The (mis)adventures of Super-S

I’ve recently started reading a new blog called The Milkman’s Daughter, where I read this entry from which I have taken the title of this post. That one line sent me on a contemplative journey down memory lane, because I think that though I moved away from there ten years ago, and last visited 6 years ago (has it really been that long?), I left my most strongly-planted roots in the deserts of Kuwait.

Just yesterday somebody asked me if I ever played sports in school. We were talking about how we were chubby kids. For me, this resulted in a hatred of team sports because I was generally the kid picked last.

This dislike of team sports lasted until I moved to Kuwait in 1992, aged 12, and decided it was time to make a change. I’m not sure what sort of adolescent makes such a strong decision, but I decided to let go of my oftentimes debilitating shyness and become a new person. Kuwait changed my life for the good in so many ways. Lots of Egyptians and other non-Gulf Arabs hate Kuwait, Kuwaitis, and what it represents (soulless oil wealth, I guess), but I still have a hard time seeing that country, that place, objectively because it was the site of so many of my happiest days. It is where I discovered the best (and worst) of myself and of people. It is where I “fell in love” for the first time. It is where I, for the first time in my life, made real friends, people whom I still consider among my closest friends today. And it is where, eventually, I got over my hatred of sports and joined the basketball, volleyball, and track&field teams.

Lately, the weather in Belfast has been gorgeous - the sun has been bright and warm, the trees and grass smell sweet, and the blooms are, well, blooming, and it all reminds me of what I missed while in Cairo and what I loved when in Kuwait - spring. Granted, Kuwait only had about two weeks of what could be called spring, but it was the most beautiful time of year I’ve experienced anywhere. If rain ever fell there it happened in January/February, and by March, if you went out into the desert at just the right time, you could see tiny pink and purple flowers sprouting from the earth which would, in two weeks time, be cracked and parched under the blistering sun. But, man, those two weeks of spring were beyond beautiful.

I would say that one of my best, and certainly most unforgettable, moments was on one such spring day. It was probably 1995 or 1996 and I was at school laying on the high jump mats with my two closest friends at the time - Mini (still the closest of friends) and Goldie (we lost contact after she moved back to Texas, though now, through the magic of facebook, are back in touch!) - during lunch time. It had been a weird winter for all of us. Mini and I had fallen out with the rest of our “group” - Sambagirl, Cheddar and L. - because, I dunno, we weren’t cool enough. Goldie had just found out that she was moving back to Texas after having lived in Kuwait for six years. So there we were, at lunchtime, on the mats, each one lost in her own thoughts and listening to music - I was listening to Jimmy Buffet’s “Lone Palm” - as the sun shone on our faces and a sweet-smelling breeze blew over us. And I knew then, or maybe I just decided, that it was a moment I would never forget.

Like I said, it’s been a long time since I’ve been back there, and I don’t know if I ever will go back, but I don’t think I’ll ever shake that place or who I became when I lived there.

Do not be fooled by the title of this entry.

The past couple weeks have been a bit difficult with essay deadlines and friends wanting to see me piled up on top of the concern for my father. I thought that the thing that would help my parents get through this time the most was knowing that we’re all doing okay. That my sister is still going to work. That my brother is doing alright. That I’m getting my stuff done. But in an effort to finish my essays, and finish them well, I hardly spent any time with my parents, and now they’re leaving for the US in the morning so that my father can undergo surgery. I do not know when I will see them again. I’ll have gone back to Belfast by the time they get back, and though they’ve been mulling over stopping by to see me on the way back, I don’t know that it’s going to happen. We’ll see.

An old schoolmate who I recently got back in touch with (thanks to the magic of Facebook, of course), and who I have even more recently fallen out of touch with because I got the distinct feeling that he wanted to be more than friends and was being pretty underhanded about me and SuperM once told me, “Make peace with your father. I did, and I’m so glad.”

At the time he was referring to how he gave up the woman he loved because it was killing his father to know that his son was with a non-Muslim girl. A while after that incident, his father had a cancer scare and it scared this old schoolmate into realizing that he was glad he was his father’s son. He thinks (and he’s not wrong in thinking this) that I’m in a similar situation. That I’m with a guy who my father won’t approve of, and it will break his heart and mine to do this to him. To do this to both my parents. So he was advising me to make my peace, to choose my father and his wishes for me over my own desires. And I was appalled at his suggestion that my relationship with my father was not as good as it can be.
The thing is, I think I am at peace with my father. Never in my life has our relationship been better. Time was when we couldn’t have a civil conversation with one another. Now, my father — who is, like many men of his generation, a man of few words — can spend hours talking to me on Skype.

As more people found out about my father’s illness and the fact that he’d be leaving soon to have the tumor removed, the more the calls and the well wishes began pouring in. There was this incredible outpouring of praise and love for my father and my mother. So many people said, “God won’t let anything bad happen to them, because they have been so good to people all their lives.”

And it’s true. As much as my parents frustrate and anger me sometimes, and despite the very bad traits I inherited from them (my mother’s anxiety, my father’s occasional insensitivity) they have always been good to people. Their home has always been a refuge for other people. They have put a few of my cousins through college. They have taken the best care of their own parents. And they have always done all this with grace and sensitivity and simply out of the goodness of their hearts.

I’m not sure what I’m trying to say here. I’m miserable because I didn’t get to spend enough time with them this vacation, but I know my father’s going to be fine and my mother’s going to be strong for him, for all of us. But I can’t help wishing that I’d made peace with myself sooner. I’m wishing it wasn’t hitting me just now how much I’m going to miss them when they’re gone.

Yesterday, a woman on one of the web forums I read called me whimsical. Mind you, this woman has never met me, but she’s decided that based on my posts.

I don’t know. While I am definitely always up for trying new things and can be very spontaneous, I have also been often told that I’m set in my ways. SuperM thinks I’m fairly predictable. Then again, we spend so much time together he would say that.

In any case, as you can see I’ve changed my blog theme. I don’t know that I like it, but I was getting kind of sick of the heaviness/darkness of the old theme and decided to try something new. Since I have pretty much zero design skills I had to rely on the available themes. Lemme know what you think. I don’t love it, but it will do for now.

Otherwise, I have not done an ounce of work since handing in my paper on Friday. I had a very nice weekend, even though SuperM had gone home to England. As soon as I handed in my essay, the law school (our program is part of the school of law) was hosting a wine and cheese gathering, so I joined my classmates for that. A lot of the youngins’ went out for some more drinking afterwards, but Bryn and I decided to be the old women that we are and went back to my place. We hung out talking for a bit, then were joined by GG and a friend. Thus proceeded an evening of gossiping, eating, and eventually watching Sex and the City.

It was a definite theme for the weekend. On Saturday, Bryn and I had a gorgeous brunch, followed by tea, followed by a few hours shopping in town, followed by a walk through the Christmas market set up around city hall. It was windy out which was all the excuse we needed to indulge in some hot chocolate with Bailey’s on the walk home.

And if the last few weekends are anything to go by, it seems that Sundays are now officially sangria nights at Bryn’s house. Last night I went over around 8 with Sex and the City and found the ladies there waiting with a pitcher of Sangria and a box of mallow mars.

Hmm…I suppose that sounds like just about the most boring weekend ever, but I can’t remember the last time I’ve had one that was so relaxed, filled with such good conversation, and during which I did exactly what I wanted. It was a beautiful weekend.

I really just completely forgot to post yesterday, and while today was a good day - with a productive beginning, an academic middle, and lazy Sex and the City filled end - I just don’t have much to say. Things are alright. Hope the same is true for whoever might be reading this.

night!