..Like Back-Up

I have many qualities. I hope that over the weeks, you have felt somewhat closer to me. Some qualities are good, yes, but others tend to be defective.. distressing.. and sometimes ridiculous.
I am a psychologist, but i am not trouble-free nor quirk-free. Let me explain..
During the week-end, i attended a conference that i had been waiting impatiently for. After almost two hours of fervently taking down notes and filling up sheet after sheet with valuable information, the long awaited coffee break was announced. I hurriedly left the hall and decided to pass by the restroom. With my bag heavily dangling on one shoulder, the conference booklet on my arm, and my blackberry phone in my hand, i somehow overestimated the multitasking facility that women are believed to possess... I attempted to wash my hands.
Turned open the faucet, and woooooooosh ran the cold water.
...and swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiish went my phone under the running open water.. along with my sanity..
Panicking, i cursed myself under my breath, and with trembling hands tried to swipe the drenched battery and keys with a paper towel.
Stupid stupid stupid!!! i punished myself.
Oh, it's no big deal! Khalas, even if the phone dies, as long as you've saved your stuff on the memory card, you have back-up. You'll transfer everything in a second. A friend calmly explained to me, dismissing my anxiety.
Memory card? Back-up? Two words that are definitely not part of my dictionary. I have heard them, yes, i do not live on Mars, but have i actually made them a part of my life?
NO.
This must not come as a surprise to you. I have mentioned how technologically challenged i am before. My students laugh openly in class, everytime i get a warning window amid my powerpoint presentation and anxiously ask them what's happening. Technology and error windows frighten me.
So, as the color from my face started to fade, i started to imagine my contact numbers drowning one by one, my appointments on my calender swimming round and round down the drain, and my precious images of all the kids in my life popping away like tiny bubbles.
No back-up.
I am not a very important business woman, so you might be wondering why all this drama over some phone. But i am a very obsessive psychologist. And i have many things organized around this electronic device, and with the possibility of it dying on me, my whole sense of order and control sank underwater.
Well, the happenings of the rest of the day will only make you laugh. I did virtually every single thing i was told to do or i had read off the internet to do that might save my phone. I blow-dried it, left it for hours to dry on a napkin, flipped it over for another set of hours... and.. overnight, my blackberry was submerged in a basin of italian uncooked rice... Laugh all you want, but besides a trustworthy source, a website by blackberry geniuses suggested it.. apparently, rice absorbs moisture. Scientifically proven.
Now that i await the final verdict from the electronics store, i can only think of the many things that i wish i had "back-up" for. Simple things, little things.. like my first time on an airplane, my first diary, my first movie at the theater, my first stuffed doll.. things that take such a big toll on my life and yet with one slip.. disappear.
How tremendous the effect that things and objects have on our life, because of the meaning and memory that we attach to them. And how easily our world comes down, with one slip under running water..
Time to learn how to back-up...

