Subject: Sad News to Share

This is a post about beginnings.  It is about a cafeteria man.  This post is about endings.

Beginnings ...​

First off, this is my first "Me"-less/"ME"-less post title.  

It's why I started to blog.  Deep down, I knew the day would come when I would have that "Aha!" moment, that moment where I would just know that what I wanted to write about had so much more to do with everything else than with 'me' or the 'ME'.  And yet it has everything to do with both.  

In reality, I cannot entirely detach myself from the events around me, nor from the land around me ... to do so would make me disinterested.  But the time has come where me and the ME are just necessary background noise for this blog really.

In that sense, this post is the beginning of a new chapter.  One that has been a long time coming.  It is new, and yet it is a return to the old.  

It is the complete and utter realization that some things that would seem to have NOTHING to do with you can touch you at your core.  

Thank you <Naji>, aka 'Cafeteria Man>.  I dedicate this post to you.

The Cafeteria Man ...

This post was born after receiving an e-mail from kiddo's school.  The subject was simply:  "Sad News to Share".

It read something (very much) ​like this:

​It is with great sadness that we inform you of the death of one our <school name> cafeteria workers, <we'll call him 'Naji'>, of Sri Lanka.  <He> was involved in an accident riding his bike to school early Sunday morning, April <...>.   

We can only imagine how proud <Naji's> family must have been of him.  He supported his mother, brother, and four sisters while he worked with <employer> the past seven years.  Our cafeteria manager, <name>, said <Naji> was a model employee and one of the hardest workers on <employer's> kitchen staff.  He was responsible for pasta preparation and service in the elementary school for many years and had just moved to the MS/HS cafeteria where he provided counter service as well as preparation for the chicken shawarmas we eat every day.  

<Naji's> unselfish commitment to his family serves as a model for all of us as he truly lived <school name's> values.  As a recognition of <Naji's> extended service to the <school> community, The Booster Club is directing the proceeds from the next hotdog sale on May <...> to <Naji's> family in Sri Lanka.  If you would like your child <...> to participate, please fill out the order form that will be sent home with your child this week. 

In addition to the Booster Club Hot Dog sale, <school> staff members have been making monetary contributions for <Naji's> family.  If you would like to make a contribution, please send it with your child in a sealed envelope or see any of our staff in the elementary school office.  Thank you for your thoughts and prayers for <Naji> and his family at this time.

Intermission ...

​​I can't ​quite find the words to express what I felt when I read the e-mail the first time.  This e-mail sent to our school community; this e-mail that conveyed such a soft-spoken profound sense of loss.  What did I feel?  Sadness?  Regret?  Shame?  Guilt?  Remorse?  Anger?

All of the above?​

Sadness

at such a young, promising life lost?  at so many others in similar circumstances toiling every day in this country to provide a better life for their loved ones back home?

Regret

that I'd never met him?​  that I've never met so many of these workers who come to work every day with the weight of the world on their shoulders and a smile as bright as the sun?

Shame

that I'd never really thought about the people who prepare Kiddo's pasta every ​Wednesday, those really special people who give her an exciting and much anticipated break from her regular everyday humdrum boxed lunch?  that I'd slip 50 QAR to the teaboy at work, but never think to pass it on to the guy who serves my daughter her lunch?

Guilt

​that I'd never taken the time to send in a thank you note to this employee and to the others who work silently, unseen, in the shadows?  that I'd never actually asked Kiddo about them?

Remorse

that I'd never again have the chance to say thank you to <Naji>?​  that there are so many others I may have missed along the way?

Anger

that a young man who managed to make my daughter's day ("yeahhhhh, Maman, it's ordering day" is Wednesday's wake-up call) was mowed down thoughtlessly, another casualty to road insanity in the ME?  that I can't do a darned thing other than shake my fist to stop it?

• To one man, the 'boy' was a hit-and-run casualty.
• To kiddo, the 'Cafeteria Man' was a weekly source of joy.
• To his mother, <Naji> was a son ... I imagine he was her life.  
• To his sisters, <Naji> was a brother ... I imagine he was a hero.  
• To community - his community, our school community - he was an inspiration, an example.  Of values.  Of promise.  Of hope.

​I do know that when I re-read the e-mail to Smilin' Vic and Kiddo, I cried.  I'm not sure why.  I didn't know <Naji>.  I didn't really have the right to cry for him and his family, did I?  

But I couldn't control the lump that suddenly formed in my chest.  I couldn't contain the tears, and had to stop and take a few breaths between every few words.  But I wanted to get through that message, I wanted Kiddo to hear what an amazing, inspirational, admirable young man <Naji> was.

