The First Step…

There is a lot that can be said for exercising. Many people exercise to lose weight, to be healthier, to tone their muscles. I have done very little of that the past year and I can feel the effects. I feel unfit, tense and in need of a serious workout.

As much as I absolutely love motherhood, it is pretty intense at times. Other people prefer to soak in a bath, embark on a spa weekend. Me? I just want to go to bed early with my laptop; a pen; paper and possibly a highlighter or two. Many people dance to release energy and the burdens of the day. Others play sport. Me? I enjoy letting my fingers run across the keyboard and let them take me on a journey to wherever I need to go.

Motherhood has very much swallowed any time I had and by the time the little one is in bed, I still have the housework, the dinner, the cleaning. Very often I even need to add “have a shower” on my to-list. This past year, I can count on one hand the number of times I have straightened my hair and have worn make up. All that would not bother me if I could pick up a book once in a while. I used to want to achieve my dreams for myself but now I want to do so for my daughter. I want to provide for her and work my hardest so that she wants for nothing.

So in order to achieve big, I realise now I first need to start small. Instead of adding pages and pages to my to-do list everyday, I now have my year to-do list:

1- Complete my ‘Waiting for Baby’ journal and baby book.

2-Self publishing a book I am currently working on.

3- Continue working on my additional writing projects so that I have something more tangible and hopefully next year be in a position to publish additional works.

4- Organising my daughter’s nursery and primary school placements.

5- I once participated in a Blog a Week, I am instead going to blog a month. Or in other words, simply post at the very least 12 posts this year, one for each month.

6- Complete at least half of my very detailed 19 unit creative writing course.

7- Revamp my garden and create a little playground for my daughter to play in the summer.

8-Read at least 5 books.

9- Organsing my home and de-cluttering.

10- Similarly, I want to stop neglecting the housework. I want to create a home that my daughter can invite her friends over to play at the drop of a hat. Prior to relatives staying, I no longer want it to be a stressful time of getting the house ready. I want to be able to welcome people to my home in a very un-British short notice.

11- It is well-known that more sleep can spur on creativity. In my goal of writing more, I aim to at least get 3 good nights sleep a week (daughter permitting), or at least getting to bed early.

12- The constant craving I have is to understand more Farsi. I am aiming to learn at least two Iranian pop songs and watching Iranian television/films at least once a week. So at the very least I remain in touch with the culture, language and country that is so important to me and subsequently help my daughter to do so also.

I have now made the first tentative step to a fitter, healthier me and like we all know the first step is always the hardest…

Opening Image: http://www.AuthorsPublish.com (via Facebook)

Closing Image: www.Publiseek.com

Finding Home In Exile

I feel nauseous. Nauseous for home.

Very often I have been told that I am overly sensitive, that I feel things too much. Right now I feel so homesick, yet I do not feel I actually have a home. I was born and raised in England yet I feel my heart resides in a country far from here. A country of mountains, parks; of poetry; of history. I felt so strongly about this that I left everything I knew to follow a whim. In the end the whim turned out to be only a fantasy.

Similar to a lot of girls I often regard my childhood as that which was shared between the lap of my mother and father. Even in my early twenties, I would sit beside my father’s feet and listen to him share his childhood stories and wistful longing for his country. I fell in love with the Iran reflected in my father’s eyes. He used to tell me that I was more Iranian than Iranians and with his words echoing in my mind, I travelled to Iran with a rose-tinted belief that I would gather around me a career, family and like-minded people. Not only did I fail in this, I discovered that in Iran my Iranianness is held down by my Britishness in just the same way that in Britain my Britishness is held down by my Iranianness.

In my strive to please him, in my strive to get to know him, in my strive to understand him I have created my own prison. A prison to everything my father held dear. As I type these words I am watching an Iranian interview downloaded from the Internet, surrounded by people whose first language is not one I understand and one in which I speak with little confidence. I can not help but feel a pang of  pain at every syllable spoken that I don’t understand. I am still so hard on myself and convince myself I am a failure because I can not understand the singer on my screen rapping in Farsi; I can not join in the joke at the dinner table, neither can I answer questions about myself and my family but have to relinquish that right to my husband who with all due respects does not always know the answers.

