By Eden Haddad – Senior Editor
I had never understood what it meant to be content.
I was always either elated or angered beyond belief, hateful or depressed.
I lived in extremes.
It was only during that brief moment driving through the streets of Chiyah with my Mom and her friend, that I might have glimpsed it, grazed it, in all its own ferocity.
The sun was shining high in the clouds—a rare respite from the clouds veiling our skies and raining down light drops of water whenever I’d happen to find myself without an umbrella.
I was going home for the weekend and had taken the bus to meet my mother at her workplace so that we could leave together. It was a long week at uni, midterms conspired against the students by positioning themselves on the same day and I had exhausted myself beyond belief—night after night pouring over my notes until the words turned into a jumbled mosaic.
I had been excited to go home, despite the latest news regarding the electricity generators.
My apartment had gone from 7 hours a day with no power to 13. The government gave us one hour of power every 2 weeks which caused the laundry to pile up and the internet to run out. It’s been so long since I sat in my room with the comfort of familiarity.
When I got down from the bus, I saw my Mom waiting on the corner of the street in front of her car. We exchanged pleasantries and a quick hug that sent my skin crawling before I went to open the passenger door.
“Wait, Fatima is coming with us, we’re driving her home so sit in the back. Eib for her not to sit in front.”
Eib—shame—formed the foundation of every Arab family’s interactions both within and outside of its unit.
I didn’t mind obviously, I much preferred sitting in the backseat. The roads of Lebanon are rife with both cars and motorcycles driving through the streets and sidewalks in every manner they imagined, even and especially if it was the wrong side of the road.
Sitting upfront only made me more aware of it as I saw vehicles whizzing about, setting my heart on the edge of a cliff as I waited for the inevitable crash to occur.
Plus, I liked Fatima. She was a kind woman who, when she found out my favourite foods, made a point to cook them and send them for me, and when she found out I liked spice, she made and sent me a mixture unique to her village. Every word flowing out of her lips was entrenched in warmth and a hard edge she fully capitalised on in the workplace whenever her authority was challenged.
As I set my bag aside and relaxed in the back, Fatima walked out of the building and toward my Mom.
She had matched her hijab to the flowing blue dress she wore and walked with vigour and excitement. My Mom gestured for her to sit in front and when she saw me in the back, immediately shook her head and insisted I take the passenger seat. It was the usual dance that resolved itself shortly after a few headshakes and insistent nods. As both she and my mother got in the car, Fatima turned around and smiled at me so brightly you wouldn’t think she’d spent the last 9 hours sitting in a cramped office with no lights and coworkers each more corrupt than the next.
“Kifik, habibti? Everything good with you and uni?” She asked, as my mother turned on the ignition and pulled onto the road.
“Hamdella, kifik ente? Thank you so much for the mjaddara last week it was so good, you really shouldn’t have.”
“What are you saying, don’t mention it, it was nothing walaw.” She chided, the corner of her eyes crinkling with her widened smile.
“Fatoum, you’re gonna need to guide me, I only vaguely remember where your house is.” My Mom said.
As Fatima twisted back to sit properly, she and Mom conversed about the current ongoings of the country.
No power, no medication, no government, no gas, no water…
I had heard each and every adult repeat this exact montage growing up, and when I joined university I found myself parroting it as well. I couldn’t not to, otherwise it felt as though I was implicit with the corrupt, helping them hide their dirty work as though over 6 million people were not suffering from it.
I had always been a tired child, but now as I stand aware of the world around me, exhaustion has seeped into my bones and made me a husk for it. I could no longer stand most things, the only actions I was capable of taking was staying in bed and staring at the wall, a prisoner to my own thoughts.
My Mom’s laughter broke my reverie. I didn’t recognize it at first, having so rarely heard it.
She and Fatima had moved on to talking about some idiot they work with who got to his position by virtue of his connections alone. I don’t know what Fatima said exactly, but it sent my mother roaring, shaking with mirth and smiling as equally wide as her friend was previously.
We had never been particularly close, my mother and I. Too many mistakes made, too much history had widened the chasm between us until all I could do when I saw her was brace myself and count the minutes until I left.
