They were all gathering around the wooden table. It was loaded with my favorite chocolate cake, decorated with 26 candles. There were two trifle bowls, my favorite orange sherbet, two big bottles of Pepsi, and 7-up and a framed picture of me smiling. My niece and her cousins crowned in front of the cake. My sister, her in-laws, and my father gathered around the children-cocooned table singing “happy birthday to you” in both English and Arabic. I was watching from a distance, a far distance, thousands of miles away, through a video web camera. I was celebrating my birthday with them watching them, listening to them uttering the birthday song and blowing out the candles for me.
Tears fell over my sister’s cheeks as she wished me a happy birthday. She wanted to hug me, but it was impossible. I was a small tearing face in a small web cam box on a computer screen. She made me cry as well feeling the reality of ghurba [being away from home] that made me realize how too far the distance is between me and them. Then my twenty-two-months-old niece showed up in front of the camera clapping and singing “Habibi, to youuuuuuu,” what she could utter from the “happy birthday to you” that she heard from the others in English. I wanted to extend my arms through the webcam and grab her and hug her, but couldn’t but speak to her and give her a big kiss through the cam. Thanks to technology that made me at least celebrate my birthday with them, even though it was through a video conference.
Then I called my mother. Taking a break from the hell that immortally settled in Baghdad, she went to Syria. She was very happy to hear my voice, but I was happier to have her bless on this very day, the day when she brought me to life, the day she celebrated every year, the day where she and my father gave me the best present ever, their love and warmth. Before she hung up, she wished me a happy birthday but the words were falling with tears. I begged her not to cry, but it was too much for her to do so. They were tears of happiness and sadness. They were tears mixed with happiness of my safety and success at school, but they were tears expressing how miserable our situation has become and how everyone ended up in a different place. She couldn’t continue and handed the phone over to my aunt whom I could tell was crying too along with my other aunts whom insurgents robbed their life by displacing all of them.
It was hard, really hard. But it meant the whole world to me, seeing our family bonds immortal, celebrating, smiling, crying, singing, and going on with life in the worst time humanity is going through. The will is still there. The happiness can be restored. Future can be bright as long as this will still exists. Otherwise, we can prepare our coffins today and stop hoping. Life is tasteless without this beautiful mixture of tears and smiles.
baghdadtreasure@gmail.com
Tears fell over my sister’s cheeks as she wished me a happy birthday. She wanted to hug me, but it was impossible. I was a small tearing face in a small web cam box on a computer screen. She made me cry as well feeling the reality of ghurba [being away from home] that made me realize how too far the distance is between me and them. Then my twenty-two-months-old niece showed up in front of the camera clapping and singing “Habibi, to youuuuuuu,” what she could utter from the “happy birthday to you” that she heard from the others in English. I wanted to extend my arms through the webcam and grab her and hug her, but couldn’t but speak to her and give her a big kiss through the cam. Thanks to technology that made me at least celebrate my birthday with them, even though it was through a video conference.
Then I called my mother. Taking a break from the hell that immortally settled in Baghdad, she went to Syria. She was very happy to hear my voice, but I was happier to have her bless on this very day, the day when she brought me to life, the day she celebrated every year, the day where she and my father gave me the best present ever, their love and warmth. Before she hung up, she wished me a happy birthday but the words were falling with tears. I begged her not to cry, but it was too much for her to do so. They were tears of happiness and sadness. They were tears mixed with happiness of my safety and success at school, but they were tears expressing how miserable our situation has become and how everyone ended up in a different place. She couldn’t continue and handed the phone over to my aunt whom I could tell was crying too along with my other aunts whom insurgents robbed their life by displacing all of them.
It was hard, really hard. But it meant the whole world to me, seeing our family bonds immortal, celebrating, smiling, crying, singing, and going on with life in the worst time humanity is going through. The will is still there. The happiness can be restored. Future can be bright as long as this will still exists. Otherwise, we can prepare our coffins today and stop hoping. Life is tasteless without this beautiful mixture of tears and smiles.
baghdadtreasure@gmail.com
