Let's Play a Game

Happy Valentine’s Day!! I hope you’re eating candy hearts or at least wearing red and smiling at people you don’t know. So, guess what?! Tomorrow’s my birthday. And one of my favorite things about my birthday is that it is, indeed, the day after Valentine’s Day. [I am worth every discounted penny of “day-old” flowers and balloons and donuts. In fact, I delight in them.]

Last year, when I turned 27, I had a really unusual and fun day. An interesting turn of events [a.k.a. the lunar calendar] caused my birthday to align with that of the Prophet Mohammad’s. And do ya know what that means? I’ll tell you: it meant no work. For nearly the whole country. It. Was. GREAT! On a Tuesday, we all had off, because it was my birthday.

You may or may not need to know this, but: I would get really shy about buying toilet paper from local dukans [neighborhood convenience stores]. For some reason, I just couldn’t bear buying toilet paper from men in a small room. I couldn’t do it. Roommate would make fun of me and, well, we would use tissues. Yes, we would. In my country, the plumbing systems weren’t equipped to handle TP anyways, so there was always a little garbage can for it next to the toilet and a bidet. Well, I rolled up clean towels and decoratively stored them in my unused bidet, and when we ran out of toilet paper, I’d also place a box of tissues in there, too.

Some people thought this was so funny—that I wouldn’t buy toilet paper and that Roommate was just as stubborn and wouldn’t buy it for us/me. My first birthday visit of the day proved to be incredibly awesome. My friends came over, a mother and daughter team of fantastic-ness, and had a HUGE present wrapped up for me. It was an “economy-sized” pack of toilet paper. EIGHTEEN ROLLS, people. Yes, this toilet paper lasted me the rest of my days in the desert. I never again had to “not go buy TP,” nor did I stash tissues in the bidet. So fabulous. And so thoughtful. [I’m STILL thankful.]

The rest of my day included ice cream, more visits, and a homemade dinner [of not Arab food] with my most wonderful and dear ex-pat lady friends. I even had a birthday cake—yellow cake and chocolate frosting—my favorite, with “26 + 1” candles on it. [There was a minor argument over how old I was actually turning. Haha.] I took the liberty of making a collage of my day—or at least the photos I can show you here.

This year I’m celebrating 28 years of goodness by… going to work. But, I knew if I gave you the chance, you’d give me a sweet gift. Here’s the deal: All I want for my birthday is… your [sentence] story. The thing I most look forward to on my birthday is announcing that it’s my big day to total strangers and then asking them where they were and what they were doing when they were my age. It’s that easy. [And you’re not even strangers.] I like how people take the moment to “think back” to what they were doing in life. In my mind, it gives them a chance to see how far they’ve come and hopefully recognize all the great and precious milestones they’ve had in life. [I don’t think we do this enough.] Some of your memories may be long ago, or just this year, but regardless—won’t you play along?

So, my sweet friends who check on this Yellow Dress
and other things we do for love!
Where were you and what were you doing
when you were 28-years old?

[And if you’re not 28 yet, tell me where you think you’ll be by then—like, in life.]

{{Please remember that your comment will get… bumped off if you use any words that are uncomfortable or reason for suspect by some internet browsers for our sisters in the Middle East. [I totally got their backs.] So stick to words like “serving,” “worker,” “Father,” “His Son,” and whatever combination of $+@ symbols you can use. I totally and completely appreciate you respecting this. I know it’s hard, but get creative! I want TYD to be a safe place for our friends.}}

Ooooooh!!!!! I’m so excited.

Ready?

GO!

I Love Love

I’ve never looked at romantic love so differently as I have in the last year and a half. I saw a lot of confusing “romantic” relationships, heard a lot of crazy ideas about attraction and was even approached myself by men [and boys] who told me they “loved” me. [Bless their hearts.]

For Valentine’s Day, I made valentines and pink cupcakes and heart-shaped cookies for my friends. My friends loved to be kissed, hugged, remembered and fed. And, again, it’s largely an American holiday, so it’s my job to educate, right? So a showering of cookies and ridiculous paper hearts was in order. And after all, aren’t we here to love and show Love? [www.education.com has some awesome ideas for decorations, cards and homemade crafts if you want to throw a party for adults or children.] I think Valentine’s Day is an excellent opportunity to have conversations [and throw parties] about love. And any conversation can turn into one about the Great Love of your life. Always remember that. Ugh, I love love. [Talk about women’s ministry: cookies and stories.]

Something that I think is genuinely beautiful and also pretty silly about Arab culture is how lyrical and whimsical the language of love is. In a world of traditional match-making and arranged marriages, and now secret, on-line “habibi”s [loves], things can get a little scandalous. If you have just one Arab friend in all the world, I promise, you will hear soap opera-like love dramas amongst families. That are true. Sometimes they’ll even draw pictures so you can keep all the “Mohammads” and “Fatimas” straight in the story. The pick-up lines on the streets alone are unheard of in America: “Oh, my moon, my moon! You light my way. You are the only light I see.” Or, “There are twenty angels in the world. Ten are sleeping, nine are playing, and one is walking right before me.” One thing I can say about Arab guys: they are romantic and they are persistent.

A total bummer about romance and love while living in the Arab world as a “beautiful, American girl” is that you get hit on. All the time. A favorite ploy from the young men in the area would be to dial your number. Over and over and over again. It is quite a risk to answer an unknown number, thinking it might be that college girl you met at the park last week, because you might answer to find that it’s some man. Who has misdialed. And is now enjoying the happenchance of speaking with you on the phone. He hears that nice, female, native-English “Hello?”and… you’re done for. He will call relentlessly.

And when I say relentlessly I mean it. I’ve blocked numbers. I’ve handed the phone to other Arab men and they yell at them and shame them and demand their family names. I’ve answered and immediately hung up. I’ve answered and let the phone just lie on the counter while I did dishes, hoping he’d worry about his phone credit running out. [Note: whomever makes the call pays for the call—there’s no charge to a recipient.] I’ve told them that I’m married to the police [???] and I’m going to have “my husband hunt him.”

One night was a night to remember. Roommate and I were battling the harassing calls of what seemed to be a group of guys, shebab. For TWO HOURS they called over and over again. Finally, I grabbed her phone, put it up to my ear and just listened to them: “My love, my love, listen to me. I love you. Where are you? I love you. Oh, God, I love you. You are my love.”

At this point in time, I had been perfecting my camel noises and so… since they didn’t hang up in response to my silence, I started in on them. And I just didn’t stop. They listened to me for about four minutes. [Do you know how much that costs in phone credit??] Roommate, doubling over in laughter, grabbed my Flip and recorded our side of the call.

The men who need to get a hold of me know how. These guys who just harass for entertainment… well, I can appreciate their go-get-‘em attitude and persistent ways. [They could teach some American guys I know a thing or two in that department.] Regardless, I’m sure they’ll have some romantic, fantastical love-match one day. Just not with me.

They didn’t call back after this—they were too mortified, I think. [I would hope.]

But in other romantic news: These two fellows almost got into an actual fight as they bid for my hand in marriage. The bargaining chips were fancy cars, trips to Spain to watch futbol, and their mothers cooking and cleaning for me.

They were dumbfounded when I said all I wanted was a camel.

Happy [early] Valentine’s Day.