I am nearly 32 years old and although I am now a mother myself I still agonise over whether my parents are proud of me and still strive for approval. As I was gently rocking my daughter to sleep tonight and whispering to her all about her Grandpa, I could not help but wonder what he thinks of me now. Whether despite my failure to speak his language he is remarking with delight like he used to, in his sweet language: “what a girl I have”, the exact words I now use.

I realise now that like the feeling of being in exile, this ache will never go away. But that is okay. It aches because I loved my father so much, I wanted to give him the world. It aches because of a sweet thing. It aches for love. The ache I feel will ensure that my daughter does not feel the same. It will ensure that one day she will be bilingual, she will be able to stand her own in both cultures and both languages.

In writing this post I have painstakingly sought for answers but there are none. Sometimes like life itself, things are not just black and white. There is some grey in between. Ultimately I am keeping a promise I made to my father a long time ago. I am keeping his culture alive. Although it hurts at times, I couldn’t help reflecting tonight how lucky I am. I get to enjoy the best of both worlds and that is what I will teach my daughter. My home is both in Iran and Britain. Through no fault of my father in teaching me of the beauty of Iran, he too made me homeless and created in me a longing for a country that no longer exists. But on the other hand, he has given me the tools, the words, the vision and even the memories to pass onto my daughter so that she too will see beyond the veil, beyond the demonstrations and beyond the slogans.

Opening Image: www.theunderground.nl

Closing Image: Travelinos.com

 

An Ode To My Girl

I love the sound of her breathing. I love the shape of her face. I love the way she clings to my hair when I hold her in my arms. I love how she smiles at me first thing in the morning. I love how no matter what is on my mind and no matter the extent of my worries and troubles she can take them all away in an instant. I love how she makes me want to be a better person. I love how I get to spend everyday with her and sharing in her smiles and even her tears.  I love how her entire hand can wrap itself around my little finger. I love how she makes me miss her when I’m only downstairs. I love how when she is not with me, I find that I am always looking at where she is. I love how she takes my heart with her wherever she goes.

I love how not so long ago I was working in a busy office, dealing with trustees and well-known personalities and now I’m scrubbing clothes, sterilising bottles, changing nappies and crawling on my hands and knees in an attempt to make her smile. I love how everyday is different with her and yet the same. I love how already we are the best team. I love how she brings my loved ones closer. I love how she has changed my outlook on life.

Nothing could be more challenging in my opinion than motherhood. To always regard someone else’s needs above your own. To maintain your sanity when all you seem to be is forever drowning in laundry. It may sound like I am complaining but on the contrary – I never in my wildest dreams imagined motherhood to be as rewarding as it is. I may only be 3 months into it but it has been the best 3 months of my life. I love how she creates so many new challenges yet gives me the strength to overcome each and every challenge.

I love how I now have so much to look forward to with her by my side. I love how I am constantly torn between wanting her to grow and share more with her yet wanting her to stay just as she is.

More than anything I love how she makes me feel.

 

 

Opening Image:  The Telegraph

Final Image: Integral Parenting

My Ten Hopes

My Darling Child,

We are two months away from meeting one another, only two months from when I can hold you in my arms. I am so excited to watch you grow, to see you take your first steps, to hear you speak your first words, to watch your grow into the person you are meant to be. As your mother I can not help but hope and dream of what your life will be:

1- I hope you will respect those of all cultures – I hope you will appreciate that ultimately everyone is the same even if they come from different societies, countries  and religions.

2- I hope you will one day learn to play the piano.

3- I hope you will never be ashamed of where you come from.

4- I hope you will one day speak Farsi fluently.

5- I hope you will be strong enough to follow your heart, wherever that may lead you.

6- I hope you will never be afraid to be your own person and to stand up for what is right.

7- I hope you will enjoy the art of learning.

8- I hope you will never be afraid of love. Your heart may get broken along the way but believe me when I say that it really is a lot better to have loved than never to have loved at all.

9- I hope you will always have time for your family and remember they are the only link to your past which you will value much more as you grow older. Never let distance come in the way of your relationships.

10- I hope you will always remember that no matter how many mistakes I make, no matter how strict I might be, no matter how much life may seem unfair, I have always and will always love you.