..Like a Baby's Name

"M-E-G-G-I-E".
"Yes, Maggie, but with an "e" instead".
"Ah.. Meeggie.. sounds like Mickey.."
The drama over my name for as long as i can remember. The drama, confusion, intrigue, curiosity... simple astonishment sometimes.. "mmmm, tayyeb why?".
Well, let's just say my parents were big fans of a certain movie during the time i was conceived, Thorn Birds, to be precise.. and the heroine of this twisted somewhat disturbing love story went by the name.. you guessed it.. Meggie.
I have grown to love my name, and the different variations of it. I am daddy's Megmoug, and mommy's Megmougo, and my brother's modernized Megz. And of course..  i love being my other half's simple.. Meg.
I am someone who loves names. I take great interest in a person's name. Less than three weeks into the semester, students are amazed at how i call them out one by one, by name... over ninety in total.
I will not lie to you and say that it's a piece of cake memorizing ninety names, i make conscious effort associating each name to each face.. but i enjoy it. It makes things personal.. and that makes everything much easier, whether teaching, learning, or most importantly, respecting.
I have made some very special new friends over the past two months. I have come across a wonderful little family that has embraced me and made me part of it since day one. My new friend, a loving wife and mother, has served like a big sister to me.. gentle, wise, and caring, she has opened my eyes to the world in a whole different way.. and her children.. her children have just reminded me again and again how i long to have little angels of my own sometime soon.
They have filled up my heart.
Over coffee the other day, my new friend and I were discussing the big arrival of her new baby girl. To the world's great fortune, besides the two little angels that she has already put on earth, she is expecting a third one. A third little baby girl.
"I have changed my mind about the name though"
"Ah really?" i sighed with disappointment, "but i already told everyone, and i can picture her with that name. It's perfect"
"I am still sticking with the letter M, like my other two children. But i have decided to name her.. Meggie.. instead."
....
To explain to you what i felt in that exact moment in time, will just bring tears to my eyes. Hearing that name on the lips of an expecting mother, intended for a little angel that i have not met yet, made me want to jump out of my seat and hug her right away.. but i didn't.. i wanted to.. but somehow.. i couldn't.. and now i regret it.
Instead, i felt glued to my seat, breathless.. and in complete and total shock.. the blissful type..
In one word, i felt.. honored. But wondered.. if i even deserved this.. and then, i somehow felt responsible.. Will this baby be as obsessive as me? Will she ruminate over little things and be over-sensitive? Oh no.. will she be bad at mathematics and still count on her fingers at the age of 26?? Will she crave red licorice and everything sweet and spend her childhood at the dentist's clinic.. root canal after root canal.. Oh.. the responsibilities! What if she adopts all my flaws.. i don't want to imagine.
For what it's worth, i just hope she'll love sunflowers.
Although i have been engaged for almost a year, and i will be married in almost another one, i had decided on the names of my future baby angels since i was in high school.. and no, i will not share them here with you, in fear that you will steal them and get to it before me.. But i will share with you that according to the experts, one of them will be "delicate, pure, romantic, and gentle", the other will be "easing-going, fun, and daring".. Ironically, these two names, years later, just happen to describe the different personalities of myself and their future dad.
I never understood the importance of naming a baby after someone before today. I would question this tradition of ours, where we name babies after their grandfathers or after their fathers.. but today, i have discovered that it is truly a remarkable feeling.
It is such a powerful feeling, that it glues you to your chair and leaves you speechless.
It paints a bond between this special angel that you have yet to meet and yourself, and it fills you up with love. Nothing but love.
And i am consumed by it right now.. as i await little Meggie's arrival..
For that day will truly be special.. and the world will hold.. a little more sunshine.. a little more softness.. and a whole lot more love.. 

..Like an Enveloping-Kind-of-Love

While walking around just yesterday, i realized that i have been writing this blog for a little over a month.. and yet, i still haven't introduced you to my first love-at-first-sight. I have mentioned him, yes, i remember, but still.. the simple mentioning doesn't give him justice. You see, this boy, does more than light up my life.. he gives meaning to every little thing that i do. He is a very important element in making me the Meg that you know today. And i believe it is time that you get properly acquainted.
Karim entered my life in September 2006. I had heard so much about him from my best friend, from the way he sits like a little Buddha, to the way his big eyes sparkle.. but all his stories did not prepare me to what i felt the instant i saw him. He was sitting in his playroom on the white spongy floor, flipping quickly through the pages of some book. Standing watching him, i remember feeling nervous, scared.. and naive. This tiny little boy, with the soft cascading brown hair frightened me.
At the time i was embarrassed to admit to this feeling, but 5 years later, i have learned and grown so much because of this boy, that admitting this to you all feels as natural as admitting to my car-crazed fiancé that i still don't know how to change a flat tire.
People who know me well, know that i am someone who likes to have control. Not the kind of control over people, not the bossy type, but to be in control of what i am doing. I like to be prepared, informed, and perfectly à la hauteur at what i do. And this boy, well.. threw my structure, my books, and my research, out the window the second i saw him. I felt unveiled and bare, and completely and utterly lost.
As i watched him, flipping through the thin pages, i wondered if he would like me. Five minutes later, he walks out, and, upon noticing this strange girl in his space, looks straight at me.
He's looking at me! I remember silently thinking to myself, that must be a good sign!
My role in this child's life was to teach him, something i have always loved to do.. teach. But over the years, Karim has taught me much much more than i have ever taught an entire university classroom.

