Couldn't you just..

It hurts.
Not like when you accidentally dip four of your fingers into boiling oil, not like knocking your foot against the nightstand, not like anything that I can explain really.. It just hurts.

It's suffocating and it builds up in that spot right above your stomach and right below your throat.

You never really get over it. You have memories, and those (happily..or sadly..I can never seem to be able to decide what to think of them) never go away. All of your desperate attempts to forget soon find their way down the drain; because someone, somehow, has to bring up a name. someone, sometime, has to ask for more tic tacs. someone, somewhere, has to ask about your posters. Any excuse of an excuse to trigger a memory..

It hurts; uncontrollably, undeniably, painfully; it hurts.

حتى في ضحكتي غصة

...........................................

Wedding Depression Season

Everyone is getting either engaged or married, and it's making me feel too single..not jealous, not envious, just..awfully alone. I thought I won't feel this way until..my birthday...or Valentine's maybe..

I feel like the ship has sailed and I'm still standing on the pier, hopelessly waiting for it to return.

Drawing a name in the sand over and over again, while the waves continue to stubbornly erase the traces my finger had left..

Dear Blogger-y,

The result of last night's semi-subconscious, desperate and [lets admit] pathetic move; was a lethal mix of frustration, embarrassment and self-loathing.
what baffles me the most however, is that the final product of this mix is not as lethal as one would predict...it's..I can't believe what I'm about to say but..comforting.

frustration + embarrassment + self-loathing = comfort
who would've known, huh?

I hope this equation holds until tomorrow morning. *fingers crossed*

With hands clasped in prayer..

Please please please please please please pleeease don't let me get sick...again!
The amount of sickness (carsickness included) I've suffered from in the past few months should last me till the end of the year..at least? please?

Besides, being sick is one thing, being sick AND lonely is a totally different thing!
my painkiller is no longer available.. it requires a prescription no one is ever going to write for me..

please? ...

قال

أحب اسمك -

 حقا؟ -

 أجل... -

قبضته مليئة بالنجوم

 

  "أريد أن أكتب اسمك في السماء"

يقولها و تضيء النجوم بتناغم مع ابتسامته المعدية

ابتسمت و رفعت رأسي ، فتلاقت أعيننا

في عينه نظرة حائرة

سألته: هل غيرت رأيك؟

لا.. -

ماذا اذا؟ -

 ما اسمك؟ .... -

 

Picture: TanssivaPanda from Deviantart

You'll never be there for me..

I woke up in yet another uncomfortable and painful yoga position. My back ached and my arms knotted in a painful twist. I don't know why the unconscious me is determined to twist in the weirdest angles while I'm sleeping. Does she hate me that much?

waking up with the stiffest neck every day is not fair. It effs up your already effed up day.
But lots of things in life aren't fair:
- The fact that almost all the shoes I like are never available in size 39, is not fair.
- The fact that loneliness and despair never tire of haunting me down every night right before going to sleep, is NOT fair.
- The fact that I only get monitored doses of a substance very similar to endophins but doesn't exactly have the same effect is, SOOO NOT fair!
- The fact that whatever hope I have during the day vanishes the minute my head hits the pillow is DEFINITELY not fair!
- And the most unfairest of them all is the fact that, the only time I have you with me is in my dreams..

Today was no exception..I woke up with a smile on my face, my eyes half closed, and I had no plans of opening them up any time soon. I was indulged in my post-dream daze, reliving every little euphoric detail of what happened in my dream over and over again, before this great/painful epiphany occurred to me. It was just another vivid dream! and I had woken up! and it was devastating!!
In rebellion against this awful truth, I shut my eyes tight, and quickly tried to remember every little detail of the dream I had, in hopes of...I don't really know in hopes of what..

Did I want to go back to the dream I was having? or was I hoping that ..if I tried hard enough it would become a reality? I don't know..all I know is that failed attempt after failed attempt, my frustration built up..and 10 minutes after failing (in whatever it is I was doing), I pressed my  face against the pillow and shouted at the top of my lungs. I was angry..so angry I could've killed somebody.

I would trade the rest of my life, if I could live in the dream I had last night..

Written Consolation

I'm sure that who's ever been keeping track of my recent entries (besides myself)  must've thought at one point "why is she publishing all of this if she's not directing it to a certain someone, why must she parade her sadness if she's not looking for sympathy?"

Well, this question has crossed my mind every time I checked my blog, every time I moderated a comment, and every time I published a new post. "Why are you doing this? If your purpose was truly to 'document' this sad period of your life, then why don't you keep a private journal? why does the world have to know that you're 'crushed beyond repair'?"

