KINTSUGI WARRIOR

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Photo By: IrishAlexandrian Photo Edit: Wessam Zaki

I have been through many battles, Non of which have been on fields, Non against a nation, Or an army.

I have fought against scores of individuals, Along with the invisible enemy, Called emotions, Armorless and weaponless.

I faced them head on, I stood my ground, I took more blows than I gave, I. Still. Got. Back. Up.

Each and everyday, Exhausted, Depleted, I. Did. Not. Retreat.

The injuries I endured, Did not bleed, They were not wounds, That cut skin and flesh.

They aren’t the kind, That can be seen, Nor treated with medicine, Gauze or dressing.

My endurance, My stubborn strength, My determination, The fire that burns deep within,

Through every turn, Through every incident, Through every storm, Made me victorious.

I have no medals, To show my valor, But I wear my scars, With pride and honor.

I have been bent, I have been broken, More times, Than I can count.

Cracked, Shattered, Chipped, Scratched

I put myself together, Piece by piece, With glue, gold dust, And time.

Kintsugi Warrior, Am I.

Changing Career at 42

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I had a few rough years and with each year that passed, my motivation to return to the classroom to do what I had once loved with so much gusto was diminishing. The feeling of excitement and wonder of watching my students learn new information and master new skills didn’t bring me the joy it once had. The reward of seeing them grow and succeed wasn’t enough to get me out of bed. I dreaded the short drive to work each morning. The dread would peak when I’d park the car just outside the gate and I’d begin my mental count down to the time I could get back in my car and drive away.

My mantra’s sounded bland and fake to my ears. When I would walk through the school gates each day, I could feel my blood pressure rise and my heart sink into my stomach. I wore a fake smile and forced enthusiasm for my students and them alone. It wasn’t their fault that I was losing my passion, they had no hand or blame in this. I summoned up what reserves I had to teach and make the experience as enjoyable as possible for them. For them, and them alone.

In November of 2019 I had a heart to heart with myself. I asked myself these three raw questions;

1-Are you happy in your job/line of work?

2-Do you feel that you still have more to give the establishment and the students?

3-Do you feel you can continue in this environment?

The answer to all three was an astounding, and very clear… NO!

My mental and emotional health were in jeopardy. I needed to stop putting everyone else’s feelings and needs ahead of mine. The burn out I was feeling was eating up the reserve energy and sanity I had for emergencies. I was feeling disconnected from my team, my friends and I felt I was losing myself too.

After weighing all the pros and cons of what would happen if I was to resign, I chose to dive into the abyss of uncertainty. I had no plan, but I knew if I stayed where I was, I wouldn’t grow and continue to help people. The heftiest price I would pay, would be losing myself and myself worth if I stayed where I was. So, the only other option I had, was to take a leap of faith and put all my trust in the unknown. If I was a single parent or married my choice may have been different. I was grateful to be single and not have to worry about others and how it would effect them if I took the step.

I would often ask myself, what would I do instead of teaching? For a career spanning twenty years, teaching was all I had ever done.

I won’t lie… I had doubts. There were nights I lay awake staring blankly at the ceiling questioning myself, my motives and calling myself CRAZY !

I considered going back to school and learning a new trade, like; Crime Scene Investigation, Private Investigator or a Chef, just to name a few. As I lay on the couch one night, I asked myself, ‘What other things are you good at?’ cooking, you’re good with people, you give good advice…. there are life coaches, I wonder if there’s such a thing as a parent coach?

A LIGHT BULB MOMENT!

Hmmmmm… ‘I wonder?’ I thought to myself.

Just like that, I began researching. I found that there was indeed something called Parent Coaching and that there were a few institutions that offer the qualification. I read about what Parent Coaching was and it sparked my interest. I got in touch with a few of the institutions and made inquiries.

Some were not very helpful and were mostly interested in me signing up to get my hard earned dinero. I thankfully didn’t fall into that scheme and continued my search until I found an institute that screened people who were interested in enrolling and held an interview with a small panel before accepting anyone into the year commitment of taking courses with them. It was important to them that they chose people who were of a certain caliber and would be committed to finishing the very demanding and hectic year of studying, live discussions, partner work and earning 100 practice hours to graduate.

I felt the green light go off inside my head.

This is the one!

I registered and paid for the 1st installment and eagerly waited for my year of studying and course work to begin.

I embarked on this new journey on March 2021 with hope in my heart and elation filling my spirit. The beginning of the new adventure was far from easy. Schools closed the week after my new chapter started and online learning became the new way of teaching, due to the world being brought to its knees by an invisible enemy, COVID-19.

The last few months of my career in education were spent communicating and connecting with my students through a lens on my laptop. This was new to everyone and it wasn’t easy or enjoyable to say the least. Tension and stress was at an all time high. We all felt like we were flying in the dark, bumping and thumping around not knowing what direction we were going in. To put it bluntly…it was…SHIT.

This was a whole new kind of SHIT STORM.

In the midst of the world and educational crisis that we were all trying to navigate, I couldn’t help but feel relief and gratitude

SAY WHAT?

Yes, I was relieved and grateful.