I really wanted to get to know 'The Cafeteria Man' through the re-reading of that e-mail.  Too late ... I wanted to get to know him.  I wanted to know <Naji>.

I am not alone.  I spoke to other moms.  They were shaken to the core.  It was just so sad.  Some knew 'The Cafeteria Man'.  Others didn't.  Yet we will all miss him.  Somehow, he was a part of our community ... and he drew us closer to one another. That happens a lot here - you realize you are a part of something special at that moment when you lose it.  

He, like so many other expatriate workers, working tirelessly to make a better life for his family back home, was the life breath of this country.  He made a difference.  Here, back home, he made a difference.

He was the Cafeteria Man.  He was <Naji>.  He will be missed ... even by those of us who did not know him.​

Endings ...​

​<Naji's> life ended on April <...>, 2013.  We will miss him.  I have nothing else to say; this post is about him, not me.

The End

The sad fact is, it's not getting any better.  There are so many issues to address ... but I guess road safety is a good place to start.​

Release Me From This Cone of Silence ...

An alternative title to this post could well have been something along the lines of "My Cat and I Lead Oddly Similar Lives".

It all started for her about three days ago. A day like any other here in the desert ...

dusty

sunshiny skies,

furnace-like wind

warm breeze,

horns blaring

birds chirping as we

rushed like lunatics

enjoyed a leisurely morning preparing for another day in Doha.

The only thing that was different for kitty that morning was that after breakfast (ours, not hers - kitty was fasting) she got crated.  She doesn't mind her crate; most nights she sleeps in it, on a pink fluffy comfy pillow.  It is the perfect kitty cat dream machine.  I'm not sure if cats dream, but if they do, this would be the perfect place to do so. 

Then she got loaded into the car along with Kiddo, lunch bag and backpack.  Not kitty's most favorite thing in the world, car rides, but sunlight was filtering in through the holes on the side of her cage, and it was warm, and the car was humming along smoothly, and soon enough she was purring contentedly in the back seat, simply enjoying the ride.

Quite oblivious to the fact that I was about to drop her into the hands of individuals who would leave her dreamless, disconcerted and ill, in that particular order.  And I was doing so willingly (though not happily).  ​

​Many scientists believe that cats do dream, or at the very least relive memories as they sleep.  

She would be given anesthesia that would put her under for a few hours and blissfully erase any memory of the obligatory surgical slicing and tugging she was about to undergo.  (I wonder if it will forever erase any dreams she may have had of kittens bouncing about and scurrying excitedly around her.  Do cats dream? )

She would awaken from that surgery confused and weak.  Unsure of what atrocities she had endured, unsure of why she should be feeling such numbness and all the while feeling such discomfort, feeling so agonizingly wretched.

Then she would come home; be given food to eat and water to drink.  But she wouldn't feel like eating or drinking anything.  She would just want to sleep, to make the numbness/dull ache go away.  And then she would notice the cone that had been tied around her head.  A cone that was restricting her movement, annoying her, driving her mad.  And she would scratch and paw to no avail, and finally open her mouth to  ​

ROAR!

....

Meow!

.... squeak?????

​How the hell did I get myself into this mess?

Yes, at the end of the day, our kitty found herself battered, barren and silenced.  Through no choice of her own ... only because people did what had to be done; cats are subjected to spaying every hour of every day.  The vet said she likely lost her voice simply because she is a little more sensitive than the average kitten.​  

I brought her back in for a check-up today.  The vet said she is doing fine; her sutures have taken, her wound is healing nicely.  But he gave her a course of antibiotics for her throat, just to be on the safe side.​  He said he would remove the cone and the stitches in seven days.

This evening she managed a little ​meow; ever so slight, but we all heard it and cheered her on.  We keep on telling her the cone will come off soon, and she will get her roar back (which is kind of a lie, because her meow has actually never been much more than a squeak, but we're trying to motivate her, build up her self-confidence).  And she's seeming more sprite, not quite bouncing around, but moving a lot quicker than she has the last few days.  And she's cuddlier than ever.  Like we're her safe place.

​And I'm struck by my own dissection of the last two or three years, the one that left me feeling oddly numb/bruised, listless, empty, confused, disoriented, frustrated.  The one that caught me unawares.  The one that silenced me.  And I think about the cone around me that I pawed at constantly, futilely.  The cone that friends and family told me would eventually come off.  The one that did in its own good time.

So I sit here tonight, gainfully unemployed, with my kitty as my muse.  

The cone that started to become undone when I handed in my resignation has finally and completely come off this week.  