He has taught me patience, a virtue that i had never really owned prior to him.
He has taught me friendship. I cannot lie, Karim has turned his back at me many times, when i truly longed to reach out for him. But at the end of the day, all friends sometimes need their own space. And once i learned to respect that, not once has he abandoned me. He is always one bounce away to include me in his game once again.
He has taught me perseverance. I have always wanted to do things perfectly well, but when i fail at something, or fail to master it, i quickly give up... This boy, astonishes me every day with his fueled perseverance and effort to impress me, show me, prove to me, that he can do and say everything that he so cleverly knows i, as others, so badly want to instill in him.
He has taught me to pause. Pause, and realize how many things i have and still take for granted each and every day.. Like just how strong the sun can shine sometimes, and just how loud the music can resonate sometimes, and just how harsh the wind can slap my skin sometimes.. Little things that i am immune to, but that he silently suffers much more times that not.
And finally, he has taught me love. Unconditional love. The kind of love that envelops you and keeps you warm through the coldest days and the loneliest hours. With him, i am never lonely. And i hope he feels the same way.

Karim will be turning ten in two weeks time. He is the most handsome boy in the entire world, i tell him everyday. He is the bravest, most inspiring student i have come to know, i remind him everyday.
He loves basketball and marshmallows.
He can ride a bicycle, he can rollerblade, and he is super fast on his scooter.
He swims like a fish, and wouldn't mind a bit to spend an entire day in the pool.
He enjoys watching dvds while comfortably snuggled in his beanbag.. his favorite DVD right now seems to be Scooby Doo.
He is and will always be my first love.
He has autism, and he speaks to me everyday.
Thank you Karim, for making me a part of your life.

April is Autism Awareness Month. If you are lucky enough, one of these exceptionally special children will teach you all that i know now, and will surround you with their enveloping-kind-of-love. I am lucky, and i know it.

..Like Pasta on a Jewelry Box

"I wish i had wings like an angel! I wish i could have wings so i could fly up in the sky!"
Hearing those words was all it took to get my mom to cutting, gluing and coloring.
I was five years old, and we were living in the US. My brother had just been born, and i was feeling a little out of the spotlight. I suddenly wanted so many things, i had so many caprices, wishes and desires, and they all fell on my mom.
So with those words, she went about to making me wings.. angel wings to be precise.
A large piece of cardboard from the boxes in our garage, and some glue, glitter, and paint were the required ingredients for my wish to come true. An hour later, i was running around the backyard with rainbow colored cardboard wings strapped to my back.. my arms wide open, swishing and swooshing in the wind.. and my smile.. beaming under the sun..

My face couldn't contain just how happy i was.. not only because i now had wings with magic glitter.. but because mommy made them for me.. she did spend an awful lot of time with my new baby brother, but still.. mommy still loved me after all..
That's what matters the most when you are a child.. just how much mommy loves you. And with a new baby in the house, i wasn't so sure anymore..
The next day, at school, i enthusiastically hand-crafted for her a shiny colored jewelry box. After painting a round empty cheese box with bright colors, i added the final touch to the box.. four small shell shaped pastas dripping with paint.
It was mother's day. And i couldn't wait to get home and see mommy's face as she examined my hand-crafted gift. I could hardly wait!
When i got home, i rushed through the house to find her. There she was sitting on the couch, i jumped up and down in front of her, my hands, behind my back, tightly wrapped around my gift.
Happy Mother's day!!! i blurted, as i flashed the jewelry box so close to her face.
She gasped, exaggerated of course, but as a child, exaggeration is exciting. And as she gently stroked the firm pasta shell on top of the box, i breathlessly explained to her all the steps it took me to make her this most amazing gift. I always, and still do, loved explanations. Especially, when it was me who was doing the explaining part and others who were doing the listening part.
And with that, mommy listened to me, as her eyes teared up. My mommy, always so gentle and sensitive, teared over a painted pasta jewelry box.
She loved her new jewelry box, she told me, as she hugged me tight.
I felt so proud, i've held that moment in my heart ever since.
Years have passed, and my mommy still makes my wishes come true. Maybe not with the exact ingredients, glitter and glue don't really find their way into my more adult-like concerns.. but nevertheless, she still makes them happen.
On this mother's day, i wonder.. what could i possibly offer her to let her know just how much she means to me.. just how much i appreciate her.. and how much i pray and hope, with every little bit of my existence, that one day.. i will be just as wonderful a mother as she is to me.
Mommy, i love you.

Happy Mother's Day.

..Like Drawings Hanging on A Wire

I am not someone political. Anyone who knows me would firmly justify that. Neither am I someone who understands politics or is even interested in it. I can assure you that i am never included in political discussions while sitting with friends or family. However, i can say that i am someone who knows how bad politics can destroy a nation, and how war over politics can easily destroy a childhood. 