1- I didn’t have to go to the toxic work place and be around the people who sucked me dry day in and day out.

2- I was in an untainted space that was mine and toxic free.

3-My time doing online learning was limited, it would end when the final semester finished. My poor colleagues would have to continue down this river of chaos for the next year or so. I would be free of it. This alone gave me confidence in the decision that I took. I highly doubt I could have continued teaching online for another year, without being in classroom to cater to the individual differentiated learning needs of my students.

4- I was safe and healthy.

5- I learned that I was stronger than I though. Being alone day in and day out, in solitary would drive many people cuckoo. It didn’t bother me. I reconnected with myself and got to know myself again. It wasn’t all Rosey, I missed my family a lot. This was the longest period of time I had been apart from them without seeing them and with them all in a different country. I hated celebrating my birthday on my own and talking to my tribe over zoom.

Mid June finally came, and on my final day of work, I will admit I was a bit emotional. I had been in the field for twenty years and the school for 9 years, there’s a lot of history there. Turning the final page of a chapter can cause an avalanche of hidden emotions, especially as I waved good bye to the parents and students of my class for the last time. My emotional state was short lived when I attended the final staff meeting and what I heard said about my nine years of service was shockingly disappointing. I wasted no time logging out, turning in my keys and signing out for the last time. I walked out of the gates with my head held high.

I knew 100%, I had made the right choice for me. I wasn’t valued or recognized for the dedication, time and energy I had devoted to my students.

Fast Forward 1 Year Later…

I finished my courses and completed over 100 hours of practice Parent Coaching hours in time for a Spring graduation. Helping my Pro Bono clients over come parenting difficulties and bettering their relationships with their children was humbling and rewarding. It gave me a sense of purpose again.

I may not have the steady pay check and paid vacations that I had grown so used to, which can be hard at times, but it does make me very grateful for every piaster and pound that I earn. I’ve had to readjust my spending priorities, my time is spent raising awareness about Parent Coaching and its benefits. I am grateful for every client that puts their trust in me and allows me to take this journey of positive change with them. I know that building my business and clientele will take time. I am confident that it will happen steadily, one client at a time.

I miss teaching students and watching them grow emotionally, socially and academically but I don’t miss the assessments, report cards, endless staff emails, staff meetings …etc.

Grace de Dieu, this is the most centered, calm and content that I have been in a long time. I’m feeling more and more like the me I used to know. My Joie de Vivre has returned and I see possibilities.

Let my story be a lesson to you, if you feel you are in a job that is bringing you down and robbing you of yourself and your worth, it might be time to change jobs or career paths. It is never too late. The only time it becomes late is when your heart stops beating.

Gastric Balloon and Gastric Mind Band

I have always struggled with my weight. Especially when I’m stressed out, depressed, bored, heartbroken and a few other powerful emotions. When I get that way, I tend to try and numb the pain or fill the void with eating. It has been a roller coaster of weight loss and gain for quite some time.

The past two years my health and weight spiraled out of control. I was in a bad place emotionally, mentally and physically and ate my way to a size to heavy and big for my petite frame. My personal and work life were getting to me and it affected my health, confidence, attitude, my energy and my social life. I retreated inside myself and would avoid social gatherings because I was dealing with depression and I couldn’t stand or recognize the reflection in the mirror, BUT I didn’t have the motivation to put my kicks (sneakers/trainers) on to just go for a walk, let alone wash the dishes in the sink.

Walking up just a few stairs would leave me panting. Even though I knew what needed to be done, I would continue to eat my way to a bigger size. I would eat to numb the disappointment in myself for letting myself go. I would eat because it was easier than making the effort to make the necessary changes. I ate myself to a size where my knees were in agony trying to support my body weight, where sleeping was not comfortable, sound or restful. I ate because I felt unattractive, so I made myself even less desirable. It was easier than the solution, because that would take a lot of effort on my part and it would take time for me to see the wanted results.

After a lot of thought, inquires and test results…I HAD to do something about my excess weight. I consulted with a well known weight-loss surgeon from my home city of Alexandria and explained what I was going through. He told me that I didn’t qualify for Gastric Sleeve, but if I continue on the path that I’m on, I would be. He suggested a Gastric Balloon, he walked me through the process and told me “N this isn’t a solution to your eating habits, but it is a useful tool, that can bring results if you work with it. The work you have to do is both mental and physical.” He said bluntly. “I can put the balloon in, but the rest is up to you. You have to make the choice of changing your habits and moving more to help with the loss. You have 6 months to work with it and then it’s even harder to maintain it once the balloon is removed. Take your time and think about it and if you decide you’re ready for it, then give me a call to set up the date of procedure.”

I did think long and hard about what he said. I didn’t want to reach a point where I had to have invasive surgery to help me get back on track, with the possibility of side-effects. I called Dr. Tamer up and said I was ready and that I had to do this for me.

I owed it to myself.