In all honesty? I don't know. I asked this question to myself so many times I've lost count, and I still fail to see the point of what I'm doing.
All I know is that writing comforts me. when I write, a faint light of hope ignites within me. and for a few hours, I live in momentarily peace. I think happy thoughts, something along the lines of  "you're fine, everything is gonna be alright. you know, a lot of people got bigger problems, yours is considered trivial in....Congo for example!"

But that peaceful feeling of strength soon wears off, and I'm back to square one.

If I could describe my shattered emotional state in one word at the moment, it would be Terrified.
I'm terrified of staying depressed, I'm frightened that I'll always be depressed, I'm scared that all the happiness that's been drained out of my life will never return, I'm worried I'll never move on, The thought of not being able to pull my life together is eating at my heart (or whatever is left of it).

This whole thing has literally drained my will to do anything. I'm still standing right where I was 35 days ago (I can't believe it's been that long, or that short)
sigh....

I've Dreamed of You So Much

I've dreamed of you so much that you're losing your reality.
Is it already too late for me to embrace your literal,
living and breathing physical body
and to kiss that mouth which is the birthplace
of that voice which is so dear to me?

I've dreamed of you so much that my arms--
which have become accustomed to
lying crossed upon my own chest
after attempting to encircle your shadow--
might not be able to unfold again
to embrace the contours of your literal form,
perhaps

So that coming face-to-face
with the actual incarnation of what has haunted me
and ruled me and dominated my life for so many days and years
Might very well turn me into a shadow.

Oh equilibriums of the emotional scales!

I've dreamed of you so much that
it might be too late for me to ever wake up again.
I sleep on my feet, body confronting all the usual phenomena
of life and love
and yet when it comes to you--
you, the only being on the planet who matters to me now--
I can no more touch your face and lips
than I can those of the next random passerby.

I've dreamed of you so much,
have walked and talked and slept so much
with your phantom presence
that perhaps the only thing left for me to do now
Is to become a phantom among phantoms,
a shadow a hundred times more shadowy
than that shifting shape which moves
and which will go on moving,
stepping lightly and happily
across the sundial of your life.

Robert Desnos

Crumbling on the inside,

They were on their way to Al-khuwair to pick up their younger sister from her private tutoring lesson when Noor suddenly said:
"You know, for someone who's been holding onto something for so long, you're pretty quick to let it go."

It's a habit of hers that Reem have always hated. blurting things out of the blue like that, and then sitting silently like she didn't just threw a bomb at her defenseless sister..
Reem turned and looked at her sister in disbelief at first, but then faced forward again, bottling up her annoyance with all her might, and determined to give her sister a dose of her own medicine.
she sat silently as well, pretending not to have heard what Noor has just falsely accused her of.

Blood was boiling inside her head, and her heart picked up pace. "let go? is she serious? I'm falling to pieces here! why does she think I stay up all night? That I get amazingly uncomfortable when she talks about her fiancé? or do I have to whine and ball my eyes out in front of the whole world for her to recognize that my heart has been irreversibly broken?"

Her train of thoughts went on like this throughout the ride. When they finally reached their destination, Noor parked the car, and then turned her whole body to face her sister. she looked at her expectantly,
"well? what do you have to say?"

"say to what?" Reem coldly replied.



"to what I just said?!" she impatiently demanded.



"what did you just say?".



"Reem!! com'on! what I just said about you taking it kitha.. easy. the way you are."


"oh..well, I'm not actually."


"really? you seem very...very.. together to me." 

"well, I'm not 'together'."



Noor was now staring at her younger sister who was fiddling with her IPod, pretending to be reading something, in hope of a quick change of subject.



"that's not healthy." Noor suddenly declared in the most Dr.Phil-ish tone.



"what isn't healthy?" Reem looked at her, trying not to let frustration get the best of her.



"bottling it up like that. why do you always pretend you're stronger than who you really are? I've seen how attached you were. That kind of attachment is impossible to get over in just a matter of a few weeks. impossible to get over at all if you ask me."

failing to contain herself any longer, Reem cried: "what makes you think I'm over it? what makes you think I've let go? why do you think you have the right to analyze me like this? just because I don't crawl into mother's bed every night anymore, begging her to help me lift this heavy pain off my chest, to help me breathe through my sobbing, does not make me over it! and it definitely does not make anything any better!"
Her eyes welled-up with tears as she struggled to breathe before continuing in a broken voice "you don't know what I've been through..you can never know what I've been through!"

