Caviar & Diamonds for Breakfast {1}

Venice, oh Venice. The scent of the salty air fills up my lungs as I inhale. I roam around the streets just to get familiar, but the more I walk the more I discover. It’s been almost two week since I’ve settled and all I have been doing is walk walk walk. I can’t get over the beauty of this city. The organization that provided me with the scholarship, prepared me a place to stay, a decent apartment that had a kitchen, a bedroom and a living room. Perfect for one, and I was extremely thankful that I was living on my own. I had already started studying Italian as a language with two elderly couple who offered to help me. I still didn’t apply my papers to any university mainly because I don’t know which university best suits me. I did take a glimpse of the campus of some universities, I jotted down what I liked. But so far, I wanted to discover Venice. I took a small notebook with me wherever I walked, to scribble down what I liked and where the place was. But today, out of all days I felt like I need a cold gelato in this hot weather. Yes it’s hot, nothing compared to Dubai of course, but its humid and hot. The kind of weather that makes you want to wear the lightest t-shirt possible with a skirt or some shorts. I tied my hair up into a ponytail, wore my shades that I bought from some street vendor by Rialto Bridge and took out my sketchbook. There was just too much inspiration in this city, and my mind was oozing with ideas that I needed to tame before it was too late. I bought a cone of frozen yogurt and walked towards the Bridge of Sighs, I took a picture of the view then got out my sketchbook. I needed some acrylic for this, so I mentally noted down that I needed to go to the nearest art store to buy some. I figured that the Bridge of Sighs needed a moment of peacefulness, a moment to silence, and tranquility in its essence. I wish if my parents were here or my brothers, so they could feel what I could feel in Venice.

            I finally settled at about 2PM in a coffee shop by Riva degli Schiavoni, facing the docks. I looked at the view it was breathtaking. The gondolas parked side by side, a few boats here and there. It was magnificent, and I knew that this scene was not to miss. I took a couple of snapshots whilst they were brewing my cappuccino. I loved the buzz in this restaurant; I loved the diversity that I was amongst. The different languages, different cultures. Couples sitting beside me, businessmen on a coffee break. There were all kinds of people, and then there was me, the artist. I sketched out a couple of gondolas here and there; I sketched out moving figures with the background. My A4 notebook is too small; I seriously need to buy something larger… Dusk was slowly setting; the different wash of warm colours inspired me to come back again with a set of new paint and canvas. I had to be at the Lombardi’s in a few (the elderly couple who were teaching me Italian). I quickly paid for my cappuccino and headed over to their place, taking snapshots of the views and street names so I can remember how I got here and there.

            I rang the bell to the apartment and patiently waited, I arrived at 6PM sharp. Right on time to the appointment. Here’s a quick introduction to them:

Father: Giovanni. 67, retired.

Mother: Francesca. 60, retired.

Elder son: Riccardo, 34, works in Milano. Married, has 2 kids.

Younger son: Pietro, 27, works in a company in Mestre. Lives with his parents.

Ciao Pietro

Ciao Shamsa, come stai? (Hello Shamsa, how are you?)

Bene grazie, e tu? (Good thank you, and you?)

Bene. Come in, you’re just in time for dinner. Where did you go today?

I’ve been walking around. I just discovered the Bridge of Sighs. Then I went back to the usual place for some cappuccino and gelato. How was your day?

The usual.

Ciao Mr. and Mrs Lombardi. I went over to greet them then sat facing Pietro. We had lasagna for dinner; all these carbs are going to be the death of me (I hope I’m not gaining anything!). Today’s lesson was about ‘what I did today’; ‘Che cosa hai fatto ieri?’ and I had to practice what I was taught the previous lessons.

Ciao! Mi chaimo Shamsa. Ieri, ho fatto un giro da sola. Due ore fa ho mangio il gelato. (Hello! My name is Shamsa. Today, I had a walk on my own. Two hours ago I had ice cream.)

Brava! You’re improving!

Grazie Mrs. Lombardi  

The lesson went on. I knew that if this went any further, eventually the Lombardi’s are going to get bored of me, and this is just an assumption. But honestly, I think this is useful but to some extent it need to be practiced on a daily basis more than an hour or two. So I came up with an idea, something so simple.