The procedure isn’t invasive, and it’s quick. It takes about 20 minutes in total, from the time the anesthesia puts you under until you’re waking up. The adjusting to a balloon is what takes time. The first three days after having the balloon inserted, I had to have drips for minerals and vitamins solutions. I was on a liquid diet only for the first 3-4 weeks. Finding out what worked for my body was tricky. I learned that I couldn’t handle tomato soup or orange juice anymore because of the tomato’s and orange’s acidity. It would give me acid reflux and I wouldn’t be able to sleep and just be in foul mood. I had to relearn what my body was trying to tell me. To differentiate between thirst and hunger. I’d drink water first and if I didn’t feel hungry afterwards, I wouldn’t eat. I also had to get used to drinking between 2-3 liters of water a day to make sure that no food stuck to the balloon and fermented. I learned to chew my food thoroughly before I swallowed it too. Most importantly portion control.

By the end of the second month, I had a better grasp of how to use the balloon and I chose my meals wisely , but I didn’t deny myself of the cravings I had either.

WHY?

Well, I knew if I cut out EVERYTHING I would have made cravings for them when it was time for the balloon to come out and what ever I had been craving for would be the first thing I would want to eat and would then be ensued with a binge fest of eating a bunch of crap, which would defeat the whole purpose of the process.

As the kilos melted away in the double digits, I began to recognize the soul I saw in the mirror. She had been a prisoner behind layers of fat that had pinned her spirit down and almost broke due to the weight.

I felt lighter,

I felt my energy levels rise,

I felt more like my old self.

How I had missed her!

It was like reconnecting with an old childhood friend after a long absence.

My smile was back too.

I found that overtime my cravings for potato chips, soft drinks (sodas), chocolate, candy, desserts, bread sticks, burgers …etc had calmed down tremendously. When I did have a craving I would order the food of choice, but then I would start freaking out about the quantity! It would be too much and there was no way I could finish it. Which took some readjusting because in the past, I would choose restaurants based on the biggest portion size and now I was trying to avoid them.

As the date for the balloons extraction approached, I became really concerned and nervous because I didn’t want to go back to my old ways or fall back into old eating habits. The Universe must have heard me, because, I was told that there was a person in Cairo that was a licensed and trained Gastric Mind Band Therapist.

I can here you ask – “What is Gastric Mind Band?”

Gastric Mind Band is where you confer with a therapist and go over your relationship with food from as far back as you can remember. You talk about triggers that lead you to turn to food, what your food of poison to turn to is, what your goal weight is, what life goals you have…etc and much more.

Then you have hypnosis session, where the therapist helps to communicate with your subconscious and gives it messages of what you want to do/change. Reprogramming your relationship with food and getting both your subconscious and conscious to work together.

A week after the Gastric Balloon was removed, I started my sessions. The first two to three sessions were long ones, but quite cathartic. Speaking about the food addiction and some of the triggers openly, helped me to understand them more and not fear them as I had before. I think in retrospect, I was also unloading and letting go of emotions I had been harboring for years.

Then the unimaginable happened! I ruptured my Plantaris calf muscle. I had to keep my leg elevated for 3 weeks, which meant I’d barely be moving. Which terrified me. With not being able to move, I could very easily gain back the weight. I couldn’t and wouldn’t let that happen. With the new tools I had, I would make sure that I drank lots of water throughout the day and would eat lots of vegetable and protein and very little carbs. As the weeks rolled by and I was back on my feet, it looked as though I’d actually lost weight and not gained any.

When I had healed, I began to break down some walls I had built up. I would put on my trainers (sneakers) and go for walks, I’d joined a belly-dancing workout class, I started going out and meeting eligible bachelors, going on solo adventures and being more assertive in making decisions and giving feed back or opinions.

I still love cooking and I try all kinds of recipes. The quantities are enough to feed four or more people. I try it and divide it up. I freeze some in small tupperware tubs and the rest I share with colleagues and friends. So, I don’t feel that I HAVE to eat it all and finish it.

July 16th will mark one year since I started this journey and it is far from over. The demons or negative voices do rise up from the shadows of my mind and attempt to lure me back to eating junk food. I won’t lie, sometimes the voices are louder and stronger than my will power. I am human, I will be weak, I will fall, but rather than beat myself up, talk down to myself and shame myself to push me to binge eat. I change my tone… “You had a bad day (or a few), you ate crap, that’s o.k. It’s going to happen. Put it behind you, it’s over, it’s done. Now change it. Get back on track.

I recognize that I am a (recovering) food attic.

I recognize that it isn’t easy and a struggle.

I recognize that I am not perfect and that I will make mistakes and moments of weakness.

I recognize that when I do fall, I don’t have to stay down. I can get back up.

I recognize It’s never too late.

I recognize I will have to take this one day at a time.

Dating Apps

After my very brief engagement ended a year an a half ago. I was in a rut. For quite sometime I believed there was something wrong with me.

There must be! How else could I explain the string of unsuccessful past relationships of being cheated on and dumped? It HAD to be me.

After a lot of reflection and working on myself, I had come to terms that he wasn’t coming back. Even though we still loved and cared for one another, it just wasn’t written in our stars to be together. My circle of close friends was getting narrower with members starting their own family, immigrating or repatriating. I wasn’t meeting anyone ‘new’ and my self-confidence was in need of repair.

