7ata yensana</div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Comments about my negativity:</b></div><div><div><br /></div><div>Baseeta habibti... baseeta.... tawli balek 2eshway.... kolshy ok</div><div><br /></div><div>Dalek metfa2la</div><div><br /></div><div><div>Habibti... inti kteer negative... mish 2imnee7 heck</div><div><br /></div><div>(Apparently I am too negative).</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Other things he says that make me laugh:</b></div><div><br /></div><div>I love you ya habibti ya chill 7ali!</div><div><br /></div><div>Habibtii!! I miss you!! (usual greeting form him when I come home).</div><div><br /></div><div>Ana I never look at the price... ana bs b7es el fabric.... w sob7an allah dayman betla3 a7san no3</div><div>(After shopping at MAYC'S and spending $100 on Ralph Lauran PJ bottoms)</div></div></div>Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-29073501611533828852011-10-08T23:52:00.003-04:002011-10-08T23:58:36.803-04:00Good NightYabaya sho ba7bek ya Qamar ya habibti... you are so special to me... I love you so much. --Dad<div><br /></div>Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-33125898453226098262011-09-26T20:19:00.006-04:002011-09-26T22:17:55.175-04:00Tell The Truth...The truth is... I hate watching you die. <div>The truth is... I hate myself for feeling frustrated with you... with the situation. </div><div>The truth is... I hate it when you thank me when I do something for you. </div><div>The truth is... I don't know how to make this better for you.</div>Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-22557524893258132562011-09-17T21:51:00.003-04:002011-09-18T18:55:53.750-04:00Conversations with my Father (A day in the park)- Part IIAs I was sitting in the park with my dad on 34th street, a young guy probably in his mid-twenties is sitting on the bench across from us with a bouquet of flowers in his hands, and he seems to be waiting for "her"... I leave my dad for a bit to get some coffee and when I come back the guy is still sitting there, looking more hopeless and disappointed...<div><br /></div><div>Me: Tala3 dad... shekelo 7al2etlo.</div><div>Dad: I know... tab 7ada 7akalo 2y7eb!</div><div>Me: 3injad taess 2eli b7eb</div><div>Dad: Zay ma by2olo "ma boktol 2ela el 7ob!"... Shayefa habibti ma 3omerk 2et 7bi 7ada aktar men ma howa b7ebek... always let them come to you... if you let them come to you they will never leave you... they will always want more. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am then silent. Not sure how to respond to his comment or if I even should. I am not accustomed to having these kinds of conversations with my father. However, I felt tempted to share that part of my life with him... I thought about the times I was in love wanted to share that with him... and the times that I was disappointed with love and wanted him to comfort me... Even though I was never able to directly speak to my father about these topics, he always knew when I was in love... and when I was let down by love... and he would always try to comfort me the best way he knew how... whether it was making me tea with na3na3 or making me vigorously clean the house to distract myself. </div><div><br /></div><div>We then continue to talk...</div><div><br /></div><div>Dad: Ya3ni wen I was young, ya I was in love... but zay ma by2olo I never lost any sleep over anyone.</div><div>Me: Haha... Why not?</div><div>Dad: I don't know... I was just never like that... 2ly ma byel7a2ni ana ma bal7a2o... bs el banat kano daymen la72ni...</div><div>Me: haha... wallah neyalak dad</div><div>Dad: Well, I was always charming to them bs ma konet desperate w al7a2.</div><div>Me: yeah, I can see how women could find you irresistible (sarcastically).</div><div>Dad: So you want to head home? Or do you want to wait and see what will happen with this guy (the flower guy)?</div><div>Me: Ummm, why don't we stay for a little longer... I'm curious to see what is going to happen.</div><div>Dad: He is so stupid... a7salo 2yby3li el flowers</div><div><br /></div><div>Twenty minutes later....</div><div><br /></div><div>Dad: Yallah habibti, sheklha mish ra7 tozbot el sha'3la ma3o, lets go home</div><div>Me: Yah... I actually feel bad for him....</div><div>Dad: Tab lesh ma tro7i to23di ma30 (sarcastically)</div><div>Me: I don't feel that bad for him </div><div><br /></div><div>As we make our way home, we pass by the flower guy and my father then asks him if the flowers are for sale... the flower guy says "No, they're not"... my dad then smiles and says as he continue to walk, "Well, you know you are better off selling them".</div>Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-42960676678695860672011-09-09T23:29:00.010-04:002011-09-10T23:33:05.579-04:00Conversations with my Father- Part I<div>Dad: Who is this guy you keep talking about?</div><div>Me: What?... The only guy I keep talking about is Amin, and I'm usually bitching about what an asshole he is.