Little Red Riding Hood – by Nesreen Zarrouk

 

Little red riding hood has always been afraid to take those walks in the woods. She just couldn’t ever bring herself to get rid of that big bad wolf that kept haunting and terrorising her every step of the way. He lurked around in her mind and soul and made it horrifically difficult for her to open up and just be. Thing is, it wasn’t just the one bad wolf that made her life a living hell. There were just way too many of them surrounding her everywhere she was, for as long as she can remember, filling her up with pain, scraping every inch of her already fragile soul. Grandma’s soft comforting voice was almost always the only thing she heard out of these inhuman beasts. She always let go of her guard, letting that hood slip down her fearful body..hoping that those voices were real and meant what they said while cnstantly whispering in her naive little head.

Little red riding hood has been bitten way too many times. She had way too many scars to carry. Her little walks in the woods kept getting harder and harder through the years. She lost hope in ever making it to her final destination. She lost hope in every beautiful thought and dream that she read about in cute little books written by famous writers and poets about wonderful feelings and butterflies that twirl around in stomachs and hearts.

The last wolf that came her way was an extremely difficult one to deal with. He wore a two-faced mask that made it almost imporssible to really know who he really was and what it was that he really wanted. Every time she tried to fight back, he turned around, flashing those pretty shiny pearls of white, wrapping her up with wonderful warmth of a dark flame that never made her feel all that burning that was happening all along. And everytime, he got away with his devilish and cruel ways, filling her up with a kind of pain she thought she could learn to get used to, an addictive kind of pain she couldn’t let go of. Blinding and hypnotising, like an erotic bite of Dracula, piercing deep into her, melting her away into a kaleidoscope of sweet agony.

But then, one fine day, little red riding hood heard a voice creeping out from within her.  A voice that hung on to every nerve in her body, begging and bugging her to gather up the last specks of courage and dignity she had to fight that wolf any way she could. And she did.

What little red riding hood didn’t know all along, was that all across her journey, there has been a wonderful hunter, with a beautiful face and a mane of golden waves to match, that watched over her from the moment she stepped foot into those woods. It was alomost as though he was invisible. He was talented  at hiding his body behind all kinds of trees bushes of green, that she never suspected he would be any where close to where she was. But one day, she thought she saw a shadow of him passing her by. She tried to follow it so many times without ever really making it there. So she decided it might be smart to play his game and hide herself until he showed up, not expecting to get a glimpse of her. To his surprise, she suddenly appeared from behind those trees, the same ones he used to hide behind. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words of gratitude and affection that she felt for this handsome hunter. She closed her eyes, and saw through his body and soul. She liked what she saw. It was as though her eyes couold see for the first time. She saw a pure heart full of beautiful feelings she never thought she would witness again. Her tear-scarred face  finally started to glow brighter than all those diamonds and shiny sparkling things she heard about. He took her by the hand. As she watched the corpses of the wolves lying all across the woods, she knew that he would finally get her to her dear ol’ grandma. With him, she knew she would reach her final destination, and never be hurt again. There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind no more. For the first time in a long time, she was alive, and it felt good to be there.

 

Image source: http://www.lady-faire.com/cloaks.html

2011
07/27
CATEGORY
Uncategorized
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real women – by Hanne Blank

Excuse me while I throw this down, I’m old and cranky and tired of hearing the idiocy repeated by people who ought to know better.

Real women do not have curves.   Real women do not look like just one thing.

Real women have curves, and not.   They are tall, and not.  They are brown-skinned, and olive-skinned, and not.  They have small breasts, and big ones, and no breasts whatsoever.

Real women start their lives as baby girls.  And as baby boys.  And as babies of indeterminate biological sex whose bodies terrify their doctors and families into making all kinds of very sudden decisions.

Real women have big hands and small hands and long elegant fingers and short stubby fingers and manicures and broken nails with dirt under them.

Real women have armpit hair and leg hair and pubic hair and facial hair and chest hair and sexy moustaches and full, luxuriant beards.  Real women have none of these things, spontaneously or as the result of intentional change.  Real women are bald as eggs, by chance and by choice and by chemo.  Real women have hair so long they can sit on it.  Real women wear wigs and weaves and extensions and kufi and do-rags and hairnets and hijab and headscarves and hats and yarmulkes and textured rubber swim caps with the plastic flowers on the sides.