After a break-up, I noticed that I tend to beat myself up a lot and find fault in my character but mostly my appearance. I would feel so unattractive, unworthy, unlovable and just plain…BLAH.

At Christmas some friends and family members suggested I go out and date blokes (guys) during my visit to the UK. I was very hesitant and reluctant to take that step.

Why?

I had a poor self image of myself (body wise) and I didn’t think anyone would be interested enough to want to go out with me.

One crisp December’s morning in London, I downloaded one of the leading dating apps to my phone, out of curiosity to see what it was like. I created my profile and saw the profiles of some of the men. They were quite handsome, which boosted my insecurities further. Non of those handsome studs would want to meet me, I thought to myself. So… I deleted the app.

In February, I had ruptured a muscle in my calf. I was feeling down and quite alone, having been put on 3 weeks leg rest in a wheelchair and given an additional few weeks of physiotherapy, I found myself wishing that I had a companion and someone by my side during hard times like these. I had been chatting to one of my colleagues from work who’s very intellectual, confident and smart. She’d recently married and we got to talking about how she had come to meet her husband. It turns out, it was on Tinder. We talked about the difficulty of meeting people and how the app helped her move on from a relationship that went sour.

Our conversation played over and over in my mind the rest of the day and after I went home. The pros and cons of the app were weighed and my sassy side decided to give me a pep talk.

“You want to meet eligible bachelors, but you aren’t doing anything about it! You don’t go out and you’re living in the shadows. How the hell do you expect to find anyone? You can’t have them delivered to the house you know!”

I’m in a wheelchair and I can’t go anywhere! What do you want from me? I asked her

“You’re temporarily in a chair, not forever! That’s not a reason. Get the app, and surf through it. What’s the worst that can happen? Set some boundaries, don’t give out your phone number, turn off the location, if that makes you feel more secure, don’t post close up photos of yourself and only meet in public places. IF they ALL turn out to be trolls, swipe left or deactivate the app! Bada-bim Bada-boom! What’ve you gotta to lose? Huh?”

“Nothing!”

“That’s what I thought… So…? Whacha Waiting For…? Get the app already!”

(This ultra ego of mine has a strong Booklyn Italian accent and is quite bossy! I don’t know where she got it from, or where she came from, but she scares me a times. I just did what she commanded, because I really didn’t want to have to lose sleep over it.)

She was right. I had nothing to lose. Maybe I won’t meet Prince Charming, BUT I might meet a lot of charming guys. I held my phone and drew a deep breath as I went to the App Store on my device.

I nervously downloaded the app and began compiling my profile. I was very cautious for a couple of reason; First of all, I’m a teacher and some of the men on the app, might very well be, parents of students or even colleagues. I didn’t want to be the source of unwanted gossip where I work and draw that kind of attention to myself. In addition, I had been told that some High School kids have false accounts to catch teachers too…

So, I chose to go with a nickname people gave me in college, not post close-up pictures of myself and to not have my location available. I also made a decision not to give out my phone number whenever someone asked. I’d prefer to see the whites of their eyes and look into their pupil’s first before handing over my digits.

When my profile was set and ready…I was surprised by the number of likes I got. I looked at profiles carefully, read the biographies to see if we had anything in common. I was pleasantly surprised to see how many guys were on the app.

When I was able to use crutches I agreed to meet up with a few of them. For the most part all of the ones I’ve met so far have been really nice and we got along well. A few of them have become good acquaintances that I keep in touch with, meet up and have a good chin wag with.

There was one particular guy that I was very attracted to on many levels. We were similar and different at the same time. We both didn’t think that the other was interested until we finally came out and said it. Things got off to a rocky start, his work hours were the polar opposite to mine, I found it difficult to communicate with him because he wasn’t into calling or texts. Then he just ghosted me! Disappeared. I was gutted, disappointed and hurt. I took this as a personal rejection and I started tearing myself apart again.

Guys are great to have as friends. They give you insight to things that women don’t always know or get. Talking to them helped calm my insecurities and learn that I shouldn’t take it personally. The person may have issues, might have lied about their relationship status or a number of other things. The important thing is to brush it off and move on.

Months later, he got back in touch to say ‘Hi’ and ask how I was doing. When I asked him what happened, he said that he had a lot going on, on end and felt like he couldn’t breath or talk. (I can understand that, because I’ve been there myself, BUT, that’s not an acceptable excuse for me. I would have appreciated him saying something along the lines of ‘ Hey, I’m really into you, but I just can’t give you the time or attention you deserve because of what i’m going through.’ I would have TOTALLY respected that.

Since then I’ve connected/matched with a few other guys. Some of whom I have arranged to meet and when the day comes disappear and sever communication with me. Others are flaky, have very little to say and of no interest, which I find quite boring. Then there are those I’m not ready to meet yet, because my spider senses are tingling and tell me to hold up.

I won’t lie, there are some who only one thing and one thing only… and that is to fool around. I just politely decline and tell them that’s not what I’m using the platform for and I’m looking for something ‘real’ and ‘long term.