With lots of love,

Mummy xxx

Title image from: animewriter.wordpress.com

Final image from: The Powerstates Blog

The Two Faces of Reality

There has been a lot written on the events of London 2012: the amazing opening ceremony, the excitement of the events, the race to Gold. What has not been written yet and which I can not help but feel envious of is the tourists on holiday, far away from their reality. My husband and I braved the London crowds on Friday (although they were not as dense as I feared) and dined out prior to walking along the South Bank. All the tourists had smiles on their faces, excitedly pointing their cameras towards London landmarks, far away from any sense of reality in their homeland.

I on the other hand had come from work, still carrying my utter disappointment and memories of the tears shed during the day. I rarely stand up against such people, not because of fear but because I believe myself too good for that. I would not want to reduce myself to their level, I want to be the one to keep the peace in a highly volatile environment. Unfortunately, not only does it often fail to work, it leaves an effect on me that lasts for days. The problem is even though I know it will be easier on me, I never change. I don’t think I want to. I am assertive and can fight my corner when the time is right. I just know I’m never going to change opinions, they will think what they want about me either way. I’d rather maintain an air of calm and not create an extra storm.

Most things I do now often leads me to questioning my actions. Wondering whether I would encourage my own children to act in the same way. To be honest. I genuinely don’t know. I would want them to stand their ground but also not to lose their integrity. I would tell them that sometimes it takes a stronger person to stand down in a fight (perceived or not) than it does for someone to raise their fists or their voice.

Last weekend however, I received lovely, unexpected texts and e-mails which made me realise that my reality was not all that bad and which literally propelled me to stronger, more positive ground. My reality may not always be perfect – but then again whose is? I only have to go through the emotional turmoil for a few months longer until I embark on my maternity leave after which I may or may not return to work. In four months time, my whole world will change. I have a wonderful, exciting future ahead of me. It is just sometimes the darker shade of reality over shadows the good side and it takes longer to see the sun between the clouds.

We are naturally programmed to always see the grass as greener on the other side and we are so busy doing so that we fail to see what we have on offer on our own side and most importantly we fail to enjoy it. So, I have made a promise to myself that each time I think negatively or concentrate on the ‘darker’ side of my reality, I will dwell longer on the ‘lighter’ and more positive side. As a friend commented to me over the weekend, I will not look back on my life and be grateful that I let myself suffer or be unhappy unnecessarily. At the risk of using a cliché, my life is really good, if only I let it be.

 

Pictures from Unknown and Realneo

My 100th Post: When I Grow Up…

When scouring my blog  prompts looking for inspiration for my 100th blog post, I wanted to write about something that truly strikes a chord with me and something which I have thought about for some time now… or for at least 17 weeks. In 5 months my priorities will completely change. I have to admit that quite often I have worried of what others think of me and although I had previously stopped caring, right now it seems to me more important than ever.

I. Am. Pregnant.

Yep – in 5 months I will have a baby and what is now most important to me, is what my baby will grow up to think of me. I’m doing everything now to build the best home for my child even to the point of considering Godparents before I was even pregnant. I remained in a job that is not ideal, so I was able to provide for them before they were even born. Everyone deep down wishes they could look into the future and see how their lives turn out. Already I worry for the safety of my child and have so much love for the little person I think I am beginning to understand the meaning of unconditional love.

We all want the best of our children, we all want them to be what we never were but yet wanted to be. We all want them to have what we never had but always wanted. So besides from the Mousetrap game, I want my children to have the courage to follow their dreams, no matter how far-fetched they may seem. I want them to be selfish sometimes, to think of and do things for themselves and not always for others. I want them to have the confidence and belief in themselves to speak their minds. Most of all, I want them to be happy and to know that life does not always work out they way they wanted or hoped but that sometimes that is not always a bad thing and other times it is getting through those hard times that make us who we are.

As for me, I want my children to think of me as always there. As someone who is not necessarily all sacrificing but someone who works hard for what she wants. I want my children even at the age of eighteen to look at me and still see their Mummy; their safety. I want to be the Mummy that my children can run to when things go wrong. I want to be the Mummy that will build a home for them that will never leave them. That no matter how far they roam, Mummy’s house will always be home. I don’t want to be a perfect mother and I don’t expect to or even want to do everything right. It is in making mistakes that we learn. What I want is to be the person that they are proud to call Mummy in front of their friends in the playground. I want them to not be ashamed to run to me when I pick them up at University.