With no cone, it's a lot easier to look around and see what's going on around me.  

​At barely 4 lbs, surgery was hard ... but she's tougher than she looks.  You probably can't see the fiercely huge and ferocious fly she took on in this shot.

I feel my voice returning too, just like they promised me it would.  It feels funny though, and I've been saving it this week ... almost like I'm afraid if I actually use it I'll lose it.  

Or maybe it's just because I have all the time in the world.

For now I'll focus on my kitty.  She needs some love.  And some inspiration.  I think I'll go remind her that the cone of silence will come off.  And that she will

ROAR

again!

A New Me, or Just the Me I Was Meant to Be?

Those of you who have laboriously waded through the treacle of my desperation by way of my early posts will know that professional disillusionment initially motivated my foray into 'BlogWorld'.

Isn't it odd that my disenchantment has metamorphosed into hope in the space of just a few short months?  

Or was it, perhaps, simply meant to be?

I feel like a new person; like I've been reborn.  

A decision I'd wrestled with for years seemed to make itself.  I quit my job.  Simple as that.  No more trying to avoid the reality that was staring me in the face.  I wasn't happy at work.  And it was making me unhappy in general.

Of course, over the last few months, I've questioned my decision to quit.  I've wondered whether I was simply using my job as a scapegoat for my unhappiness.  Wondered if I had really considered all the repercussions of quitting.  And ultimately I've come to the conclusion that the decision is without a shadow of a doubt the right one.

Tomorrow is my ​last day of work.  And while I will be sad to say goodbye to a good many friends made along the way, I feel, way down deep inside, like this is exactly where I am meant to be at this moment in time.

I must admit to feeling somewhat nostalgic these past few days.  It's made me look back on my life.  It got me to thinking about where exactly this decision fit into my "10-year Plan".  I started thinking back 10 years.

Which is when it hit me.  ​

It's ten years ago that I made another monumental decision to quit.  I found myself separated, on my own for the first time ever.  And I remember waking up that first morning, alone in bed, in the foreign surroundings of my first 'on-my-own' apartment, thinking "This is exactly where I am meant to be."  

I will never, ever forget the liberation of that feeling at that moment.​

On that morning, I had a great job, promising career, I was upwardly mobile, I was gloriously single with no desire to be anything but.  I had a car, I could go where I wanted.  I had a wonderfully quaint apartment.  I didn't have much in the bank, but I didn't have much debt.

But my plans for the future on that day had nothing to do with a job, a car, money or relationships.

My 10-year Plan that morning was to harness that incredible feeling of freedom, of happiness.  To make sure I never ​forgot what it felt like again.  

And it worked.  I didn't plan to ever get remarried, yet my path collided with Smilin' Vic's.  I didn't plan (like really, REALLY didn't plan) to get pregnant, yet I was blessed with the most amazing kiddo ever.  I just committed to letting the happiness in, and the rest followed.

But somewhere along the way, I forgot the feeling.  I forgot my commitment.  I let one small professional disappointment in.  It was quickly followed by another.  And it brought two friends, and they brought to friends, .... you know how it goes.  After a while, I tried to convince myself that the disappointment and the frustration was ok.  

I've spent a lot of time letting the happiness back in over the last few months.  Blogging has forced me to focus on the positive in my life: my family, my friends, my general lot.  I had to start dwelling on the positive or else I'd forever be known as the ​frustrated blogger.  I didn't want every post to be a rant.  I wanted to feel inspired again.

And somehow the memory of that happiness from ten years ago started fighting its way back to the fore.  ​Some days I really do feel like it's a new me.

But it's not.  It's just me.  The me I was meant to be.​

​Souq Waqif.  October 2012.  Sometimes you just know things aren't quite as they should be...

Gloom-me Days ...

​I have blogger's block today.  Maybe a heavy heart makes for an empty brain.  

​Barcelona, Spain.  June 2012.  

I'm overwhelmed by today's news and events.  There are days like that.  Days where you really wonder what it's all about.  Days where you really wish the madness would stop.  Days where it just doesn't make any sense.  

Bomb blasts at the Boston Marathon.  More carnage in Syria.  Another earthquake in Iran.  ​

Families in mourning, pent-up anger, senseless deaths; across the globe, powerlessness in the face of Mother Nature and Earth's inhabitants.

I wanted to write, I really did.  But words fail me.​

It's a gloom-me ​day.

I Failed Me a Little Today ...