There are days where I think to myself “I’m too old for this shit!” and consider deleting the account and retreating back into of the safety of the shadows, but then my ultra ego says no. You are getting out and meeting people and yes, I might not have found someone I click with on a higher level…but I won’t find him, unless I keep going out and mingling.

Dating Apps are not for everyone… I respect that. As you get older, it does get harder.

I’m continuing to work on myself and try and meet like-minded men. I just have to keep in mind that real life isn’t like + doesn’t move at the same pace as a movie real or TV series. I have to be patient and have to trust, what is meant to be will be.

One swipe, and One date at a time.

Why Are You Still Single?

Before Ramadan I met up with an old university buddy of mine. He and I had been talking and catching up over dinner one evening, when he hit me with a question.

“You’re such a catch Nadz, how come you’ve never been snatched up?” Was how he started. “You’re attractive, independent, smart, funny AND you can cook! Is it because you’re too picky, not finding the right fit or just plain old assholism?” Then he paused, “or maybe a combination of all of the above?”

In that moment, I found the question humorous and I had an answer for him, but when I left, the question lingered and has been oscillating in my cranium ever since.

“Why have I not been picked to be someone’s significant other or life time partner?”

“Am I too picky?”

“Is there something wrong with me?” “Is there such thing as a match?”

There have been a few things that have contributed to my status…

To begin with, I’m of mixed ethnicity. I’ve been raised to embrace both cultures. I took the good from my European and my North African heritage, to enrich and better myself as a person. There are some social traditions and standards from both that I respect and uphold. Due to my mongrelism – I often find that some men (and people), find me somewhat exotic as well as peculiar. I can’t be put into ‘A Box’ or labeled, which they find hard to fathom and to deal with. Being divergent makes some people very uncomfortable and unable to see me as just a person. I’m regarded as a melange that is hard for them to fathom or even accept.

In addition to being of mixed race, many thought that, just because my mum is a westerner that means that I’m easy. That I’m not a ‘good’ girl.

What does that mean?

Simply put, It means that they think, I would be willing to drop my knickers with the snap of their fingers. Many learned the hard way, that, that was far from true. I actually put one guy in a head-lock once for attempting to put his hands under my shirt and demanded he tell me what made him think that he could do that?

He said because I was more Khawaga (foreign), than Egyptian, (a misconception that continues to plague my existence to this very day). So, I threw it back at him. I said if a guy did what he had just done to his sister or female cousin, he’d be ok with it? “No, not at all.” He said with nostrils flaring as the image formed in his mind. ‘So, then you should treat me the same way, you’d expect a guy to treat them. My mother IS foreign, but my father IS Egyptian.” Then I left.

In addition to my multicultural background, I have parents from two different religious faiths. Growing up, I had the best of both and thought nothing of it! I celebrated Christmas and Easter, Ramadan and Eids, but as I grew older, people pointed it out to me, I struggled with identifying which I belonged to. Over years of experiences, knowledge gained and self reflection. I found that I have a deep admiration and respect for religions in general. Their purpose is/was to help us mortals stay on the right path and aid us in becoming ‘our best selves’. I find religious beliefs fascinating, I hold no negativity towards different observances, as long as they don’t cause harm to others. My approach is more spiritual and doing us much good as I can in this life time. Growing up, my sister and I both found out that some of our suitors pursuits came to an unexpected and abrupt halt once their parents found out that my mother wasn’t of the Islamic faith. They didn’t think that we had been “raised” with the correct teachings, morals and values (How wrong they were). So, they deterred their son’s from further pursuing and convinced them we would not be a good match for them or gel with their family.

It was hurtful to us, and to my mother that we should be judged on a whim, without ever having met us. On one occasion my father heard through the Alexandrian grape vine (gossip channels) why one suitor’s father opposed the proposal. It angered him deeply. “How could I allow the father of the young man to enter our house, knowing that he has such negative thoughts and things to say about my wife?” He had a valid point. “There is nothing in our religion that forbids the union between a Muslim man and a Christian woman!” Was the message he gave to us (perhaps not so eloquently), but you get the idea.

We moved to Alexandria from Saudi Arabia after the Gulf invasion of 91. I was the new kid on the block. Fair, freckled and spoke English fluently but, I didn’t grow up in the city, I didn’t have the ‘family friends’ from birth that many people grew up with. I wasn’t a member of a club or with a cabin in Montazah. I was an outsider, an unknown. My Egyptian family although very well known before the first revolution that Egypt had in the 50s, were quite well to do and prominent. But in the modern era, we weren’t people of interest’ or connections. So, I wasn’t exactly ‘A Catch’. In their opinion, I had nothing to bring to the table, to make the joining of families worthwhile. Unless you count my foreign passport, foreign completion and ability to speak English fluently as an asset.

You may think, that I’m exaggerating or even making this up. I wish I was. I sincerely do, but some of those I had met and had a brief (puppy love) romance with in the past, actually told me this. So, I heard it from the horse’s mouth as you’d say. Who I was, as a person… had no value. It was all business.