These might be a lot of things but to me it’s doesn’t seem too impossible. If you take after your parents in your own parenting style, I have no worries at all, even if I have still to unwrap the coveted Mousetrap game.

My Bucket List

One of the most memorable films I have seen is The Bucket List mostly because it made me laugh and cry in equal measure. I know that most bucket lists are compiled by those not of my generation and although I am not planning on ‘kicking the bucket’ any time soon, I am aware of ageing; of wasting my life away on continually staying in my comfort zone. I wasn’t always like that. I travelled to Iran on my own, something I have always wanted to do but which was way, way out of my comfort zone. Although, my trip did not turn out the way I thought it would, I met my husband who is the joy of my life. I don’t want to find that I have simply remained stagnant because in my experience, I know that good things are waiting for me if I remain brave and keep moving.

In light of this, I have used the past few days to think of a few things I want to do before I ‘kick the bucket’. This of course is not an exhaustive list but for now, in no particular order my hopes are to:

————

1- Have children;

2- Find a job that provides job satisfaction and ultimately leaves me smiling at the end of the day;

3- Become fluent in Farsi;

4- Write a  book (not necessarily be published – although that would be nice (!);

5- Set up my own proofreading business, or at least earn money from the discipline;

6- Learn to take some ‘me’ time and learn that it is okay to do so;

7- Travel particularly to places such as Las Vegas and Africa;

8 – Recreate and maintain family relationships across counties, countries and continents.

————

I may not have a top 100 list or even a top 10 list but I’ve begun the  first steps to creating my very own bucket list in the hope that in years, months even days to come I can cross items off, add items on; remember what matters in life and having fewer regrets. I may fall along my way, I may come across hurdles but my little bucket list will remind me that there is still hope and a reason to pick myself up , jump over those hurdles and continue running.

What would you include in your bucket list?

 

Fantasy Meeting Reality

There is always that worry when you meet the people you admire, the worry that they will not meet your fantasy or your ideals. Not long ago, that exact thing happened to me. I have made no secret of my dream to become a writer. Yet, if I’m honest with you I’ve never felt that ‘oopmh’… until now.

When I met Dorothy Koomson at the Bromley Literary Festival in June, my passion and fire for writing was reignited. Meeting her has filled me with confidence to keep writing, writing what I love rather than what I think people want to read. I met her two months ago now and the feeling has still not left me. I brought a fresh copy of my favourite book Ice Cream Girls for her to sign. Favourite because it broke boundaries, broke my heart before tentatively fixing it together again and had my fingers and eyes glued to its pages from page one (as cliche as that may sound – it’s true).

Canvassing my bookshelves for a ‘friend’ to accompany me on my birthday trip to Paris, I was overjoyed (and shocked) to find I had one Dorothy Koomson book yet to read and what better than The Cupid Effect? A book about finding love and acceptance, not just with other people but with yourself. A story about a young woman who leaves everything behind and follows her heart and hopes to another city and the start of a new life. If I can be so bold as to quote Dorothy in the forward of the book:

‘[It] is essentially a book about having the courage to follow your heart and accepting that the power to change your life is in your hands…it is…about seeing what you would alter and striving to effect that change. Even if it is just a case of changing how you view your current circumstance’.

Meeting Dorothy Koomson literally changed me. I have since made different changes in my life from how I feel about my job, my future and my writing. Each night I try to write, whether it be in my blog or in my own attempt at literary genius, or even as part of writing exercises. Despite the twelve books I am currently reading, I am looking forward to beginning her latest: The Woman He Loved Before next week (wanting to wait while I am on ‘holiday’ babysitting my Godchildren – no prizes in guessing the flavour of my future posts…)

When I met Dorothy, I couldn’t believe how like a ‘groupie’ I was. How nervous I stuttered in asking her to sign Ice Cream Girls. Instantly though she made me feel at ease and as if I was the only one in the room. I don’t think she realised how much of a positive effect she had on me from that day. Dorothy even comments on how she relates most with the Cupid Effect and just like the heroine, Ceri D’Altroy, I am guessing that I am not the only one who finds her life changed for the better after meeting Dorothy.

