Dear Me

My dearest, Loyal Reader…Back then, I used to make time  have time to visit the little children in the orphanage. I used to help with their homework, play games and run around like a child in the garden. Dear Me, how many times I sang songs running in circles holding little children’s hands; or the times I drew butterflies and love-hearts on innocent faces.

A day I will never forget. We (Ashna, Bewar, Ruwayda and many others) joined
the children to the airport

Back then, I used to go and visit Pura Gulizard at the elderly people’s home in Erbil. I used to take her home-made cakes or cookies (all sugar free) and listen to endless complaints- about her children, life, her deteriorating health… and about her crush. I used to hug her tight and laugh at her teenage heart as she asked me to pluck her eye-brows. I used to sit down and sing along sometimes, or listen to their stories. At times I drove home in tears, other times I was the happiest girl on this planet.

Back then, I went on adventures in my own city. I would walk up the citadel and make my way through the busy alleyways of Erbil’s Qaysari bazaar. The experience used to tickle all my senses, I would breathe in the smell of strong spices, the not-so-appetising odour of fresh cheese (with few flies visiting for a taste) and I’d admire the sight of the rainbow of bright coloured material in so many shops for Kurdish clothes (Jli Kurdi).  I would make time to appreciate the poor, but very patient, shop owners laying down colourful pieces of material on the tiles for very picky Kurdish girls to choose from.

Back then, my Loyal Blog Reader, was only few years ago. A lot of these still live in me, sometimes priorities change. Now I dream of the families under tents in refugee camps. I think of how much donations one must collect and try to fit everything in with long working hours. I have nightmares of ISIS. But these aren’t adequate excuses, right?

Dear Me, do I put the blame on myself, or let the blame free from within and surrender to believe this is life? C’est la Vie. 

Lots of love from 
My Nest in Kurdistan,

Sazan,

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