My parents raised us to be strong, independent and to have an opinion. We were taught to be able to agree to disagree while maintaining respect for the other person. “You never know what tomorrow will bring, you may fall from the pedestal and if you don’t have these life skills, you won’t know how to get back up.” “We won’t always be here, you have to learn how to do it for yourself.” “One day you’ll own your own home, you have to know how to run it and take care of it.” Were many of the things we heard over the years. Most of which have come true and without those early lessons, I don’t think my sister and I would be the people we are today or where we are today.

Being strong, independent and opinionated doesn’t always bode well. Many want a trophy like kind of wife. Who looks glam, put together, says the right thing…. Yeah that’s not me. My father received a call, from a woman years ago. The woman said she had seen his daughter in the pharmacy and would like to propose on behalf of her son.

My father asked what the son thought, she replied “I’m his mother, he will respect and go with my decision.” She then went to list their assets and what he did for a living. My father said “Masha’a Allah (God’s blessings), but my daughter would have to meet him and have a say in the matter. I won’t choose for her.” Flabbergasted the woman said “You need to marry her young, before she begins to form opinions of her own.” I don’t know how he kept his cool, but he politely ended the conversation and told her that he didn’t think it would be a good match.

“I have loved and lost” as the saying goes, but I prefer to say, “I’ve kissed many prince charmings, but they all turned out to be frogs.”

When I was younger, I used to wear my heart on my sleeve. I would trust easily and was quite romantic. With time, I became wiser, and after many heartaches and a few breaks, I became less inclined to follow my heart, but to follow my head. My younger -self was quite attractive, outgoing, and fun (not to say that I’m less so now). My present self has become wiser, more reserved and takes her time to trust the person attempting to court. After many incidences of discovering that the person I had been dating had been cheating on me or lied about their marital status.

My morals and personal ethics forbid me from crossing the line of dating or getting involved with a married or separated man. I would hate it if roles were reversed and I found out that the man, I had promised to be loyal to, the father of my children, the person I share a home and bed with, was having an affair. I couldn’t in all consciousness do that to another person or have a hand in destroying someone else’s family.

I don’t think I would be able to sleep at night if I did, AND I certainly wouldn’t want to get on Karma’s bad side either. What goes around comes around…

One guy made the GRAVE mistake of lying about being divorced. His wife had access to his online accounts and saw that he was attempting to lead me on. She had read how I refused an expensive gift from him, and insisting that money should have gone to his kids, not to someone he had just met. From the conversation she could tell what kind of person I was. So, she paid me the curtsey of calling me and explaining that he isn’t divorced and that he lives with her and her two kids. I can’t begin to describe how mad and and sick to the stomach this made me feel. That he would not only do that to his wife and kids but would want to drag me into this madness.

His wife and I teamed up.

Let’s just say he met his match with me and got a big wake-up call.

That’s all I will say.

In my teens and early twenties, I would easily be “Ga Ga” over a guy, and would see everything through rose colored glasses; trust him and be exceptionally loyal that I wouldn’t see the signs or omens of what was wrong before me. Some would even get away with being rude, controlling and because I thought I was love struck, I allowed it to happen.

Now that I know my worth, I am more in control. I ask tough questions about their long term intentions, pay close attention to see if their actions match their words and vice versa. I notice small details that I used to overlook, that tell a lot about the person’s true character. I also allow for the pursuit to take time, so that those who are only after one thing… end up falling by the way side, because they’ve found someone else who might be more willing to meet ‘their needs and requirements.’ Those that are genuine continue to pursue and are interested in my company for the right reasons. Sometimes my filter isn’t fool proof and I misjudge, but I know my conscience is clear because I did all that I could to protect my Kintsukuroi heart.

Let’s pause for a second…

I don’t want you to get the wrong impression…I’m not slamming men. I’m NOT saying all guys think like this. I am only recounting MY personal experiences of unfortunate (but very character building) events and what has led me to remain single. I have been fortunate to learn from them, even if it was painful. There are some good men out there who look beyond the facade and actually want a person of substance. There are men who are sapiosexual and not solely drawn to physical appearances, social connections and family fortune. I just haven’t been fortunate enough to have found a partner of that caliber… YET!

Before I had gotten engaged in 2017, I was quite content and at peace with the idea of remaining a spinster and living my life to the fullest. After having a partner and someone to share and experience things with… it altered my perspective. I do miss the companionship, the support. I also miss having a partner to communicate with and share the good things and bad things with.

People tell me to move forward, throw it over my shoulder and not to worry “there are plenty of fish in the sea” and that “something better is coming along, it will happen when you least expect it.”

I am skeptical and have doubts that I will find someone who accepts me for who I am, with all my faults and multiculturalism. The best thing I can do is to keep living life to the fullest, making each day count and meet new people with an open mind, trying not to take rejection to heart. WHILE never losing my self value, self respect or compromising who I am, to appease someone else, and make them feel more comfortable.

Until then… I will continue to live everyday as best as I can and work on making me an even better me.

Two Blessed Years

If you read my post, ‘Drowning in the Darkness’, you may have learned that I lost my father very recently. Six months ago to be precise.

Fare warning this is long and it is raw.

