Frequently Asked Questions About the ME ... Part 5

The Riddle of Strider

 

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

(J.R.R. