I've never blogged before. Yep, that's right. I don't even really know what I'm doing, so please bear with me. So why did I decide to start a blog? A few reasons. For one, it's a way to share some of my crazy adventures with those who I don't get to talk to regularly. In saying that, this blog isn't just going to be me talking about me. I want it to be a springboard for discussions- whether it be about Arab politics or how to confront somebody who has horse-breath. I want this blog to be as interactive as possible, so if you have any suggestions for what topics I should cover, please let me know.
Of course, I can not have a blog without having a section dedicated to telling hilarious stories about the infamous 5'2" ball of intensity, passion, and bi-lingual/non-sensical cuss words- Nuha (my mama). Some of the adventures I share will be recent, while others won't be. Here's the first of my:
Since I was a teenager, I dreamed of the day I could move out of my parents' home. There was only one problem: I was Arab. Good Arab girls don't move out until they meet good Arab boys and marry them. When I was 20, I entertained the possibility of marrying my suitors who were decades older than me and looked like Gargamel just to get out of the house, but I couldn't do it. So one night, when arguing with my mom about coming home past my 11:00 curfew, I was fed up. I yelled at her, packed a bag and started walking down the stairs and out the front door. She did everything in her power to block the stairs but I shoved past her, ran outside to my car and started it as fast as I could, thinking I was safe. As I turned the key in the ignition, I noticed a figure bolting out of the house and before I knew it, she was on the hood of my car pounding on the windshield. So what did I do? What any good daughter would do: I put the car in reverse and starting driving off. When she realized I was serious about leaving, she finally jumped off. Don't worry- she didn't get hurt. Needless to say, she didn't talk to me for a month. But this story has a happy ending. I've lived away from home for years and she has come to realize that a girl could live on her own and not be a hussie. (I don't think I've ever used the word "hussie" before.)