Lines of my life…

My mom always used to tell me that we would go back someday. Someday. She never went on to more than that. Not being in that place was definitely not an easy task for a seven year old. My dad told me before we left, “In Iraq, you won’t be enjoying all the privileges you are currently enjoying.” The content of his warning belied the challenges I would soon encounter, and I was simply too young to know otherwise.

My first transition was to get over my childhood addiction: Macaroni and Cheese. I used to cry and cry begging for those delicious cheese-covered pasta pieces. The solution to the problem came out a bit simpler than I would have expected: Macaroni and red soup. Being my grandma’s favorite, the busy professor she was, she put the effort to make me a delicious dish of macaroni and soup. It was heavenly. For years, my mom tried to make it for me, but I never actually liked it. When I was sad, mad or sometimes even just hungry, I would ask grandma to make me her best dish.

My second transition was to start school. Arabic School. Although I was seven, I was able to realize that my new school was a “tad” bit crappier than my school in the US. However, that was the least of my problems; I had a new language to learn. I can vividly remember jumping on my bed crying while my mom was trying to soothe me and get me to wear the horrendous blue and white uniform for school. All I wanted is to go back. Go back to where we made delicious deserts in class and go play in our awesome playground. But alas.

Another important skill I had to learn was to “extend” to my extended family. For the past seven years, I had lived with my parents and my two younger siblings. Adding another 9 families to my life was overwhelming to say the least, especially when you are expected to perform well and behave. It didn’t turn out quite well. I broke the sink of my grandpa’s bathroom a month after I got there; I fought with most of my cousins, and gave the bad boy impression to almost everyone. It was quite embarrassing, especially for my parents, since I was “mraba terbayeh amreekiya” [American raised.]

Yet, my experience was not all negative. Iraqi TV, my only source of entertainment, was extremely crappy and full of Saddam being praised, boasted only two channels. I recently realized that it’s not a bad thing over all. I spent less time watching cartoons like I did back in America (you got to blame Nickelodeon for that) and more time exploring the strange new world of Family traditions, Arabic and Islamic culture and the costumes and rituals that I have never seen before. Moreover, I discovered it was possible to live without certain items I once considered indispensable to my happiness.

Twelve and a half years later, I am back. I am on the shuttle that is taking me to Fort Collins, Colorado as I write this. I’m excited and scared at the same time. I never expected this. It just happened. I guess mom wasn’t wrong after all.

This was written on Nov 18, 2007