Mr. Lombardi, I was thinking of applying to a job. Somewhere where I can interact with lots of people and speak Italian. I think this will drastically improve my language.

Bene, but do you have somewhere in mind? I can help, ma I don’t know what you want.

Why don’t you work at that coffee shop? The one you go to everyday. I’ll work with you part time.

Pietro! She is our guest; we must treat her like our daughter- I gasped!

- Sorry to interrupt Mrs. Lombardi. Pietro, you’re a genius! That’s perfect! I can gain so much experience in such a short period of time!

For a moment they just looked at Pietro, and I could tell that the mother was furious from the inside, as if she was about to hit Pietro with the bowl of salad. They spoke in Italian, words I couldn’t comprehend.

La mia bella figlia… You know God, come si dice in inglese, ah. Not give me daughters, only boys. Pietro give me age and white hair. I don’t want you to go, stay here. Come visit us everyday. We teach you Italian you teach us inglese.

Oh Mrs. Lombardi, you’re my Italian family that I never had of course I’ll come visit you everyday. And besides, if Pietro is going to join me I’ll be visiting you all the time.

After the conversation and after dinner, I helped clean the dishes and Mrs. Lombardi taught me the names of the cutlery. Spoon is cucchiaio and so on.. Then we planned out the timings and what we’re going to do tomorrow. Pietro said he’d pass by my place at around 7AM. That’ll give us enough time to have breakfast together, then look at a couple of restaurants close then apply to the one that best suits us. I went back home at 9. I called mom and dad, we spoke for around 2 hours then I went to sleep, I was exhausted.

Pietro passed by my place at 7AM, as promised. We went to apply for the restaurant that we both thought suits us best and they were delighted to have us as a part of their family. I loved how everyone treated every one as a family, not as strangers, not by their features, but by their souls. Yes, people did stare at me at first because of my eyes, but they didn’t treat me differently. I put on my apron on top of my white shirt and black trousers, and started serving. I was hesitant at first, speaking in Italian and taking orders but by the 5^th customer it became much easier. On occasions I did speak English to some customers- non Italians- or Italians who knew I wasn’t Italian. I got my coffee break at around 2, Pietro had left for work earlier, and he said he’d be back at 4 to work on his shift for the day. I sat by the docks, real close to the extent my legs were dangling down centimeters away from the water. How much I miss swimming, how calming it was to me. I wrote down a couple of notes in my small notebook that I had with me back in Dubai, bits and bob of inspiration is what I call it. I’d write down a couple of quotes or sayings, or whatever poetic comes up in my mind. I couldn’t help but doodle on the side a gondola, or the face of a fictional person.

Ciao, sei una artista?

No… Sono umm… Waitress? Io non parlo Italiano, ma parli ingelese?

You’re very talented. You should start selling those; you’d make a fortune. He sat beside me. Leaving a small distance between the two of us, not so much personal space. Suddenly I felt uncomfortable by the distance. Mommy told me not to speak to strangers, in fact she warned me about them. I made simple quick mind notes on his appearance. He wore an old parka that had holes, he smelled of cigars and of leather car seats, which was extremely offbeat. He had tattered jeans on, no watch, his shoes were plain black not too old yet not new. Perhaps he was homeless, a beggar, or that’s how he dressed. He had his hoodie on so I couldn’t get a glimpse of what he looked like, but I could see just his jawline peeping out. He had an unshaved dirty, quiet long beard- about two centimeters long. Fingernails weren’t trimmed. He had a strange accent, he spoke fluent Italian that I can swear to you he sounded Italian. But the instant he shifted accents he sounded so unbelievably American. So I couldn’t make judgments based on his accents.

I stood up about to leave, because talking to strangers wasn’t my thing and mommy warned me too.

Where to?

Work.

It was nice talking to you, miss-? Nice try, but I won’t give you my name mister.

It was nice talking to you too. Good-bye. I said, smiling. I left him where he was, but something in me, something deep inside told me to go back. To talk for a little longer. As if talking to him was the right thing to do. But I couldn’t, I had work to do. I looked back after reaching the restaurant, he disappeared. I looked in between the crowds but he wasn’t there. It was like he vanished into thin air… Once I got back into work, the busier I got with the customers the busier my mind got because of him. Maybe he needed my help, he looked like a person who needed help and I refused to do so.

I went back to Pietro’s after our shifts were over; we had dinner together with his parents. I helped clean the dishes then went back home, on the way back I was talking to my parents on the phone. I unlocked the door to my apartment, changed into pyjamas then sat on my bed with my journal opened. I wrote down the date and began describing my day; I did a few sketches here and there using my biro pen. I kept on scribbling until I fell asleep.

A week has passed and things were, gratefully, moving on smoothly. My life with the Lombardi’s and the restaurant is all I ever wanted and more. It was like living in a movie. I wonder how life would be like if I was in Dubai, with my classmates… I hated how I craved the need to be accepted, accepted by my classmates so I can feel a sense of belonging. But nothing fulfilled that except for sports and studying. How can you want society to accept you, when you yourself can’t even accept yourself?

Quote of the Day: “The more you know who you are, and what you want, the less you let things upset you.”

― Stephanie Perkins

Caviar & Diamonds for Breakfast {Introduction}

Every story begins with Once upon a time, and ends with Happily ever after. This story, however, somehow does have the same beginning but may lead us down the path to a different ending. 99.0% of every romance story, has a Romeo that marries off a Juliette in a sensationally magical way that makes every girl dream of. Well maybe not 99.0% of the stories, that’s way too large, let’s reduce it to 96%? Before we delve into the details, let’s just compare and contrast the differences between this story and the other stories – just to make us feel a tad bit better.

Main character falls in love? þ

Main character is beautiful? That’s for you to decide

Prince charming is extraordinarily handsome? Maybe

They live happily ever after? Uncertain

There’s an evil witch or evil character that poisons the main character? Umm… That’s just too much 

Well, I can’t think of anything else to add, but if you have any suggestions please do comment down below.

So what really is this story about? Well, we just spoon fed you the introduction, maybe it doesn’t have a lot of flavor to it, that’s because we want you to savor every tang, every smell, every everything! We just want to spice things up and add excitement!

So, here it goes.

            Once upon a time, there was a girl called Shamsa. An Emirati, living in Dubai, in one of the most exquisite wealthiest districts, the Beverly hills of Dubai known as Jumeirah. Now you may link the title to Shamsa’s residence and say oh yeah, she must be some rich snob and the story revolves around her spending millions on a whim. Wrong. You just got an X, for making a wrong judgment. Shamsa comes from a very middle-class type family; she looks like the ‘typical Emirati’ but is not so typical. In fact, the only typical thing that her and the rest of the Emirati female population share is the Arabic name. Perhaps her features would give her that extra oomph for being an Emirati. You know, the jet-black hair thats long and thick, the strong arched bold eyebrows that don’t need to be filled in. Her nose is strangely small and feminine, not so Arab like long and thin. But she has those abnormally full quite large pouty lips, the kind that makes boys crazy and girls jealous.

            Shamsa being an only daughter, not an only child, made her somehow different from the rest of the girls. She did enjoy girly stuff, a lot, but not as much as cars. You might say yeah, well there are some girls out there who are car gurus well she’s one of them. But there was something in Shamsa that made her so rare, it was her eyes… She has heterochromia. One eye that’s brown and blue- a clash of earthy colours, and the other one had quite a large spec of brown/hazel. Her eyes literally changed colour, which made her stand out amongst the rest of the girls.

            Some of you may find this extremely odd. But there’s so much beauty to it that not everyone seems to understand. Unfortunately, the majority of the students that were in Shamsa’s school bullied her for it. Calling her names like alien or weirdo. She stuck out so much that everyone was pushing her away, like she was some kind of infectious disease or so… The more she tried to hide it with contact lenses the more they bullied her; she didn’t know what to do. Especially when she was in primary school, the children couldn’t completely accept her for who she was. Plus she was that ugly duckling as a child, which made rejection so much easier for everyone. But as the years passed, her mother taught her a set of skills. No one really got to Shamsa to a human level, you know, being personally close to her, other than her family and an Emirati family that lived in their neighborhood. Her mother took extra care of her looks; this long thick hair she had couldn’t go to waste so she did all kinds of treatment that made them lushly big and thick. She took so much care of her skin and body that it naturally glowed. Shamsa grew into that swan that every girl feared of, and got bitterly jealous of. She was so organized that you might mistakably judge her with OCD. She was athletic too but her favorite sport was swimming. Every lunch break she would spend 45 minutes in the pool, swimming her heart out. The boys enjoyed watching her whenever they got a glimpse. From all that constant swimming, she became tanned.

By the tenth grade, Shamsa became the ‘it’ girl. Her group was the elite group in school. Her parents worked so hard for her to enter the best school in Dubai, and she did. She was smart. Very smart.

You think Shamsa is almost perfect. Almost, but not quiet. Being labeled as a child for her discoloration in her eyes, she grew up with some issues. And the girls would always tell her, boys didn’t like tanned girls. They preferred girls with milky white smooth skin. You would never even think she was instable. But she was, and it never showed.

The years passed by and by the time she was in her last year of school, the girls eventually got fed up from listening to all the compliments Shamsa got. Revenge was their only justice. But how could you break someone who was so naturally confident? She wasn’t plastic, nor fake which made it so hard for them to dig deep within to find out something about her. The more they tried to destroy her, the more they failed. You can’t overpower her, not when you don’t know anything about her. A little secret her mother taught her was to give people enough information to keep them curious, and when is it enough? When they beg for more. Her mother taught her to read people and to understand them, and she did so fluently. So the girls pretty much crushed her reputation by marking her as ‘Easy access’ which only made the boys yearn for her even more.

            Coming from Shamsa’s household, you could pretty much tell that Shamsa’s parents were not even close to being strict with her. They knew her inside out. The more rumors they heard about her, the more they trusted their daughter, which was strange because parents tend to do the opposite. But with Shamsa they know exactly what she does, about her whereabouts about everything. Shamsa barely goes out, the only outings she ever has is going to school and coming back home. She knew that the outside world was no good for her, that all people ever enjoyed doing is gossiping. So she was wise enough to spend her time studying, working out, or with her brothers (she had 2 of them).

            As it was getting closer to her graduation day, Shamsa got all kinds of scholarships. To study abroad or to study in the top universities in Dubai for free! She explained the fact that studying abroad was one of the best options, where people would judge her for who she is and not what she looks like could accept her. After a long course of thinking, arguing, discussing and crying, they agreed. But they couldn’t agree to send their daughter to the States because 1. It was too expensive for them to fly out to her whenever they could and 2. It was so far away that in case of any emergency they’d have to travel 14+ hours to reach her and another 14+ hours to come back, which was a lot. So they agreed that she could study somewhere in Europe, specializing in fine arts. She wanted to go to London so badly, after all it is her dream city, knowing that that option was the best option. But her parents knew no one in London. She had the option of going to Germany or Italy. And surely, she picked the latter.

            The first time Shamsa has ever been outside Dubai, outside her usual parameter that she restricted herself to. The first time she’s ever been on a plane, was to Italy. And as she sat nervously down on her seat, she quietly gave a toast to herself, on the bottle of water she held so tight. ‘To new beginnings’ she whispered. So Italia, are you ready to welcome Shamsa? Because this is going to be one hell of a ride! Cabin crew, please fasten your seatbelts. Be prepared for takeoff.

Congratulations Dubai!

We would like to take this opportunity to congratulate each and every citizen of Dubai out there on the winning of Expo 2020! Dubai is a metropolis, the city of dreams, a city richly filled with things mankind cannot imagine! We are SO unbelievably happy, and we honestly cannot wait until 2020! 

Traffic Lights {30} Finale!

How am I to explain the depth of my love towards Rashed? To talk about love is so irrational compared to my feelings towards him. To describe my feelings is yet another quirky unsolved puzzle, he awakes my senses; he stirs my feelings and makes my heart beat in an insanely weird symphonic pattern. I myself do not understand my feelings, but all I could say is that its love. The past 25 years have been the best thing that has ever happened to me in. To share your life with your soul mate, to wakeup beside the man you love every single day makes you thankful to God for keeping you alive yet another day to spend time with the man you love. I want to talk to you about my future, my now, and how I’ve ended up here: 25 years after all the incidents I spoke about to you in the previous posts.