She broke down. 
Noor stared at her broken sister, filled with guilt and sorrow. she didn't know that bringing up the subject could unleash all of this bottled up grief.

" I'm sorry..I never knew it was this bad.."
her shaking voice pierced through Reem, who sat quiet for what seemed like an eternity; staring at her lap; tears dropping rhythmically one after the other on her trembling hands.

"it's not fair.." she finally whispered.

Noor reached out and pressed on her sister's hand. "I know..I know it isn't. how is he handling it?"

" I have no idea. He seems fine."

"are you still in contact?"

"no..but I secretly get doses of him, and he seems to be doing just fine. I sometimes wish he wasn't. and it makes me feel horrible for wishing him something evil."

she smiled. "how do you know he's really fine?"

Lifting her head up, she wiped her tears away before cracking a joke that was both painful and funny. Noor laughed warmly and then went on asking questions, cautiously trying not to mention anything that would make her sister burst into tears again.

Reem went on talking for a whole hour, happily reminiscing at some points, and choking up on her tears at others. but regardless of how painful it was, It made her feel better somehow. Noor was right. It wasn't healthy to grieve the way Reem was. She needed to let it all out. the only problem was that her grief seemed to be a bottomless pit. no matter how many tears she shed, there was always more. no matter how many things occupied her mind, there was always a small opening for this mourning to creep through.

They were all silent on the drive back home, right until they stopped at the traffic lights in Madinat Qaboos; when Noor suddenly decided she's do that hit-and-run thing Reem always hated again by quoting their aunt with a devious smile:
"الحب مرادف منطقي للجنون ؛ وحده هذا الجنون الجدير بالعيش حد الإدمان"

This time however, Reem only smiled in agreement.

8 Stars, 11 Clouds

Days have been passing by in the most ridiculous manner lately. In slow flashes. So fast, yet painfully slow.
mending your broken life is not as easy as they make it seem in the movies.. the pieces of your broken life don't start falling into place right after.

Morning of October 3rd

 I was lying on my youngest sister's bed, blankly staring at the ceiling. The lights were off, and nothing but a few thin rays of light that managed to creep through the parting of the heavy curtains disturbed the comforting darkness.
It's been more than a week since I've abandoned my bed. I couldn't sleep in my bed. It didn't feel like my bed anymore. "maybe I need to buy a new bed set? and add pillows of all shapes and sizes..warm cozy colors.." I daydreamed.

I was still in the same clothes I was wearing yesterday, my gray comfy pants (that I've recently purchased and totally, whole-heartily adore) and an electric blue T-shirt (that I don't exactly like, but it's too comfortable and looks really nice against my fair skin),
when a sudden gust of cold AC air blew over me. I curled my toes in reflex -like i always do when a sudden rush of pain, pleasure, cold, happiness,..pretty much anything comes over me- and quickly pulled the duvet over my shivering body.

I grabbed my phone from under the pillow to set the alarm.  
7.15 am read the phone watch.
"I can't believe I'm still up! this is getting ridiculous.." I frustratingly thought.
My train of thoughts picked up from there leaving me indulged in thoughts I've desperately tried to dodge (like bullets) for the past 17 long hours or so.
Tears were now starting to form in my eyes. aghast by the weakness that started to break loose inside of me, I shook my head violently "you promised yourself!" a voice shouted inside my head.
I wiped my eyes, took a deep breath and started to recite comforting verses.

fifteen minutes later I had calmed down. and was now staring blankly at the ceiling again.

Determined to escape from all the agonizingly painful thoughts, and being the helplessly OCD-ish person I am, I started to count the glow in the dark plastic shapes that were stuck to the ceiling..
1..2...3..4..8.
8 stars.

1..2...3..4..5..6.....
11 clouds. and before I could finish counting the faintly glowing sheep, I drifted into a very much needed sleep.

Not long after, 

I was standing in a long never-ending hallway, absolutely gobsmacked.
I wasn't sure I heard him right. Did my father just say this man is gonna be my husband? The look on my face must've spelled out utter astonishment, because my father slowly repeated through his smile: "This is gonna be your husband."

The man standing next to my father was at least fifteen centimeters taller than him. I stole a quick glance at his shyly smiling face before looking back at my father who seemed to be delighted by the news he just told me. the smile on his face was very un-familiar, as I hardly ever see him smile.