Real women wear high heels and skirts.  Or not.

Real women are feminine and smell good and they are masculine and smell good and they are androgynous and smell good, except when they don’t smell so good, but that can be changed if desired because real women change stuff when they want to.

Real women have ovaries.  Unless they don’t, and sometimes they don’t because they were born that way and sometimes they don’t because they had to have their ovaries removed.  Real women have uteruses, unless they don’t, see above.  Real women have vaginas and clitorises and XX sex chromosomes and high estrogen levels, they ovulate and menstruate and can get pregnant and have babies. Except sometimes not, for a rather spectacular array of reasons both spontaneous and induced.

Real women are fat.  And thin.  And both, and neither, and otherwise.  Doesn’t make them any less real.

There is a phrase I wish I could engrave upon the hearts of every single person, everywhere in the world, and it is this sentence which comes from the genius lips of the grand and eloquent Mr. Glenn Marla:

There is no wrong way to have a body.

I’m going to say it again because it’s important: There is no wrong way to have a body.

And if your moral compass points in any way, shape, or form to equality, you need to get this through your thick skull and stop with the “real women are like such-and-so” crap.

You are not the authority on what “real” human beings are, and who qualifies as “real” and on what basis.  All human beings are real.

Yes, I know you’re tired of feeling disenfranchised.  It is a tiresome and loathsome thing to be and to feel.  But the tit-for-tat disenfranchisement of others is not going to solve that problem.  Solidarity has to start somewhere and it might as well be with you and me.

Visit Hanne Blank’s Blog: www.hanneblank.com/blog/2011/06/23/real-women/

2011
07/01
CATEGORY
Inspirational words from other writers
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A thank-you note to my kid – by Nesreen Zarrouk

 

To my 4-year old sweetie,

I just wanna thank you for making me smile at times where all I wanted to do was punch things and cry every bit of  tear drop left in me.

Thank you for telling me I’m the prettiest mom in the world over and over again, even on days where my face looked more like the surface of the moon, full of unexplainable, weird things of all shapes, colors and sizes. You tell me that even when I’m sick and snotty, red-eyed and teary. You even decided that the prettier mommy of the makeover I had done about a year ago was the one on the “before” picture.

Thank you for telling me I have pretty hair even when I complain that I have way too little of it.

Thank you for being such a fighter and hanging on to this toughest journey that I have ever gone through, without ever complaining.

Thank you for your warm, heartfelt hugs and your soft cheeks that you rub against mine and the way you look at me with those beautiful eyes that just says it all.

Thank you for being such a good kid lately, listening to what I have to tell you and repeating to me that you don’t wanna make mommy angry or sad.

Thank you for showing me that a few seconds of appreciating beautiful flowers, birds and trees is not wasted time.

Thank you for making me believe that everything is always gonna be ok somehow, and for appreciating every little thing that we have.

Thank you for teaching me what being strong is all about.

Thank you for stroking my hair when I don’t feel well and for asking me every 30 seconds if I feel better.

Thank you for loving me the way that you do.

I know that this is one of those “mom things”, but when I look at you, I see the chubby-cheeked baby and toddler that you were, racing everywhere and exhausting me. I see the 4 year old daughter that you are now, that thinks I’m sooo pretty. I see the teenager that you will become, who will probably never tell me I’m pretty again or that she loves me : ( because your boyfriend is just so much nicer than your nagging mom.

But I look at you now.. and I am so thankful for the beautiful and crazy kid that you are. I know we haven’t always had it easy, and you do have your not too pretty moments. But I do too..and your not too pretty moments look so much like mine, and that’s when I know you really are mama’s girl, and that puts a huge smile on my face.

I love you Ranessa.

 

 

2011
06/28
CATEGORY
The ups and downs of being a mom
6 comments

This is for you – by Nesreen Zarrouk

I am writing this for you, you know who you are.