I’ll simply begin by summarizing the key events that took place back then. Shall I start off by what happened after that ingenious night at my place? 

Well, my uncle (Rashed’s father) came to us a week after the incident. I never saw him this way before, and let me tell you things passed by smoothly. He came to apologize, which was something extremely odd especially since he isn’t the kind of man who would apologize for such things. He didn’t say it directly, but you could tell from the way he looked, the way he spoke to us and the way he described why he came.

Jawaher, you are now officially my daughter-in-law. He held my hand and he took a long deep breath. Please try to understand what I am trying to say, because it isn’t easy for me. You may not know this but my past was just like yours. My parents – may they rest in peace - died when I was about your age, leaving me and my brother Rashed behind on our own. We couldn’t quiet grasp the whole notion of them being gone forever, we were two mindless 20-year olds left with a fortune filled with investments, properties, money and so on. My parents died of old age; it took them a long time to have healthy children who were able to live. My mother suffered years of having either miscarriages or giving birth to a child who would live a couple of years and then passing away due to an unknown reason. So when she gave birth to us, it was like they were playing a game of tug-o-war between keeping us alive. We were born in excellent health El7emdellah, but maintaining this standard of health was at times challenging. So after my parents passed away, my uncle married us both to his daughters. Because he knew that it was best to keep all what was inherited within the family, and that no one exploits us for their own benefit. Rashed rejected, he didn’t want to get married but it wasn’t a matter of choice it was mandatory. So the years passed and we both became extremely successful with what we had, we had evenly split the work between us and Rashed loved working and expanding the business abroad therefore he travelled a lot more. I realized that the reason why he travelled so much was because of his miserable life here with your stepmother, he changed so much within years and I barely knew what was going on between the two. Little did we know what was going on between the two, until Rashed finally decided to get a divorce. No one really knew about the divorce, until your mother came into our lives unannounced. It was so sudden!

Is that why you hate me? I interrupted

I don’t hate you dear. I never have. At first, it was hard to accept your mother because I never expected Rashed to do things behind my back. But I soon realized, why he loved her so very much. My son Rashed and I would come and visit them most of the time, whenever we could. When your mom passed away, it was like Rashed was cursed with what my parents had. I saw it all over again on repeat… I never had the audacity to look back, he passed away and it tore me…

It became awfully quiet; I never realized my uncle has been through a lot.

I’m sorry… My voice was faint.

No dear, I should be the one who says I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being there for you as an uncle, as a father. What happened to you, happened to me too and I was as lost as you were but my brother and I managed to work things together and continue. But you don’t have anyone to guide you… I was so angry with myself, not at you. I’m sorry… I really am. I’m sorry for now, for the past and I’m sorry with whatever you may encounter in the future. His voice soon became shaky, which made it harder on him to continue.

I hugged him, really tight. Who’d have known that things would turn out this way? Our relationship from that day just became a steep incline. And I am so very thankful for that.

So, 4 months later Rashed and I got married. I have three beautiful children, two boys and a girl who are now all grown up. I named my daughter after my sister Rodha who surprisingly looks a lot like her. She has the same frosty blue eyes, and that clear and even complexion. She’s 21 years old.

Since Rashed stepped into my life, my modelling career ended. And when we got married, Rashed and my uncle promised me not to mention this to any of kids. Unfortunately, the one child in particular that we did not want to mention it to, found out on her own. Well not really on her own, Rodha found out with the help of her friends. She was only in 11^th grade when I came to pick her up at the end of the day in school. She got in the car and didn’t say a single word, which wasn’t the usual her- let me warn you from now, she’s very talkative! The more I tried to talk to her, the more she ignored me.

Sweetie what’s wrong? Is everything all right? Did something happen in school?

Is everything all right? Why did you lie to me?

Excuse me? I didn’t lie to you! Don’t you dare talk to me like that do you understand?

Then explain this! She showed me a picture of me. You were a supermodel and you never told me?

How’d you expect me to tell you? It’s not easy.

Oh no, it isn’t. But modelling is easy isn’t it?