I had to steal another (this time longer) glance at the man my father was very happy to announce as his future son-in-law. He had an olive skin that seemed to be soaking up all the sun's rays that were coming through the HUGE windows covering the walls. A neat yet itchy-looking stubble beard, and a pair of unbelievably black eyes. They were too black. amazingly black. I've never seen eyes this black in my life.

I didn't realize that my glance had turned into staring. I was staring at his face, cautiously moving my eyes from his eyes to his nose, mouth, chin, back again to his eyes. subconsciously studying every inch of his face, like i was trying to take in as much as possible.

And then I woke up.

10 Years Days Ago

Disclaimer: I'm not posting this entry for a certain person to read, nor am I seeking people's sympathy. It's an attempt (probably a failed one at that) to document a certain period of my life. One that i can always look back to whenever life decides to give me attitude, as a reminder that I've been through worse.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was disappointed when i woke up that afternoon. My prayers were clearly not answered as i was still alive.
I slipped my hand under my pillow and pulled my phone from underneath it. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the bright screen as it read:
4:11 pm
13/9/2009

No messages..

"It wasn't a dream.." I bitterly thought.

I was still feeling the same way I felt when I went to sleep that morning..ripped apart..
My chest felt so heavy I could hardly breathe..My body too weak to roll over and my throat extremely dry.

15 minutes later I managed to gather the little strength i had left, and made my way to the bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror, I saw the reflection of an expressionless tired face with swollen eyes. The minute I looked at it's mournful eyes, the same feelings of last night rushed through me. The despair, the helplessness, the grief..
I suddenly felt like someone has pulled the ground from underneath me. It all happened so fast I had no time to hang onto anything that would help ease the fall.

I fell to the floor and started to sob as hard as i did before going to sleep. the pain was too much to bear. I tried to breathe, but the more air i took in the more painful it felt.
I was sobbing so hard there were times when I was completely out of breath my body had to resort to yawning. I yawned a few times throughout my sobbing as a desperate attempt to stay conscious.

I then tried to strip out of my clothes as fast as my weak body would allow me, and literally crawled to the shower. the minute the water hit my skin I started to feel better. the frequency of tears running down my face decreased, and the sobbing fainted into silent tears with occasional gasps.

Half an hour later, I was still sitting under the shower when I heard faint knocks on the door. I asked who it was, and the maid answered telling me that my mother was expecting me downstairs.
The thought of my mother made me suddenly stop crying. I got up, washed my face and slipped on my Jalabyia. not realizing at the time that i was dripping wet and that the Jalabyia was inside out.

As I was holding the bathroom door handle open, I remembered I had to pray first.

I was relieved not to find anyone in the room. I closed the door behind me and proceeded to pray. I wrapped myself in a Leeso (big traditional Omani scarf thingie), and laid down my sijaada (praying rug).
As soon as my feet touched the soft blue wool of the rug, a sense of overwhelming peace came over me. encouraged by it, I took a deep breath and started to pray. The longer I spent on the rug, the better I felt. I didn't realize i was sitting there for 40 minutes until my sister walked in the room wondering where I've been all this time. I forced a smile on and asked her about my mother's whereabouts. She told me that she's probably reading Qura'an in my grandmother's room downstairs.

The thoughts running through my head made walking down the stairs an unbelievably difficult chore. I wished I could run upstairs and lock myself back in the bathroom and never leave.

I stood in front of my grandmother's room for a minute, wondering whether i should tell her or not. I then decided to go in and not think about whats going to happen next, and gently held the handle of my grandmother's room open.

She looked at me from the corner of her eye for a couple of seconds before laying them back again on the shiny beige-colored pages of the holy book opened before her. I stood still at the entrance of the room as I impatiently waited for her to finish. The minute she was done I involuntarily threw myself in her arms.. holding on to her tightly..

she was surprised by my very unexpected dive at first, but then started to gently stroke my hair as she asked teasingly (like she always does when I hug her):

"aish il munasaba?" (what's the occasion?)

"mashai..I just miss you" (mashai: nothing)

I closed my eyes and thought of how much I missed her scent.
she kept on stroking my hair and back for a minute before asking,

"9allaiti?" (did you pray?)

"am.." I whispered.

"Nella?"

I paused for a few seconds, trying to suck in the tears that were quickly forming in my eyes, and shakingly whispered "am..?" (es..?). as yet another failed attempt of saying "na3am?" (yes?)

"aish feeh il qamar?" (what's wrong?)

"nothing..really. i just miss you."

She knew I was lying and I knew she didn't believe me. but she didn't insist.