This is for you that have to turn your back to the wind or feel the cold nipping at your nose, or sweat right after you’ve taken a shower because it’s just too freaking hot.

This is for you that has to deal with a difficult child or more, day in and day out, asking yourself if you’re a good parent, especially since you’ve had moments where your thoughts and intentions proved the opposite and you were afraid you were turning into a psycho-parent or being told you are turning into one!

This is for every working human being that has to spend the nicest hours of the day in a shitty office, staring at a computer screen trying to do some kind of productive work, while trying to convince yourself that this really is nicer than being in that 25 degree sunny outside!

This is for you that’s having a hard time dealing with and accepting your saggy, too big, too small or too flat a pair of boobs.

This is for you that can’t quite let go of a failed relationship, beating yourself up about it, telling yourself it was all your fault for not having had a little more patience.

This is for you that have cellulite, wrinkles, falling hair, acne and acne scars and things that grow in places they shouldn’t be growing, that make it all so damn hard to be anywhere close to that darn “perfect” that you secretly long to be, even if deep down you know it doesn’t really exist, and if it does, then you hate those people.

This is for you that watch romantic films and cry asking yourself why those kind of stories don’t happen to you, even though, yes, you know it’s just a movie.

This is for you that have a disease that just won’t go away.

This is for you that know people that have a disease that just won’t go away and it just hurts seeing them hurt that way.

This is for you that lost treasured friendships that will never come back.

This is for you that got cheated on.

This is for you who have had your heart broken and lost hope in ever falling in love again.

This is for you that’s getting older, asking yourself or God or whoever it is out there who could give you an answer why it is that you still haven’t found that special someone should they ever exist,  and why you still don’t have kids while the whole world seems to be having them by the dozen.

This is for you that miss your dad, mother, sisters, brothers and friends and go through days and nights of crying your eyes out because this homesickness-hormone just won’t leave you alone.

This is for you that just need a damn break from it all.

This is for you that make it through the day, with a husband that doesn’t care, telling yourself you gotta hold on for the kids.

This is for you that can’t buy fancy stuff or go on fancy vacations because you’re happy when you have enough to pay the rent.

This is for you that can’t buy your kids fancy presents and toys and offer them cute bedrooms, because you either don’t have the cash or the space for it all.

This is for you that give more than a 100% to be the best parent you can ever be.

This is for you that is just dying for a good night’s rest.

You know, I want you to know that I know that life is tough sometimes and that it can be one hell of a challenge just getting through the day. It can be a bitch getting out of bed in the morning, to put on that smile on your face. But I also want you to know that no matter what, you are amazing and one hell of a beautiful person. You really are.

You should be happy, because you are gorgeous.

I know things aren’t always perfect. But you know what? At least you are there to feel it all. At least you got a heart that beats and knows how to laugh and cry. And for that, you should be grateful.

You are alive.

Everything will be ok.

2011
06/14
CATEGORY
Uncategorized
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Those little cracks on a mother’s heart – by Nesreen Zarrouk

Last Thursday, I was at the playground with Ranessa, and for the first time in her almost 4-year-old life, she experienced her first racist comment from another child. As I sat there on the park bench, peacefully flipping through my book about the complex world of men and love, Ranessa came running to me out of no where, looking beat down, all puppy-eyed and demoralized. As I asked her what was wrong, she said that some “bad boy” told her that she should go back to Africa.

It took me a few seconds to absorb what she had just said. I guess a part of me was not prepared to deal with that just yet. I was hanging on to denial for so long, reassuring myself that this is a beautiful city, and that Ranessa will never have to deal with cruel racial slurs that her cute little ears would have to hear. The moment she told me this, those motherly instinct hormones wanted so bad, to get up, find that boy and give him a piece of my mind. I ended up opting for the calming down alternative though. I did not want to have to deal with an even sadder Ranessa face as a result of me causing a scene for something that really isn’t quite that bad. So I asked her what she told him. All of a sudden, she stood there, shoulders back, chest forward, full of pride and a huge smile, as she told me what she said to him. She told him, finger-pointing and all, that he was the one who should go back to Africa. I did not know whether to laugh or cry. I just thought it was so cute how she managed to defend herself that way. It didn’t matter that he didn’t really come from Africa;  it didn’t matter that she DID technically come from Africa;  it didn’t matter that we ALL come from Africa anyway for it is the cradle of human life; it didn’t matter that she came crying to me after that incidence;  and it sure as hell didn’t matter that he was twice her size if not bigger. She made a point, and my heart just filled up with tiny little beads of happiness and pride, glistening and exploding all over me. All those little cracks I felt open up when she came running to me, started to close up again and mend. My little baby is no baby no more, talking back to mean people and speaking up for herself.

