There’s nothing quite like moving across the world and having every expectation shattered.
This is my name written in Arabic. You read it from right to left. I took an Arabic class during the months of October, November, and December. I learned to write the entire Arabic alphabet and could read short words. Seven months after this class, this is the only word I can still write. About
Ya’ll. Full disclosure. I don’t pray that much anymore. It’s kind of a long story, but you’d be lucky to catch me blessing my food at dinner. Things aren’t spiritually bad, just different. I’m more like, “Okay, God. You good? I’m good. Alright, hmu.” Or something like that. Anyway. My point here is that because
I am in between houses. I am, as they say, about that hotel life. I’ve read in books and short stories that this is supposed to be “the life”: living out of suitcases, walking under city lights, staying up until dawn. The reality is far less glamorous. At my age, I feel deeply the discomfort of
I was talking to Janeen the other day about a matter completely unrelated to this post, and she told me–with all of her Janeen-like kindness that honestly makes me crazy sometimes–that I don’t need to be so hard on myself. Of all the nerve. I mean really, what kind of empathetic and compassionate person looks
They say you can never go home again. Which is kind of messed up, if you think about it. So much of our lives, so much of who we are is connected to the GPS of our hearts. Final destination: home. After a long day of work, after a fun adventure, you want for familiarity,
“Janeen, when are you coming home? ” This is a common question asked of me when I visit friends and family in the states. My father wants to know before ending every phone call lately. Sometimes people ask because they truly miss me and I really appreciate that. Some people have no clue why I
“You know you need to start packing, what are you waiting for? “