Listen to me. You need to stop it with that attitude right now do you hear me? And to think that you have the guts to accuse me of doing something wrong when I obviously had no one to advise me? I wasn’t as fortunate as you to have my parents tell me what’s right from what’s wrong; I lived my life alone with Aibileen. I was fooled into this. Yes I enjoyed the fact that I was a supermodel, but I wasn’t aware of the price I was going to pay!

I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it that way. I just hate the fact that my friends knew before me, you know? And you said that there won’t be any secrets between us, but you kept this as a secret. I could tell she was on the verge of crying, and that she was really upset. So I told her everything, including Yousef…

Despite that my dear readers, there wasn’t much of an incident that took place. You may be wondering about my stepfamily, well things are exactly the same since that night 25 years ago. Let’s just ignore that for now. Here I am in the city of love with the ones I love. Paris is always a good idea! An escape from reality, into a whimsical dream city. I had promised Rodha that we are to spend most of the time together: shopping. We went out for breakfast first thing in the morning, at around 9-ish. Rashed was informed about our whereabouts the week before. I somehow adapted a more motherly like style (with a lot of blacks being involved for some reason) and Rodha, obviously dressed according to her mood.

Mom, can I go to the next store while you pay for this?

Sure, darling.

I watched Rodha go to the next store, while I was standing by the cashier counter. I noticed the stares I got from the sales assistants but I dare not ask what or why they were staring. After I finished paying, I walked to the next store that Rodha entered. And there it was… A huge welcome sign to my past, a picture of me… I reread the name of the store… it was written in a bold writing, why wasn’t I warned about this earlier! Why didn’t I read the name before entering!! The warning signs were clear but I just barged in, what have I done. I saw the sales assistant cover her shocked face with her mouth and overheard a conversation.

Mother! Look who’s here! She moved aside and there he stood. Years old, the same face but a bit wrinkly, the blue hair has gone silver due to age. And in that instant moment, shivers bolted down my spine.

Jawaher…

Yousef.. I felt a pang of fear mixed with emotions hit me.

You haven’t changed, not a single bit… It’s been 25 long years.

It has… I assume you met my daughter Rodha.

I did have the pleasure of meeting her; she’s as beautiful as you. I blushed then smiled. I hope entering this store wasn’t a big mistake… We remained silent for what seemed like hours, my eyes wandered around the store and I saw the dress I wore during the after party of the runway in a glass case.

Well, I better get going. I’ll go back to the hotel, I’m tired Mom.

All right darling. Call me once you reach.

I hope this wasn’t planned. I really do.

What a small world. Who’d have known we were to see each other, here. I was about to reply when someone interrupted me.

Oh my god Dad! It’s her!!! You look exactly the same, but like way beautiful-er in reality. For the past what, 20 years? My dad has been constantly talking about the legendary Jawaher. And I finally met you! I laughed at her enthusiasm. She was undoubtedly cute, she looked so much like Yousef. In fact, she was the girl version of Yousef. I’m Jawaher by the way, my father named me after you. I was speechless. I didn’t know what to say, the harder I searched for something to say the longer it took me to actually say it, so I found the easy route out: smile.

I was about to go out for a walk, care to join me? He said, as a way to ease down the awkwardness.

I better get going…

Can I drop you off to some place? It wasn’t a question, it was more of him imploring, and you know what I mean by that.

Sure. It’s a pleasure to meet you Jawaher. I hugged her then Yousef and I walked out together. I felt like I was the old me for some strange reason and it wasn’t something I liked. I called Rashed just to let him know that Rodha went to the hotel and I went out for a walk. We walked until we reached the Arc de Triomphe; we sat on a bench facing it.

If Aibileen were here she would’ve said Retrouvailles.

What does that mean?

 It means the happiness of meeting again after a long time…

What happened?

What do you mean?

How did we end up like this Jawaher? I never wanted this to happen… Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you. It’s been 25 years! How insane! I couldn’t let you just slip away out of my mind, you live in me since the day you bumped into me and the papers fell everywhere. Remember? He laughed.

There’s no use looking at the past Yousef, we’re here, now…

Why did you reject me?

Excuse me?

Why did you reject me?

