To Be or not to Be..

Dont know why this post started in a bright manner and ended differently..
Forgive me all..
I was trying to remember how many things I have wanted to become when I grow up, the list is so long..
First I was in the mood to become a teacher.. we had this big Kantor in our room with such wide doors, it was dark brown.. which was very suitable to be the black board or green board , whatever, I used to stand in front of the Kantor, holding broken pieces of colored chalk in my hand (I Loved colored chalk at the time, I never got enough from looking at the beautiful colors, pale blue, pale green, and pale orange..).. just like my teacher used to do, and I start talking to my pupils who are supposed to be sitting in lines in front of me.. I would go on, reading them the Qiraa lesson, or the Hisab lesson.. whatever I liked.. and every now and then I would turn to write something over the brown doors of the Kantor , to explain something to my pupils.. the good thing was, it was the chalk was so easily removed off by just a piece of Kleenex.. so mom didn’t have to find out..
Later, I decided that I want to be a Reyadha teacher.. (maybe that was when Set Methal, eneterd our lives and hearts) .. I would go out in the sunny garden..stand balanced over the edge of the Flower bed that decorated our Tarma in front of the Hall, and start doing exercise to show my pupils who were standing in lines in front of me down in the garden how to bend down,and up again, how to do (Aala, Thanee, Takhassor, Madd.. ) .. my pupils were always Very quiet and followed whatever directions I gave.. but of course I had to reprimand the undisciplined ones.. though I was always extremely nice with them..
Then, I decided that I am in no mood for teaching. . I'm in the mood for adventure, I used to climb the stairs up to the roof in Bet Bebe el Hijjiya, turn the old looking key in the hole, and go out under the burning sun , then again climb the stairs to the 2nd roof , and up there I would start saving all the captured ones , untie their ropes, set them free, give them a drink of water..
And strangely, all the time I would be running.. running to save them, running to escape from the evil capturers (I wonder who were they in my childish mind at the time!)..
Finally , I decided that my real thing is to become a princess… Yes.. that was really the best thing I want to be.. (like u get to choose !!).. I used to pull the Charchaf off my bed, wrap it around my small waist, put on all the colored plastic bracelets and necklaces I had, and walk around with my Looong gown , moving gracefully like a princess.. bowing to the crowds..
Of course, that was all during the day hours , when my mom would be at work .. I would stand in front of the tall Stand Lamp (don't know really what is it called) , it had 3 or 4 arms all flexible to adjust them as desired, it was taller than me, so I would stand and try to bend one arm down , like I would be adjusting the Microphone, so as to sing a song, or maybe it was a speech!!.. wow.. that was really the best part.. the good thing was that mom was never there to have a say in the matter.. so I was free to dream as I please, act as I please..be whoever I want.. it was always so real to live . it was ever so easy to pretend.. and it was So much fun..
It was like having a magic wand .. I would choose What to be, and Where to be.. and would always come true at once..
Can I do that now?? Can I ever do that once more?? I had only to decide what my next dream is, and it will Definitely come true..
Can my dream of now ever come true?? How much longer am I to wait ?
Anyone knows?? .. how much longer of feeling the ever killing Ghurba?? How much longer before I lay my tired head down , and rest??
Anyone knows??..

Jiran..

I miss Jiranna Om Mhammad.. I miss her kind face and spontaneous smile and warm Malgha .. she used to raise her hands to the sky whenever she sees me and say her sweet kind prayer (Nasron mena Allah w Fathon Qareeb) .. she always gave me a feeling of serenity .. everything is ok.. it will be ok..
El Jiran were actually Ahal back then .. back there.. in our Life in Baghdad..
In my dictionary, Jiran ARE Ahal.. in my New Dictionary, Jiran ARE Neighbors.. that’s it.. full stop..
I loved all our Jiran in our street back then, but mostly, the closest to my heart, a lady much older than myself, who lived in the house next door, a very narrow alley separated our back doors, which we used usually so as not to go through the front street, it was like our secret alley.. I would call her when its afternoon, and after brief hello, I would ask : Wahdech - alone? And she would say : Yalla, come on over (I would make sure she was alone when I have some personal matter to chat about with her) , and at once, I would change my clothes quickly, run to the kitchen, make my favorite Dallat el Ghahwa with lots of Hel in it, and leave quickly through the back kitchen door, cross the narrow space between us and a few stairs, and there I was inside her welcoming house.. she would be ready with Fanajeen and at once the coffee is poured (so as not to waste any time) and we start chatting.. I miss those back door sneaking days.. I miss my friend – jiran.. we would spend hours chatting unaware, till the phone rings, it would be my mom, reminding us of the time , and suggesting why not I simply (Abat) as its almost bed time..
I never found any other replacement for – R - .. not ever..
Jiran were the Great blessing Allah has sent us to go through many hard times, many wars.. who would make life sound normal, feels normal, under bombs and war sirens and long hour darkness, who but our Jiran??
Now, my next door neighbor , is a lady whom i see her going up or down the stairs, as we have different working hours.. not only do we not visit, she made it quite clear that she has no desire what so ever to get acquainted.. when I run into her on the stairs, she keeps her eyes on the floor trying to avoid any eye contact.. in the beginning I used to feel bad about this .. and try to figure out why does she act in this way.. now I stopped .. I don’t want anything to do with her..
Back home in Baghdadna, when a new Jiran comes to the street, the other families in the street would make them feel welcome buy offering any required help.. sending a nice home made desert ..etc..
My aunt who lived in Ghurba for over 30 yrs tells me, she had the same neighbor for over 10 years .. and they would stand waiting for the elevator together and she wouldn’t say even hello.. she would look straight ahead..
A friend of mine, a doctor, tells me she lived in the same building for years, and had the same neighbor right next door, and when they once took the elevator together, she turned to her with wondering eyes (on which floor do u live?) ..
What are they made of these people ? I simply cant understand ..
Was it the nature of ppl back there in Baghdad? Or was it just a different era? I don’t know..
I hardly see such people her in Ghurba anymore.. in fact almost none..none like dear Om Mohammad, none like my dear R..
Before, Jiran made me feel home..
Now Jiran – sorry, Neighbors make me feel in Ghurba more than anything else.. The icy nature I could never understand.. nor the cold eyes..
Maybe im addicted to Baghdad sun.. with its boiling temperature, it used to warm our sky back then, and our hearts ..
And thats what I shall never find elsewhere.. Ever..