With this story, I did not mean to give anyone the impression that Germany is a racist place, because it really isn’t. In my almost 8 years of living here, I have yet to experience what would be called a “racial situation”. God knows I have experienced more of those growing up in Dubai. As a dark-skinned Arab, a lot of people and children back in school didn’t know how to deal with my kind of ethnic background. Funny thing is, I have always been tormented by “fellow” Arabs, that thought they were better than me or my sister just because their skin was a lighter shade of brown.

I know that I will probably have to face a lot more similar situations that Ranessa will undoubtedly go through. I know that it won’t get easier once she goes to school. I know that kids can be really mean and evil. I know that it just sucks that we still live in a world where the word racism still exists. But I also know now that my girl is not made of glass. And I know that she would be extremely sad if I would ever decide to leave this place in the fear of her getting taunted. Because I know, that no matter how bad it gets, she will always stand there, flashing her beautiful brown skin, pointing that finger across the wind, telling them to go back to Africa.

 

 

Image source: http://www.graphicshunt.com/images/bloody_heart-1806.htm

“we all come from Africa anyway for it is the cradle of human life” – Reem Aboulhosn

2011
06/08
CATEGORY
The ups and downs of being a mom
2 comments

Homesick Blues – by Nesreen Zarrouk

For all those years that I have been living in good ol’Germany, I always believed that I made the best choice by deciding to stay here. I still do believe that, most of the time. Germans do have their positive traits after all. They’re punctual, they all plan out their future with all kinds of medical and life insurances, they know what color the walls of their bathrooms in their future houses will have, 10 years from now. They know the names of the universities their unborn children will go to and what careers they will have. They are the masters of politeness, with their thank yous and pleases. They got the best cars, as tough and solid as they are. Cars that have the best insurances. There is a form to be filled out and signed for every eraser and pencil borrowed from your neighbour’s desk at work, just to be on the safe side, coz you just never know. When they get a heart attack, they’ll end up at the doctor’s. When they have a cold, they’ll end up at the doctor’s. And when they have sneezed more than 3 times in a row, then lo and behold, they will end up at the doctor’s. Nothing is to be played with. No if’s and maybe’s and Inshallahs. Everything has rules. Rules have rules. In Germany, rules rule.

Today I was real low.  Just one of them days I guess.  I hated rules and everything that has to do with rules. I hated mean people that don’t smile and look at you all weird if you do smile. I missed my people, my family and friends. The Arabic way of living. I missed Dubai. I missed the cute Indian man at the cell phone store in Satwa telling me the picture of the cell phone that’s stuck on the door that I just inquired about was “just for decoration”. I missed the sweet Pakistani man who sold me my suitcase in Karama and was so thrilled by the fact that you could get the suitcase to be bigger by zipping up a secret compartment, which made it worthy of the name: “automatic suitcase”. I miss the little Shawarmas, I miss Aboud, the melon-honey cocktail from the cafeteria around the corner, I miss the thousand and one colors and languages my eyes and ears got to enjoy day in and day out. I miss eating foods of every nation and flavor. I missed the masalas, the hummuses and the Lahm bil Ajeens. I missed the Kisras and Mulahs and mangos that taste like mangos, and don’t cost 3 Euros a piece. I missed speaking Arabic, well, and English. I missed huge 8 lane flat roads, and driving fast. I missed not knowing what life is gonna look like tomorrow or in 10 years. I missed having lunch at 1pm one day, and at 4 pm the next. I missed the Arabic TV-series and the dubbed Turkish ones (okay, I don’t miss those that much. Just miss watching my mom watching them, all hypnotised and frozen!). I missed my mom and her loud heartfelt laughter, and how it took her an hour to get done eating her tiny portions of food, coz she would rather laugh than eat. I missed hanging out with my sister, and just driving around. I missed stores that are open till 10 pm. I missed the sand and the sea. I missed shishas and the smell of them. I missed people that hug you, where you can feel that hug right through your bones and guts. I missed laughing till tears ran down my face, and not knowing why I laughed in the first place. I missed wearing flip flops like every day of the year. I missed my hairdresser who cut my hair so nice and never complained that my hair was too “Afro-like” and couldn’t be straightened that well. I missed the person that I am when I am there.