Every day, I'm confronted with something I've failed at.  My days are filled with mistakes and failures of varying degrees.  Some days it's something small, like failing to remember to put the water bottles out for the water delivery truck on Wednesday.  Some days it's something big, like failing to read the e-mail from kiddo's teacher reminding me that today is "Crazy Hair Day" at school.  And some days it's something monumental, like failing at my job.

But one thing ​I've learned from failure is that 9 times out of 10 it teaches me something.  I like to believe I've actually grown from my failures, that I've become a little bit better at some things.  It might be that I've only become more accomplished at failure itself, but I'll take any success I can get.  Surely my failures have made me somewhat smarter than I once was?

For example, I once ran freely through my mom's yard wearing jelly shoes.  We had a huge Husky/German Shepard mix back then.  I failed to realize there was a chance I would collide with one of the doggy land mines littering the yard.  I realized my mistake as soon as the poo started seeping through the gaps in my jelly shoe.  I've learned not to run through open fields wearing jelly shoes.

I once rubbed my eyes after basting ribs in hot sauce with my bare hands.  I failed to heed the warning label that said "Avoid contact with eyes.  If product comes into contact with eyes, immediately flush liberally with fresh water."  Lesson in self-macing quickly learned.  Tabasco BURNS!

​I failed to wait until AFTER pulling a shirt over my head to apply lipstick ; I learned that you can remove a lipstick stain with hairspray.  

I failed at freely acknowledging a mistake; I've learned that you can avoid a lot of pain with a sincere "sorry".  

I failed at admitting that I didn't know what the hell someone was talking about; I've learned that you can avoid a lot of frustration by just admitting that you don't have all the answers.  

I failed at telling a lot of people exactly how I felt; I've learned that when you stop pretending, life becomes a lot simpler.

There are always exceptions; e.g.  ​I repeatedly fail to get to work on time.  That is the 1 time out of 10 that I just can't seem to learn from.  I figure I more than make up for it on the one hand, staying late on the job more than my turn.  However, this usually perpetuates the cycle of failure, with me arriving consistently three minutes behind the school bell most every day as I rush for after-school pickup.  On good days I convince myself that one could consider my tardiness a success if measured in terms of consistency.  

Then there are other failures, bigger failures, monumental failures, that make me rethink the implications of my actions on my life and that of others.

Yesterday I failed at sunscreen protocol.  Up until then, I could boast almost eight years of immaculate protection of kiddo's pearly-white skin in the ME.  I started off well, immersed Kiddo in spf 50 as is custom.  But then I let her swim and play in the desert sun for just a little too long without re-applying.  Her red shoulders and the pink hair part on her skull were the first indication that I had failed.  Her desperate attempt to rouse us at 1:00 a.m. by vomiting profusely over Smilin' Vic and I and our bedding was ​the second sign.  Her dry sunstroke heaves throughout the early morning hours lent credence to the epic proportions of my failure to protect this amazing little translucent being.  (I'm happy to report she's back to running about care-free as I type this post.)  I consider this a MONUMENTAL failure.  I am supposed to keep her safe.  Safe from the bad guys, safe from harm, safe from the elements.  Lesson learned: Failing my child is not an option. 

Recently, I admitted to failing at my job.  This hasn't been my biggest failure ever, but it's been a really hard one to admit to.  Me, who has always prided myself on my ability to 'get the job done'.  But I finally found a job I just wasn't willing to invest any more of me into.  So I quit.  In case I forget how massive a failure this one is, kiddo has been running around telling everyone for the last few weeks "My Maman quit her job!'  Funny thing is, I feel ok about it.  Lesson learned:  There is sometimes victory in failure.      

Years ago, I failed at marriage.  This one nearly killed me.  Slowly.  The failure dragged on for years, and it hurt - not only me, but many around me.  But then I succeeded at divorce.  Life has a way of throwing curve balls like that.  Lesson learned:  Sometimes success doesn't look quite like we expected it to.

For over six years, I have been failing my family back home.  As an expat, I just don't think there's any way around it.  I am not there to listen to them, to help them, to wrap my arms around them, to comfort them when they most need it.  Lesson learned:  Sometimes failure is the only option ... and it sucks.

Yup, every day I fail me a little.  But as they say in these parts, "What to do, yannih?"  I take the good with the bad and move on, and hopefully a little growth will come of it.  Hopefully the multitude of failures accumulated over the years will help define a successful lifetime.

May we all fail a little so that we may grow a little, and ultimately emerge triumphant.

"You build on failure. You use it as a stepping stone. Close the door on the past. You don't try to forget the mistakes, but you don't dwell on it. You don't let it have any of your energy, or any of your time, or any of your space." - Johnny Cash