</div><div>Dad: (confused)... la 3injad. Meen howa?</div><div>Me: Wallah dad it's Amin... bs eza fi hada tani... don't worry he isn't worth discussing... he is also an asshole.</div><div>Dad: 2ah! Heck Bedi 2yaki!</div><div><div>Me: Bs lesh ya3ni, inta sho sm3et? (hinting that I know he was eavesdropping).</div><div>Dad: (nervously) La wala eshy... ana bs heck.... curious...</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Dad: I feel lucky... ma 7asat fi eshy bel denya tmanato bel 7aya w ma t7kak... Ya3ni I wanted a Taxi company and I had it... I wanted a grocery story and I had it... I traveled the world and drove the fanciest cars... I had a good life.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dad: My only regret is that I didn't spend enough time with you guys growing up... I guess you always think there will be more time... but it all happens so fast. </div><div><br /></div><div><div><div>Me: Dad, what's your favorite memory with us growing up?</div><div>Dad: Ummm.... Wallhi I think this is my favorite memory. Being with you guys right now in New York. </div></div><div><br /></div><div><div>Dad: I think I should stop taking my pills (morphine pills for the pain).</div><div>Me: What?... What do you mean?</div><div>Dad: Ya3ni maybe I don't need them anymore. </div><div>Me: Dad, this is for the cancer...</div><div>Dad: Yeah, but they say that it's not good for your liver. </div><div>Me: Thinking... (who gives a fuck about your liver right now... you have an enormous tumor growing inside of you... pressing on all your other vital organs! That is what you should be worried about!)... Well, dad I don't know about that... but without them you would be in a lot of pain.</div><div>Dad: You think so?... ya3ni the other day 2et2a5arat la a5adet el dawa w ma 7asat bel waja3.</div><div>Me: I wouldn't stop taking the pills without talking to your doctor first. You are meeting with him next week, you can ask him these questions. </div><div>Dad: Yeah... I think you are right.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Dad: I think you should go back to the blad for a couple of years. It will clear your head. Inti kteer confused. At least fi bladna 2el akel 2ylo ta3em!</div><div><br /></div><div>Dad: Fi zlaem such a bastard... eza mish mo3damhom (laughs).</div><div>Me: Tell me about it... I don't trust them as far as I can throw them! </div><div><br /></div><div>Dad: I can't believe they are doing this and then kal they call me as if they didn't do anything... Keef lama amoot??</div><div>Me: It's like you used to always say dad "Bktolo el kateel w byemsho bjanazto"</div><div>Dad: (laughs)... Wallah that is true.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dad: Doctors are stupid. All they care about is money... Sarat 7ayat el wa7ad tyjara... 2amen sh'3la hay</div><div><br /></div><div>Dad: Keef ya3ni it doesn't have a cure? Kol hal 3elm w ma 3indom cure? Lessa a7san law ma b7ko lalel wa7ad</div><div><br /></div><div>Me: This really sucks dad.</div><div>Dad: I know habibti bs heck el denya... I lost my mother and father too. </div><div>Me: This isn't about death and dying... we are all going to die... But I want you in my life I want you there... </div><div>Dad: I know...</div><div><br /></div><div>Dad: Wallahi you are my favorite....</div><div>Me: Is that what you tell the others too??</div><div>Dad: No.</div><div>Me: Dad....</div><div>Dad: (laughs-- my dad usually laughs when he is lying) walek wallah... hay bossa sho bedek akatar men heck??</div><div>Me: Whatever... all I know is that I REALLY should be your favorite!</div></div>Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-50013206866667816092011-08-11T23:51:00.006-04:002011-09-02T10:17:37.980-04:00RepetitionHeart, aching. Mind, racing. Words, shaking. Hope, fading. Love, breaking.
<br />
<br />I just want more time.
<br />Amarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6897213155592446111.post-51769096226445601842011-05-25T10:48:00.005-04:002011-11-29T22:41:45.523-05:00On Love- 201"I have never understood how a geniune, elementary, thoroughly true love can remain unrequited since such a love is nothing but the urgent and blessed appeal for another person to be beautiful, abundant, great, intense, unforgettable: nothing but the surging commitment for him to amount to something. And tell me, who would be in a position to refuse this appeal when it is directed at him, when it elects him from among millions where he might have lived obscured by his fate or unattainable in the midst of fame... No one can seize, take, and contain within himself such love: it is so absolutely intended to be passed onward beyond the individual and needs the beloved only for the ultimate charge that will propel its future orbiting among the stars"<br /><br />--Rainer RilkeAmarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03637513233802389933noreply@blogger.com0