Summer is Here & Gone
You know that longing feeling you sense when you are flying over Kuwait’s desert and the orange, twinkly lights scattered all over it? It is a strange feeling of both heart-wrenching love and guilt mixed together, the same feeling you would experience if you realize you neglected a child, or something of that sort. Well, as I peered out of the airplane’s window, the only thought I had was, “Crap. Take me back. I want more.” I wondered to myself, “Can I bribe the pilot and make him turn back?” Of course, I could never do that (well I could but what would I bribe him with? The delicious chocolates I picked up at Duty Free?) Although not more than ten days, I am grateful that I made the best out of my short vacation. One of the best things I experienced were really simple. For instance, I forgot how rejuvenating walking is. We walked everywhere. In the villages and towns, up and down hills, through parks and cobblestoned streets, airports and train stations. It was wonderful to just walk it out. No wonder gyms are not so widespread in the places we visited as they are here in Kuwait since daily life is a workout by itself. I also realized that I am a city girl. Well, not officially a city girl, but I would opt for a weekend in Zurich rather than some deserted, countryside cabin in the middle of nowhere, surrounded my cows and Jacques the 80-year old plumber who does not speak a word of English.
I think that that is due to the fact that when I was younger, my parents whisked my siblings and I to our lovely house in France. Nestled high up in the mountains, the house was my parents refuge, the ultimate place to be, framed by greenery and thousand year old trees. For my siblings and I, however, it was less than perfect. I remember that during the beautiful, rainless nights, we popped open umbrellas just to walk down the pitch-black path to our car to head downtown for a nice, crisp pizza. If we did not use the umbrellas, the bats that would be flying all around would run into us like aimless, hairy darts. And that is just the least of my sibling and I’s summers (although a part of me now wishes that I experienced those vacations at this age so I would appreciate those days more). So when my husband was oohing and ahhing at the little cozy cabins we saw on the mountains and said that he had always wanted one of his own, I widened my eyes in horror and remembered my maid-less mother who slaved away at the kitchen while she simultaneously juggled four children during almost every summer vacation we had. Yet I am a do-it-yourself kind of gal and studying/living abroad has certainly sharpened my already solid domestic skills. Heck, I do not even leave a hotel room until it is the same way it looks when I entered it, with the bed made and everything in its place. In the end, I think I can do the work but the inconvenience of being in an isolated home surrounded by bushes, bees and trees would surely turn my June – August holiday into a summer vocation, not a vacation. And this is just one out of the infinite moments where I stop and think, “How the heck did my mom do it?” Then again, I have never heard of let alone know a human being who is like my mother. I thought about making her a cute dara’a for Ramadan, with a long, red cape and a large “S” near the chest area with a cute embroidered message underneath that reads “Super Mom,” because that is who she is.
Paul Simon - Hearts & Bones
Marilyn Monroe - Do It Again
Anthony Hamilton - Do You Feel Me
at 8:30 AM