I missed being human and being around humans. I missed flesh and bones and blood and a heart that really beats.

I’m just having a bad day..but I really do miss you.

Homesick Photo by: Casey West

2011
05/31
CATEGORY
The messed up me within
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Killer greens! – by Nesreen Zarrouk

For the past week, people in Germany have been bombarded with news of the recent outbreak of the E.coli infections that have already caused and confirmed the death of an 83-year-old woman in north Germany . Ever since, people here have been panic-stricken. Unwashed vegetables are thought to be the main cause of this. The media has succeeded yet once again in getting us to believe that the healthiest known foods known to man could now kill him. The result: veggies in supermarket shelves are rotting, and more people are starting to believe once again in the powers of good old meat.

Freak alarm is here once again. We fall for this each and every time. I mean, I don’t wanna be mean here, but this woman was 83! I repeat: EIGHTY THREE! I’m gonna go out on a limb here and just assume that maybe, just maybe, this woman has died of some other medical reason. But that remains to be of no interest to the majority of human beings that love the feeling of getting slapped by the media in return for a good ol’ dose of a media-orgasm. Believe it or not, I have been yelled at from colleges at work just the other day for the joy I seemed to subconsciously manifest whilst spooning my wonderfully colourful rice salad that I just got from the salad bar around the corner. Mind you, I am NOT what you would consider to be your average veggie eater, although I would love to be. I have what I would assume to be some kind of an innate regurgitation reflex (that’s a fancier way of saying vomit.. just looked it up in the thesaurus!) that I get each and every time I attempt to swallow down certain types of veggies. Tomatoes, cucumbers are carrots are complete no-go’s (well, unless the tomatoes are dried or take up the form of sauce or ketchup, the cucumbers are sour and the carrots are cooked!). Now let me tell you, this rice salad is made up of the one of the few kinds of vegetables that I do love to eat..peppers, of all colors, shapes and sizes. This salad is wonderful. Now thanks to the media and my now proud to be carnivore colleges, I get a lump in my throat every time I take a damn spoonful of my favourite salad, in the fear of dying the next minute. I get weird shivers down my spine every time I go to the freakin’ restroom, praying to God that it won’t be my last “resting room”, and that “it” won’t end up being watery (that’s the first symptom of E.coli infections!).

But lo and behold, I will keep eating those peppers, and I shall survive this dreadful outbreak, just like I survived the mad cow disease, the bird flu, the swine flu and all the other flu’s that I didn’t even know existed.

Image source: http://www.inlabo.de/

2011
05/25
CATEGORY
What's happening in the world?
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My heartfelt apologies to my breasts – by Nesreen Zarrouk

Dear Boobs,

Well, I just wanted to write you to say thank you and sorry for putting up with me for so long.

I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through ever since I was 13. The non-stop complaints that my best friends had a nicer version of you, or that you were just too high up my chest, that no matter what I wore, I always got a yelling from my mama coz there was ALWAYS too much of you showing..either that, or a turtleneck.

I’m sorry for the pregnancy and nursing months and all the ups and downs that you went through along with it all. I’m sorry for the tenderness, the cracked nipples, the clogged ducts, my incredible manual breast-pumping methods (mighty me did not need no help from no pumping machine!)

I’m sorry for the times that baby Ranessa bit you, squeezed or twisted you believing it was funny. For the squeezing and twisting, I am still sorry.