With all the political events recently taking place, it has become impossible to not attempt understanding my country's situation. But in the midst of this attempt, i couldn't block the images that bombarded my memory of my first encounter with "bad" politics.. 

I was barely four years old during the civil war in Lebanon. At such a young age, i was oblivious to the reasons behind the conflict in my country, but i was well aware that it wasn't something "good". I will never forget the small room which kept us safe during that war. Though rather tiny in width and length, it sheltered practically all the members of my family. That room, almost the size of a walk-in closet, is all i remember of the war that took place in 1988. As a child, my memory of the entire civil war lies in that sole basement of my grandparents' building in Ashrafieh.

The blasts and the bombings were quite horrific but somehow they don't cling to my memory like that small shelter room. If i close my eyes right now, i can easily picture myself sitting there on a wooden chair, drawing with my wax coloring pens, pictures of bunnies and flowers. I used to have a small notepad bound with white empty sheets, which i would forcefully fill out with colorful pictures of places little children dream of, while all hell broke loose outside.
But coloring and drawing my beautiful masterpieces was not the best part of the activity. The best part was how after completing each drawing, mom would stick them with tape to a dangling wire that elongated above our heads. And just as she would,  i would look up with my big eyes, and think of my next drawing, with the goal of filling the entire wire with my colors. What should i draw next? No wasting time, i would quickly open a new page in my little notepad, and color away. I'd hope, with all my heart, that my next drawing would be just as pretty as my last one, so that mom would just as well do me the honor of attaching it to the wire.

I was still very young, I barely knew what was happening beyond the shelter’s walls but i nevertheless always felt scared. I would glance at my parents, their twisted faces with blank, empty eyes. Eyes empty of hope and yet desperately clinging to some sort of faith. I would turn towards my two older cousins, hear them sob in their mother’s lap, as she placed her hands softly yet firmly over their ears in hope of blocking out, obstructing the blasts and the gunfire which would resonate every moment or so. I would search for my grandmother, find her in the corner, praying the rosary..her eyes closed, as her voice trembled with every murmur of prayer. I was very young at the time but i was not merely another chair in the room. I felt every speck of fear that vibrated in my father’s veins, i tasted every tear that rolled down my mother’s cheek and i heard every cry that wailed outside my protective walls. And the smell... i can still smell the dampness that evaporated from the walls. That poignant aura that accompanied every breath we took.

The war was, well, simply put.. horrible. But at the age of four, i was distracted by my coloring pens and my paper. I was distracted by the simple obsession of coloring as many pictures as i could so that the entire wire elongated above me would hold my treasures, my drawings.. my hope of better places with yellow suns and pink bunnies. I was preoccupied with sharpening my pencils before going to sleep, and returning them all in my pink pencil case.. i survived the civil war because of my crayons.

While training in the counseling clinic, it used to baffle me how children, who had been through horrifying experiences, such as trauma and abuse, were able to overcome such adversities in one way or another and lead happy satisfying lives. "Such resilience", as i'd read in textbook after textbook, "appears to be more common in young children than in adults". People wonder why i ended up working with children instead of adults, in terms of psychological assistance. Well.. because children are flexible, they are malleable, open to change. They believe in the unbelievable, they have hope in the hopeless.. and.. they can turn little things, like hasty drawings hanging on damp shelter walls, into bulletproof jackets.

 