This chapter of our lives began in December of 2016. Just a few days after Christmas. Dad was rushed to hospital in Alexandria. He was pale, in and out of consciousness, had no energy and was unable to lie down to sleep. His breathing had also become very shallow.

A couple of days prior to him being admitted into hospital, he’d visited his cardiologist for a check-up because he wasn’t looking well and was always out of breath, which was very unlike him. He had had multiple blood tests done, but the ‘TOP’ hematologist in the city, wanted more, before prescribing him any medication or treatment. His hemoglobin at that time had been 8. That morning in December, my mom put her foot down seeing how critical the situation was. I called the doctor non stop until he answered, to tell him of my father’s condition and his initial response was for us to send someone to his clinic later that afternoon to pick up the prescription. I told him, that wasn’t good enough, we insisted he go to a hospital. He instructed us to go to one in the Semouha area, where he has rounds. I rode with Dad in the ambulance and the person in the vehicle turned the oxygen on full and he was still struggling to breath.

He was eerily calm.

The ambulance was stuck in horrendous traffic. The sound of the sirens blared and filled the air, but no car budged. The ambulance crew asked me to make a decision to continue to the hospital ‘The Doctor’ had recommended with the risk of losing him on the way OR to the nearest one with a higher chance of arriving alive…

I chose the nearest one.

I couldn’t have my father’s death on my conscious … I wouldn’t have been able to live with that. I’d never have forgive myself.

When he was admitted into the ER, his hemoglobin had dropped to 4. He was at death’s door. His organs had begun to shut down and he was fading. He had stopped talking, his skin was turning a paler shade of white and was cold to the touch. My mother was in control mode and I her second in command. She told them his medical history, all the medications he was on and demanded to know what the prognosis was, without any sugar coating because she had a daughter who lived abroad that needed to be informed. After a full examination, they said they didn’t expect him to make it through the night. I will never forget that look in my mum’s eyes, when she turned to me and instructed me to call my sister and tell her to come home. I had been fine up until that point -nerves of steal. The moment I heard my sister’s voice I cracked and could barely get the words out, never had ‘come home’ been so hard to say. My throat closed up so tightly, it felt like I was being chocked.

The hours that passed, waiting to see him during the short visiting hour in ICU and for my sister’s arrival was nothing short of anguish. The seconds and minutes didn’t budge. It’s as if everything had been set in slow motion. I prayed . I prayed with every ounce of belief that I had that the outcome would be good, as well as for the best.

I even asked God to take years from my own life, to give to him, so that we could have more time.

When we were finally able to see him, Dad was on an incubator, a long tube had been inserted into his mouth, to help him breath, his eyes were not focused, they just rolled around looking at the ceiling. He didn’t know who we were. My mom and relatives, would talk to him, but my voice had retreated. My hero – my dad- had fallen. Roles had been reversed, we were now his guardians.

Sleep didn’t come to any of us that night. I was terrified of closing my eyes and being awoken by a call from the hospital. Perhaps if I stayed awake, I could somehow will, the call not come, was the subconscious thought that kept me awake.

My sister arrived shattered, nerve wrecked and full of worry. We were so happy to be reunited to support one another. The call never came that night…there was hope. We went to the hospital before visiting hours to persuade the ICU staff to allow my sister and our long time neighbor to see my Dad. They agreed. My mom said the minute he saw my sister, tears streamed down his cheeks. He was more alert than he had been when we had last seen him and was desperate to talk and to have the tube removed. A good sign.

Was the almighty granting me my prayer?

When we asked the doctors what caused his hemoglobin to drop from normal to 4. They informed us that Dad’s excessive use of Bruffen (a pain killer), eroded the lining of his stomach and that he had been bleeding internally for quite some time. That’s what caused his hemoglobin to drop and eventually led to his organs to start shutting down. They gave him blood transfusions along with many other medications and he seemed to be improving – BUT hospital test results showed he had Chronic Leukemia.

Our Hearts… plummeted…

We knew that if we shared this information with him, he would have given up. So we agreed to keep it from him – until he was strong enough and needed to know.

My Dad stayed in ICU for 7 weeks! They had stopped the bleeding in the stomach, but there was a secondary source of bleeding that took several investigative procedures to locate. Once it was located and treated his hemoglobin began to climb and was able to go home.

The day I came home to see him sat in his chair, in the sitting room was a day of great relief, joy and gratitude.

My Daddy, was home! My Daddy, was alive!

The medical roller coaster had not come to a halt. It was set on full speed. The next two years had ups and downs that would churn anyones stomach, strike the strongest nerves and pull at your heart stings. It was mentally, emotionally and physically exhausting for everyone involved. Never once did we forget how grateful we were to have him with us, thanks to the amazing medical care he had gotten. We were very lucky with doctors and all those that came to our aid and gave support.

My father left the hospital diabetic, so that took a lot of adjusting to. We had to make sure he ate the right food, and we got the dosages right. We had to learn the signs of when his sugar was too low and have sugary treats at the ready, just in case.