She continued to stroke my hair for a couple of minutes before finally breaking the silence: "inzain taw bay2athen il ma'3reb 7abeebti. roo7i shoofi 5awatish wain 3ashan tenezlo tfe6ro. Allah yer'6a 3alaish." (go find your sisters, Maghrib (sunset) Athan is gonna be called out any minute now)

I took a final long whiff before I reluctantly let go of her. "inshallah" (okay)

قالها قيس

لقد ثبتتْ في القلبِ منك محبةٌ كما تثبتت في الراحتين الأصابعُ

ليس عدلاً

أحاول البوح فلا أستطيع. أقول كلاماً كثيراً بلا معنى - كما افعل معك دائماً.
لاافهم كلامك في معظم الأحيان و تتهمني أنت باللامبالاة..

الرحلة

بدأ طلال الرحلة القصيرة، يرافقه رجلٌ مسن وزوجته، لا يعرفهما. وما هي إلا لحظات حتى انضمّت إليهم سلمى، يرافقها طفل جميل مشاغب في عمر السنتين. كانت دهشة طلال كبيرة . فها هي سلمى أمامه بعد أن انقطعت اخبارها لثلاث سنوات. تمنّى ان ترفع رأسها فتراه، وتقول له أي شيء. فما تعود ان يرد لها طلباً، ولكنها منذ أن انضمت إليهم في الرحلة وهي تضع رأسها في الأرض، تراقب طفلها

قام طلال ببعض الحركات، وتنحنح أكثر من مرة لتنتبه إليه، ولكنها لم ترفع رأسها للحظة، فقرر أن يسألها ويعاتبها فور توقف الرحلة، ويبتعد عنه الرجل المسن وزوجته

لا شك في أنه سيجد مساحة للوقت والمكان ليسألها عن سبب الغياب

ومع تزايد وتسارع ضربات قلبه وارتباكه، وقف المصعد

خرج الطفل مسرعاً

صرخت عليه أمه: طلال حبيبي توقف

فتوقف طلال في مكانه في المصعد دون حركة

فما تعود أن يرد لها طلباً

كريم معتوق

Tagged!

by the fabulous, the magnificent, the one and only: Diablo!

- List down 5 things people probably didn't know about you.

ok, here goes:

1. I'm emotionally retarded.
2. when i was a kid, i broke one of my front teeth while playing football.
3. when i was in fourth grade, I had a completely random episode of amnesia that lasted for several hours.
4. I look a lot like my grandmother, who looks a lot like her grandmother..and there is a good chance one of my granddaughters is gonna look a lot like me.
5. I blow bubbles as a form of meditation.

Worn out

So I thought I’d slip in a lame update about what has been recently going on in my life.
I still can’t believe that we just started our mid-terms. we only have 2 weeks left before Eid holiday, which will leave us with just one week before finals.

Uh, who cares anyway? My underachieving self is not bothered..never will be.

ok that’s a lie. I haven’t been this anxious in my entire life! I never knew I could get this apprehensive! I just discovered a side of me that I’m seriously thinking of shooting..right between the eyes! There is always something stupid that keeps me up at night.. and even the couple of hours of sleep I get are not peaceful. I keep dreaming of missing deadlines, screwing up assignments, embarrassing myself in front of a class full of teenage girls. And if it’s not a very bad dream, I’d dream that I’ve overslept and missed an important exam, just to wake up and find that I’ve woken up way before the alarm has gone off.

I don’t know why am I panicking like this.. I’m usually never bothered. And it’s not like I’m doing badly in my studies, on the contrary; My grades are pretty good (if not excellent), and my past two evaluations weren’t bad at all. So what am I so freaked out about?

The stress is affecting me physically too, I’ve been sick for almost a month now. I keep relapsing.. it’s so bad that my mother is demanding at least one SMS per day..just to make sure I’m well enough to type.
I come online in my not-so-free time, just to satisfy my procrastination, and keep my mind off of things..or at least try to.
I can’t wait for November to end! I wanna go back home, and get some of my strength back for finals.

I’ve been sleep deprived for the past couple of months it’s just..so..very..tiring..

Ever since I was a kid, when I’m in desperate need of some peace, I usually get one my mother’s recently worn (lesos) scarves, and bury my face in it. her sweet comforting smell on it literally makes every muscle on my body relax, and an overwhelming sensation of peace overcomes me..a reassuring feeling that everything is going to be alright, and all I have to do is just close my eyes..
and I sleep..The wheels in my brain finally stop. no nightmares..no dreams..just a black void of peace.

