For the past six months I am waiting for an important phone call that I hope will change my life. And until I receive that call I feel like I am just walking around, getting along and counting the hours. I do not have any control over the situation. I seem to have zoned out of my life lately. I don’t feel comfortable anywhere and most of the time there’s so much going on in my head that getting started on the simplest task becomes sort of an ordeal for me.
I am stuck and I can’t move forward. For some reason or another I cannot even do what I like to do most, write. That’s so hard to do when you’re in pain. To be able to create I need to silence all the little voices in my head and concentrate on the moment, the now. On most nights I go to bed angry and frustrated at myself for wasting yet another day. And that hurts.
But then again I am trying to cope with the situation as best as I can and waiting for things to get better, if they will ever get better. And the waiting, oh the waiting. You wait and wait and wait, and all the while you wish and hope against hope for some miracle to make your troubles go away. It’s hard when your life sort of depends not on the decisions you make yourself, but on others, and harder still is the uncertainty of the situation.
Eckhart Tolle writes:
“There are two levels of your pain; the pain that you create now, and the pain that comes from the past that still lives on in your mind and body.”
On days that I’m too overwhelmed with the difficulties of the present, with all the troubles, I try to calm myself the only way I know. I close my eyes and go back to my childhood days. I try to remember the smell of home, the smell of my mom’s cooking that welcomed me every noon when I hurried home from school during lunch break. Early in the morning the little talks I had with my family over coffee. The things they said or did. The tranquility that enveloped me despite the noise around me. The precious moments I spent with my best friend, sometimes doing nothing more than walking along the streets of my village.
So much has happened since then. I’ve left the village and the entire country, escaping the civil war, seeking a normal and peaceful life. And eleven years ago I finally settled in Canada with my family and chose to make Montreal my permanent home. A country where I don’t have to worry about displacements or wars. But the many sad memories, the many things that went wrong during that time never allowed me to find what I was looking for. And I don’t know if I ever will feel at peace again.
Eckhart Tolle writes:
“Emotional pain is the main cause of physical pain and physical disease. Resentment, hatred, self-pity, guilt, anger, depression, jealousy, even the slightest irritation, are all forms of pain.”
I found out the hard way what it costs us to love and lose, to dare and to fail. Not the superficial or material costs that life is full of, but the real cost of losing a loved one, and the pain that comes with it, the real pain of loss.
That’s why the happy memories for me are rooted in that small village called Ainjar, east of the Bekaa valley in Lebanon. A place where everyone knows everyone else. A place where my mom and part of my family and friends still live. The place where I had all that could never be bought with money.
Sometimes when I sit at my desk and stare at the blank page I get this urge to write about that place. I want to remember the dawn, the weather, the river, the orchards, the mountains. I get this longing, this yearning for that place, the place which I sometimes become so nostalgic about that it hurts.
Maya Angelou writes:
“The truth is you can never leave home. You take it with you, it’s under your fingernails; it’s the hair follicles; it’s in the way you smile, it’s in the ride of your hips, in the passage of your breasts; it’s all there, no matter where you go. You can take on the affectations and the postures of other places, and even learn to speak their ways. But the truth is, home is between your teeth. Everybody’s always looking for it.”