I’m sorry that you were never good enough. There was ALWAYS something wrong with you. 

I’m sorry that I never realized how pretty you were until it was too late.

I’m sorry that you went from two glorious stars to the deflated, after-party balloons behind a couch that you are now.

I’m sorry for the name-calling and the non-stop comparisons you had to go through.

You’ve been such troopers, best buddies I ever had. Have always been there for me. I’m sure it hasn’t always been easy. I see you staring at the ground, with your head hung low, demoralized, and it breaks my heart.

So please accept my apology. I promise I will buy you pretty fancy bras, all lacy and cute.

Love,

Saggy Baggy

P.S. I know you’ve been through a lot, but I do have just one more last favor to ask you. Could I maybe talk you into a boob job?

Image courtesy of: http://www.makeherup.com/

2011
05/23
CATEGORY
The messed up me within
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A mother’s prayer for her child – by Nesreen Zarrouk

Dear God,

Please don’t let her ruin that beautiful skin of hers by getting tattoos, even if I myself, for some crazy reason, end up getting one.  May neither Hello Kitty nor the Disney princesses holding up her name stain the wonderful coating you blessed her with.

May she learn that inner beauty is worth so much more than the outer kind. And may that kind never get her into trouble with the wrong people, or with sick psychos that wanna hurt her. May you get her to totally enjoy her upcoming martial arts classes so that she knows how to kick a creepy ass when she needs to.

If she is ever offered crystal meth or any other poison, may she remember her mom that cut her grapes in half, got rid of the seeds, stayed up till 3 am cutting, slicing, chopping, cooking and freezing her baby mush using only the best of ingredients, so that no harm could ever touch her body.

May you guide her, protect her when crossing the street, when taking street cars, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking  near pools, standing on the train platform, getting on and off escalators and elevators, driving country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, walking to her dorm at night from a long day spend at the library, riding her bicycle or scooter, or roller-coasters, or anything called “Hell Drop” or “Tower of Torture”, standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

May she always listen to the beats of her own heart, but yet lend mama an ear and listen to what mama gotta say!

May you protect her from this crazy world full of internet and i-pods and pads, and psychos lurking around in cyber-space.

If she one day ever turns around and calls me names and says she hates me as loud as she can in front her friends, then give me the strength God, to yank her directly into the car or bus or whatever it is, for I will not have that kind of shit. I will not have it.

Amen.

2011
05/20
CATEGORY
The ups and downs of being a mom
5 comments

A mole? So small? – by Nesreen Zarrouk

Today I got thinking about how naive I really was growing up in a city like Dubai. For some reason, as children growing up, we never had a clear vision or understanding of nature and all the inhabitants that are a part of it. I remember the first time I ever had a taste of a “real” apple that I was “allowed” to pluck off the apple tree. There was an explosion of emotions and thoughts right there. Not having to pay for apples, no one watching me and wanting to yell at me for grabbing the apple just like that, and most of all , the sight, smell and taste of this oh so normal, yet so magical fruit… An apple never tasted so good like it did in that field in the little village of Pahren.

Why is it that growing up I thought a mole was as big as a dog? Or a mouse as big as a rat? And a rat even bigger? Why is it that we never had pictures of these animals next to other animals in books for the sake of comparison and mathematical visualisation? Why was it that growing up in a city like Dubai never taught us how plants grow and how flowers are so beautiful? Why haven’t we ever climbed up a tree? And why on earth were we never allowed to play with dirt?

It was shocking..that first time that I did see a mole for the first time in my life. That thing is almost as small as a mouse (and yes, a mouse really is small!). People wonder why I chose to stay here. I always have 2 answers for that one: 1. I wasted too much time being so disconnected from nature, now I can finally make up for it all. And most importantly: 2. My daughter Ranessa will never have to waste time being as naive as I have been. She will know, while still a child, that a mole is not as a big as a dog : )

Here, a little more info on moles: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mole_(animal)

Image source: http://www.abendblatt.de/hamburg/article1479178/Maulwurf-der-Feind-in-meinem-Beet.html

2011
05/19
CATEGORY
Uncategorized
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