It was always a quietly antagonistic relationship. As a child, I longed for the mother the TV screens would show, and when my mother failed to live up to it, I developed a grudge against her. She failed me in a time when I only had her to count on.
Similarly, I was never the daughter she wished for. I was always angry and judgmental, I was mean and never cared much about anything and only ever wanted to either be at home or be with my friends. We could never agree on anything, we barely talked besides the occasional text on my part telling her I’m going home for the weekend.
I hated her in the way you can only ever hate someone you love.
But, as we passed through the rundown buildings in Chiyah, memories of the blast still vivid like an infected scab in the structures that received little to no help after it occurred, and driving through a desolate country that abandoned its citizens and in turn, was abandoned, my mother laughed with her friend, like she might have laughed before the war, the deaths and mutilations that plastered each inch of the city. Before the fear and the feeble escapes each bomb shelling, before the loss of all her money and her family and her reality. Before time began to move slowly and ghosts and regret became your shadow.
If only I’d known her back then…would she like me as I am now?
“Take your right, I’m the building with the-”
“Dekken in the corner, I remember now.” My Mom finished the sentence. She looked at me through the rearview mirror and told me how when Fatima first moved to the place 20 years ago, they had celebrated the move in her apartment with an abundance of food and sweets.
The image just further added strokes to the picture of the stranger in my head. I couldn’t imagine my mother celebrating something or even being outside of the house past 6pm.
Even eating was something difficult if she was alone and someone wasn’t partaking with her.
Loneliness lived in her bones as exhaustion thrived in mine.
She parked haphazardly given the numerous cars already piled up randomly and moved to say goodbye to Fatima.
“Come up for some coffee, at least,” She said to my Mom and I. “Please, you have to, eib.”
“Another time, Fatouma.” My mother declined with a smile on her face.
There would be no other time.
After a few more dances back and forth, Fatima waved goodbye to me and went up the stairs of her building’s stairs.
Years passed by in seconds as the stranger before me disappeared and deflated back into my mother.
We drove home in silence I could not breach—not with the ghost of their laughter in the back of my mind.
“Oh, come on, That’s insane! In what world would that work?!” My friend exclaimed loudly, hands flailing as the scene continued playing on TV in all its implausibility.
“It’s the power of friendship! The power of love is at play!” I shrieked a few seconds later.
My friend slouched on the couch, eyes wide in disbelief as the credits began rolling.
“All that build up for nothing,” she sighed, “they ruined the whole show in 5 minutes.”
I patted her shoulder comfortingly, at loss for a proper reaction.
Her head lolled to the side, eyes meeting mine.
“Well, that was a waste of emotional investment. I’m gonna head home before it gets dark, we need to pick a new tv show to watch.” She announced, bouncing back to herself immediately and hopped to the front door where her shoes sat.
“Let me know when you get home, dakhilik.” I said as her hands fumbled with the laces, inciting a grin out of me.
“Eh, eh, of course, AND BRUSH YOUR TEETH BEFORE YOU LEAVE YOUR DORM YOU STINK OF GARLIC.” Her finger accusing me in the air. How dare she act as though she didn’t stress eat toum herself during the finale.
“Yeah, yeah lek meen aam yehke, you fucking idiot.” I leaned forward and huffed out a breath next to her nose.
“NOOOO!!” She aimed to defend herself but lost balance and fell back.
I laughed harder than I did during her commentary on the finale. She looked like an angry badger.
“Evil, traitor, ayri fike.”
“Bye, bye.” I sung as the door opened, her glare and middle finger centerspace before her smile matched my own and she disappeared behind the door closing.
I slowly exhaled before turning to see my room, a mess of rumbled sheets and empty food cartons littered the floor.
A ringing slowly came in, a familiar sound that only deigned to appear when I had no one and nothing to distract me.
My limbs turned sluggish as it took all I had to simply make it to my bed, collapsing on the mattress.
I’m not sure how much time passed but my phone lit up with a notification. My friend texted me that she was home. I had forgotten I told her to do that.
It seemed like forever ago that she was here. I was so tired and everything seemed so remote from where I lay now.
Right below her text, another one caught my eye. Between the ever growing chats piling up—
A text from my Mom:
Hope ur gd…take care of urself