I understood your question, but it wasn’t I who rejected you. It was you, you told me to shut up and get out because you never wanted to see my face again. Do you have any idea what that did to me? You crushed me into a million pieces. So please do explain how on earth I rejected you. I felt so angry for a second, why on earth is he saying that? I could feel my tears rising, so I quickly cut myself off before things got waaaay out of control.

Explain to you? You know exactly what I mean!

No I don’t. Is this some kind of joke to you Yousef? Because if it is, I have better things to do.

You clearly don’t know what’s going on…. At all?

At all.

I proposed to you 6 times. And every time you rejected.

When did you ever propose to me?

What do you mean when? Jawaher do you know what you made me go through?

Yousef, I don’t know what you’re talking about in general! How do you expect me to know how you felt?

Things are going on all kinds of directions. I think I should start from the beginning. Remember when I used to travel for no reason? Sometimes no one knew about where I went and so on? Well I was planning on getting married to you. I called my father the night you and my mom met, and I explained everything because my mother told me if you love someone, don’t let it go to waste. And my father was extremely understanding and happy for me, for finally making the decision and marrying someone within the region- an Emirati! So we met up with your family and we told them about you and how I want to get married to you. Your uncle told me that there was no one called Jawaher, instead there was these two other girls called Dana and Sara. I thought we went to the wrong house so we excused ourselves and my dad was as confused as I was. That happened the other 2 times we went over and I proposed and I was so certain that there was a Jawaher but I didn’t know why they kept on making me sound like some insane idiot, until one day your uncle says “I know who you’re referring to.” And he sends in a totally different girl claiming to be Jawaher. I apologized to her, to your family and to my father. The other two times we called to ask if there was a Jawaher, your uncle said that she was already taken. And whenever I was back, I was so lost; I thought I had the right person. Until I figured the right way out, is to show them a picture of you. And that’s when they told me they didn’t know who the girl in the picture was… So I couldn’t stand you because I thought you lied to me all along, and that’s when I knew it was best if I had ended it right there. And I regret doing such a stupid thing. I fought back my tears, I fought back my enter feelings. I pushed them aside because I didn’t want to show him how I felt.

To be honest with you… I didn’t know anything about this. I told you things about my family, yet you insisted on going to them to ask them if you could marry me or not.

What was I supposed to do?

You could’ve always told me, and we could have sorted things out. The moment you left me, it was like living in hell. My family in a sense abandoned me because you showed them my picture. They found out about my modeling career and everything literally went downhill.

Do you regret us? Do you regret meeting me?

No. Do you?

Never. I’m glad we met. I really am. Now that I know how you’re doing, I can finally ease my worries and maybe think of you less often. Do you mind me having pictures of you in my store?

No not at all.

Can I design collections for you? I laughed.

Oh Yousef, you didn’t change. I don’t mind you designing clothes for me, as long as it makes you happy. 

We stayed quiet for a while. Things between us has finally settled, we're no longer fighting for each other or against each other. We're neutral, which made me feel a thousand times better.

Well, I think I should go now. It was so nice to see you Yousef.

Let’s stay in touch.

Sure. He stood up and hugged me. Then he kissed my hand, the same old charming Yousef. He watched me as I walked down the Champs-Élysées, heading towards the hotel. I felt like I was backstabbed by my family, and then I remember my uncle saying he’s sorry for whatever I may encounter in the future. Maybe he did this to protect me. Or maybe he did this because he didn’t want me to be with Yousef. Whatever the reason may be, it doesn’t matter anymore because I’m happily married to Rashed.

Imagine driving under a tunnel and the road then has two ways to exit, you never know what’s coming. Do you follow your heart or do you follow your logic? Is it your instincts or your gut feeling? In the end you still don’t know what’s coming but you still manage to make it out of that tunnel picking either exit. That’s how I was most of the time. In life there are things that get into your way, sometimes it’s just a hiccup and you could easily ignore it or force that hiccup down. But how you choose to handle such things is your choice. I made mistakes in life, but these mistakes are like a reference to what’s right and what’s wrong. But it takes time to discover what you really want and who you really are, know that you are the one that decides who you want to be not others. I want to end you my story with a quote that speaks up to me significantly..

The longest journey of any person is the journey inward. ~Dag Hammarskjold.