..Like A Song From the Past

Recently, i've been finding myself staying in on Saturdays. With the exhaustion of the week piled up, in addition to the fact that my other half lives abroad, sometimes there virtually is nothing to do without feeling like a third, or even a fifth wheel in some cases.. So on this particular Saturday night, i found myself watching a TV game show with mom and dad.
I am still not sure precisely how the game goes, but participants mainly guess songs based on word excerpts taken from original songs, and they end up singing them. So for over an hour, my parents and i were genuinely  entertained listening to various songs; old and new, in all languages..
Towards the end, in the midst of these classics, and sitting in between my parents as they would reminisce over one song and get excited about another, one classic arabic hit by Warda popped to my mind.. Batwannis Beek..
When i was a little girl, i used to love spending time with my grandmother; my tati. I still adore her, but when you're just a child, well, you just tend to have more time for these little visits. Every day was full of surprises, and schedules, appointments, and time-management were never heard of.
Our time spent together had many forms; we'd sit together and watch TV, she'd knit while i'd describe to her the dress i wanted her to make for my doll, we'd play simple card games, we'd eat chocolates and cookies that mom would have frowned upon (if she were to find out)... We had many fun times together, tati and i. But my favorite of all was our time in the kitchen.
I loved sitting in the kitchen while my tati cooked. I can still  remember so clearly where i would sit, on the wooden chair with the uncomfortable hay-knitted seat. The open balcony door with the midday sun shining in... and Warda, singing through her old cassette player.
I can still remember the color of the cassette; blue and yellow. Tati would instruct me to slide it in the tape holder.. "trick".., close the holder.. "clack".. , and  press play.. "click".. And that's how those three simple steps marked the start of the best time my grandmother and i would ever spend..
"Trick.. clack.. click.." that's how those three simple steps marked themselves eternally in my heart..
The music would take forever before Warda's voice would actually appear, and i remember guessing "NOW!" and "no NOW!" many times before i actually guessed right. And my tati would smile, and sing loudly as i watched her prepare our meal of the day.
Nothing makes us feel anything, i tell my students while explaining the chapter on memory. It's the memory you attach to an object, or a place, or even a song that makes you feel anything. And this song from the past, with all its instruments and melody and lyrics, makes me feel good inside. This song that embeds the sweetest childhood memory that i have of me and my tati in the kitchen has etched itself in my heart forever and forever..
"Trick.. clack.. click.."



 

..Like A Handful of Stones

Just yesterday, i had the privilege of meeting the new love of my life. Being the romantic that i am, you would probably assume that i am someone who believes in love at first sight, though i certainly am not. But when it comes to little boys with beautiful smiles and sparkling eyes, it just could happen. And i can honestly attest that it has happened to me.. twice.
An ex-student of mine called me earlier this week describing the case of his cousin's three year old son. From what he remembered from my class, he was worried that this little boy had autism, and was hoping that i could visit and give my impressions. We quickly set a date, keeping in mind that i had my hands full between jobs, and no intention to add a new child to my life. I'd go, consult and guide the parents, then head back home. At least that was the plan anyway.
Upon arriving, i am greeted by a warm loving family. Mom is concerned, teta and jeddo are worried, and big sister wants to help. I listen to their stories, their observations and remarks, and feel touched by how lovingly yet painfully they describe this child's transformation from a verbal sociable boy who would babble all sorts of words to a non-verbal isolated boy whom they feel has slipped far from reach.
Where is this little boy? i ask.  I want to meet him.
And there i see him, glued closely to the television set flapping his hands and arms as arabic music blasted away. A little boy with golden blond hair and fluffy rosy cheeks in spiderman slippers. My heart skips a beat. Literally. He bounces from one foot to the other, swaying to the music. I call out his name, he seems completely oblivious to my voice. I call again, ...nothing. His eyes glued to the television. I am not even there. To be honest, i have grown accustomed to situations like these, because of my experience with autistic children. I have been working with a child with autism for over 4 years (who just happens to be my first love-at-first-sight), and have struggled with many moments and challenges which i have learned to overcome and understand. And yet.. there i am, after all these years, i find myself standing there, silently wondering if he heard me but doesn't like me already. Don't take it personally meg, i remind myself. 
Tayyeb any special interests? I ask mom.
Mmm, well yes, she says timidly, ...stones... he is fascinated by stones..
So there i am, sitting on the carpet right next to this special little boy, with a handful of stones in my lap. I start tapping the stones together.
Tap tap i can make music with my stones!
And just like that, he turns away from the screen and reaches out for my small treasures. I place a large stone in his small soft hand, and watch him hold it tight between his fingers, then sliding it between his palms, then caressing it slowly as if studying its smooth surface. His eyes full of amazement, fascination, appreciation.
I spend the next five minutes watching this little boy and his stone. What does he see that i don't?
I then return to talking with mom, discussing the way to go from here, action plans and interventions, where.. all of a sudden, out of nowhere, a small hand finds its way into mine and squeezes.
And that's WHEN it happened.
The smile of a little blond haired boy that could melt a thousand icebergs.
He pulls me off my chair and guides me through the house, from room to room, as if showing me around. Then back to the sitting area where mom and grandparents are waiting for us.
And that's HOW it happened.
That's how my new love, with the fascination for stones, squeezed himself into my life, and my schedule for two hours a week.
Some people are hard to please, hard to impress. And yet others, find the little things in life fascinating. Those people can turn nothing into everything. This little boy, with the spiderman slippers, did just that. And because of him, i will never look at stones the same way..