ماما روحي

I wish people would ask me about her more often. I feel I owe it to her to keep talking about how kind and loving she was. I wish she could see how responsible I have become. Ironically, if she hadn’t passed, we wouldn’t have been gone through the hardships that shaped us.

It hit me that "home" isn’t the house we used to gather at every weekend, rather, it’s a place I rent, where I do my best to turn it into my home.

With a heavy heart, I carry the love I have for her and the grudge I hold against my father.

I gave people around me more roles than they are capable of holding. For example, I see my sister as my mum, my friend, and my mentor. So when she gets overwhelmed, I feel bad about myself because I know no one but Mama could have loved me unconditionally.

But then, I grieve losing the friend who was the mother and the father I needed. He gave me a love I didn't even know I was missing and filled that deep void in my heart.

أحببتك رغم أنّنا لم نلتقِ، أحببتك لأنّي كتبتُ لك وتعلّمت منك. أحببتك لأنّك -وبالرغم من كونك بعيدًا كل البعد عني- كنت الوحيد الذي لامس قلبي ورأى نقاءه بدلًا من هشاشته.

الحمدُ لله على نعمة اليوم الجديد. 🏡🐾

لا أتحدث عنها لأي أحد، لا لأنني نسيتها، بل لأن الكلمات لا تُعبّر عمّا أعيشه من أمل وألم. أتجنّب قول "ماما الله يرحمها"، رغم يقيني بأنّها بجوار الله، وأن هذا ما سعت له طوال حياتها من عطاء وعبادة.

I am beyond grateful for the freedom I have, but I do miss the gentle touch of having a father. But do I want him as a person? No.

Do I yearn and crave paternal love? Yes.

Do I forgive him? No.

Should I? Yes.

Can I? Not yet.