I just wanted to share this with you and reassure you that sometimes when your fantasy meets reality, it does not necessarily have to mean daggers at dawn. Sometimes, there is a smooth transition between the two – so smooth that you do not always know the difference.

Keeping Hope in a Jar

‘Never let go of hope. One day you will see that it all has finally come together. What you have always wished for has finally come to be. You will look back and laugh at what has passed and you will ask yourself…’How did I get through all of that?’ ‘  (www.thinkexist.com)

Life would be so much easier if you could buy hope in a jar, especially when you are confronted with times when hope is hard to come by. The above quote strikes a special chord with me. I never thought it was possible to look back on a past that hurt you and laugh. But I can and I do. It also reminds me that whatever I perceive as hard will give me a reason to look back and laugh in the future. Hope is an amazing thing. You might be opening yourself up to hurt and even failure if you hope but it is also hope that gives you a reason to dust yourself off, pull your socks up as my mother used to (and continues to) say to me.

Last week I caught the hopeful bug big time, I convinced myself that my hopes would be realised, I convinced myself that signs were telling me I would find what I was looking for. In the end, I was wrong and although it was difficult to accept, my hope of finally finding it was giving me the strength to keep going. To keep getting up in the morning and working in a job that no longer holds any meaning for me.

I woke up this morning after a day of ‘putting a brave face’ on things (or at least hoping that was what I was doing), I was tempted to cocoon myself in my duvet and not emerge until at least midday. I was tempted to forget that it was Sunday and that as a Catholic, I belong in Church, at Mass. ‘Belong’ is a carefully chosen word, because that was exactly how I felt. Quite often with travel and indeed ‘life’ my faith, I am ashamed to say has taken a back seat. However, walking into my Catholic church this morning, I instantly felt at home. As I walked through those large, oak doors and smelt the faint scent of wood and candles, it didn’t matter what had occurred in the ‘outside world’, or indeed how long I had been away, I was home. It reminded me of my younger years, when the arms of a parent could always chase away the bullies and demons of childhood and adolescence.

People change, they can hurt you, disappoint you – yet Mass is the only constant in my life. When going to Church in foreign countries, and listening to Mass in a foreign language, I still felt at home. I still felt I belonged there. Ultimately, religion and faith is about hope. Hope that your good deeds in this life will reward you in the next. Hope that what you believe in is in fact truth. Nothing is certain in life, but the one thing that will metaphorically keep the wheels of life moving is hope.

Although you can not always see hope, it is always there. Perhaps to remind me, from now on I will create my own ‘hope in a jar’. Pictures and memories of the past that may or may not give me a reason to laugh and say: “how did I get through that?”.

The Power of Music

‘…don’t let no one get you down…just keep your eyes on the prize…’ that was the advice to me at the end of today.

I had always thought music was a powerful instrument and today was no exception. The above are lyrics to a Michael Jackson song: Keep the Faith. By 5:30pm this afternoon, I was ready to give up. Give up with my job, my plans. I had not listened to my iPod all day (quite unusual for me, I might add) but when I shut the door on the working day I turned my iPod on loud and the first song that sang in my ears was Keep the Faith. Sometimes I fail to listen to the words of songs and just enjoy the melody, but this afternoon words in this song rang so true to me.

I never thought I would get bullied. I thought bullying was over once you had finished secondary school. Oh how naïve I was. One of the well-known bullies of my secondary school asked me to meet her after school, code for she wanted to ‘punch me one’. I actually waited for her. I waited and waited. Not actually sure what I would have done if she had turned up, but I called her bluff and won. She left me alone after that. Half my classmates thought I was crazy to have waited for her, the other half thought I was more powerful than the bully… at least until the end of the week. Now each day I can not be bothered. I no longer rise to the challenge and now it has become more habit than anything else. Indifference is far worse than hate, because with hate at least you feel something.

I might now use Keep The Faith as an anthem in the coming days, just as I used to for most Michael Jackson songs. Each day, as you are my witness – I will set a goal that will lead me to achieving my dreams, I will create new distractions, build new barriers. Success is the worst form of revenge and I am only powerless when I stop believing.  When I stop writing. When I stop listening.