I wish I had one right now.

Baby Alien (tu-free 4)

everybody, i made a new friend! (literally). his name is tu-free 4.

Nella the Photographer

i took those back in Summer in Qurum Natural Park. the weather was expectionally nice, so we decided to go somewhere..
i had a lot of fun that day. got soaked in fountain water, had delicious ice cream..and popcorn from a brown paper bag (is it me? or does popcorn taste much better when it's in a paper bag?)

a perfect summer day with my family.. i miss them.. =(

a vein-bursting question

Alone, where a a king sized bed once stood, laid a king sized mattress. "Very comfortable." I thought, as I positioned myself on the mattress, facing the wall. The mattress covered in soft clean white sheets; looked new and hardly ever used.

The door of the semi-deserted room swung open, and entered my cousin, who's holding a diet coke can in one hand, and a glass full of ice in the other "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I found this IPod station stuck between the wall and the mattress."

"Well, that's an odd storing place."

"It's not a storing place..it probably doesn't work."

"Well, I have my IPod, and you can plug it in right there..lets see if it was stored, or if it lost it's way to the bin and somehow ended up between a wall and a mattress in a room almost never used."

"Ok, Let's see.." I plugged it in, placed the IPod and it worked!

"What do you know.. It works!"

"That really is an odd place to store an IPod station.."

"Yeah..haha" I turned around, and asked "So? Who's the can and who's the glass?"

"Excuse me? I'm not sharing."

"Come on.."

Fine..You're the can."

So.. a comfortable mattress, music in the background, and coke. What else is missing?
Conversation! We went on talking about school, university applications, driving license, weddings, etc..etc..Until we came to the question that is the highlight -­or at least supposed to be the highlight- of this entry.

"So Nella? What's the best thing that's ever happened to you?"

I answered without putting much thought into it. It doesn't need much thought anyway, I already knew what's the best thing that has ever happened to me. "my mom."

She looked like she heard an answer to a totally different question; her facial expression was a mixture of shock and suspicion.
I was waiting for her to blurt out a "what?" but instead, she blurted out something I wasn't expecting at all.. a "why?"

Now I wasn't sure if I should feel offended by that question, `cause lets be honest here..It does seem a little offending if someone asked you why you consider your mother the best thing that has ever happened to you, specially if said with that tone.

Well I dunno, skipping the 9 months of pregnancy, the several hours of excruciating labor, the 2 years of some serious breast feeding, and all the things almost all mothers go through.
Maybe because she makes the best Bechamel? (Speaking of Bechamel, I noticed that everyone I know whose mother cooks bechamel says their mother's is the best. personally, I've had many mom-made bechamels throughout the years, and they were all good; they all had a special flavor. I guess it's that special flavor we consider the best, the nostalgic familiar flavor of home)

Maybe because she is the smartest woman I've ever known? The reasons are endless, and obviously biased!
The harder I tried to put them all in an answer -­an answer I felt was good enough to justify why I think she's the best thing that has ever happened to me- the faster they slipped away. I was boiling inside, not only because of my inability to properly answer the damn question, but because of the damn question itself. "why?"

For a moment there, a semi-bald, short, fat Italian guy in his mid-forties, appeared in my head and furiously asked "what the **** is wrong with my Ma Huh? FIGLIO DI MIGNOTTA! VAFFANCULO! CAFONE!" (Translation: You son of a *****! go **** yourself! ***hole!)

Anyhow, this whole thing makes me think, is it because we take mothers for granted that it seems weird to think of them as the best thing that has ever happened to us? "You know..Mothers are supposed to be there for us, they don't happen!" Or is it because of how she sees her own mother?

Well, to cut it short, being the easily led to self-doubt person I am, I started wondering, Does it have to be something else? I tried rephrasing that question in my head so many times, I tried looking at it from different angles, but I kept getting the same answer; My mother.

Finally, I answered. "Well, because, she is the best thing that has ever happened to me!" I couldn't have answered any other way. And to avoid any other vein-bursting questions, I fired back the same question "what's the best thing that has ever happened to you?"

But before she could answer, the door opened and a voice called "Nella? Yallah 7abeebi, We're going home.. it's late."
I was a little disappointed I didn't get the chance to give her a taste of her own medicine, but I had to go, the best thing that has ever happened to me was waiting for me by the door. And as soon as I saw her smiling face, I thought: maybe it's because she just stopped me from offending someone who probably didn't even mean to offend me? Well, I guess it's safe to say that, my mother was the best thing that happened to my cousin that night.