His heart and kidneys weren’t working as well as they had. His body would retain fluid and he would have to be readmitted into hospital multiple times to try and extract it. Eventually we were left not choice but to start dialysis. It took two months for the machines to extract over 40 Liters of water from his body. He was told that he had to limit his intake of liquid, which was not something he ever got used to. He was a BIG tea drinker.

When the water had drained, He was so frail. So thin. He had aged so much. For the first time, I saw my dad as an old man.

Dad’s spirit was strong. He truly believe that he would be back on his feet, driving his car and would be ready for duck hunting season. He would clean his shot gun and assemble it every other day, to prove to himself, that he was getting better and stronger. He would climb the stairs outside the apartment until he was able to reach the landing of the floor above. My father had always been an active man. He would always be the first up in the house, even if he went to bed late. He would always be bustling and rushing around doing things. He felt trapped in the confines of his home. When I would visit, I would do my best to take him out for a drive or a meal. Some days he would gladly do so with his stick or roll-ator. Other days, he was too weak and down to attempt it.

Over time his kidneys started to fail and dialysis sessions were increased. He went 3 times a week. He hated going, he saw how unwell others were and he didn’t believe he was as bad. Then one day, a man on the machine next to him died in the middle of the session and this struck fear in him, that it might happen to him and that no one from the family would be with him.

The final blow to his will to live came in the summer. His white blood cells had climbed so high, that we had to tell him, he had Leukemia. We needed to start giving him treatment. We knew he would be mad and we knew that once we started his immune system would drop and his deterioration would be rapid, because of his multiple health conditions. When he was told, he was furious that we had kept it from him. It didn’t take him too long to forgive us. I still think we did the right thing.

From that time on wards, we spent as much time with him as we could. We told him everything we needed to say. We went through old family pictures together and wrote the names of everyone on the back so our history wouldn’t be lost. Something I had previously thought we would had plenty of time to do. I took loads of photos of him with us, with his childhood friends and videos of him telling us stories he had suddenly remembered. So, that our memories would always be able to remember how he looked and the sound of his voice.

The last two months he was in and out of hospital more times than I care to recall. For fever, chest infection, pneumonia, shingles and finally paralysis from the waist down. Every time the phone rang or a call from my mother came, my heart would skip a beat. The day, THE call came I was in class. When I saw my mum’s name, I knew. Her voice on the other end confirmed it. This call unlike previous ones was the toughest of all. I was trying to remain poised in front of my colleague and students, as my mother informed me of how grave his condition was, and that if we were truly kind, we would let him go, so that he would no longer have to suffer. We unanimously agreed to a DNR.

We all made our way home.

I was the first to arrive and made it in time for visiting hours at the ICU. His cousin, my aunt, my mom and the night nurse were there. I didn’t recognize my Dad, it had been 2 days since I’d last seen him. He had deteriorated beyond recognition. He didn’t know who I was…. my heart broke. My voice once again retreated. I couldn’t speak. I could only hold his hand and kiss his forehead to let him know that I was there. They had to tell him it was me, and when he spoke… He asked about my cat! My CAT! I couldn’t help but laugh.

He spent 2 nights in ICU drifting in and out of consciousness moaning in pain, barely eating or talking. When he did it was garbled. This was the most difficult thing I have had to bare witness too.

On the 3rd day, he was as alert and as sharp as a whip.

We knew what this meant.

It was HIS time.

We braced ourselves for the inevitable that comes to us all.

He recognized me for the first time in days and turned to me and said ‘Give me a kiss. Thank you, for everything you have done for me. I am so proud of you, and I love you so much, but please let me go. I am suffering and I am in so much pain.” He had one last request of us and that was to take him home, to die in peace in his bed.

I in-turn told him how much I loved him, how proud I was of his long 2 year fight and that we couldn’t ask any more of him. He was the strongest and bravest man I knew. He had my blessing to go and to be with his creator. It was the saddest day of my life, but a beautiful one too.

We carried out his wish. It was an arduous battle getting him released from the hospital. They weren’t keen on allowing him to leave, but we were relentless. That evening he came home and we called all those that were dearest to him to come and share the last moments with him. Those that couldn’t make it, called and said their final farewell over the phone. I think it was the best send off anyone could ask for.

Not many people get the chance to be surrounded by all their family when they die and others don’t get the closure and miss out on saying good bye. We did. We had two blessed years. We were there for him and with him right to the very end. I couldn’t have asked for anything else.

My father died at dawn the following morning. Our hearts ached, but he was at peace.

Our Captain had gained his angel wings. He was free from suffering and laid to rest.

We are still going through the cycle of mourning. It is different for each of us. I am the eldest so I feel the most responsible and tend to put my feelings on the back burner, to lend support and strength to everyone else. I recognize that it’s a way of not facing my loss and to suppress the grief. When my guard drops, it hits me in waves.

I miss him terribly. We all do.

Death is so much harder for the living friends and family members that have been left behind.

This experience taught me something, to never take any of our loved ones for granted. Make every moment you have with them count. Cherish the memories you make and make as many as you can. If your instinct is telling you to call and ask about someone, DO IT. If you have any qualms with anyone make your peace with them, because you may not have the chance tomorrow.

In loving memory of our Bulbul Pops- Allah Yerhamak.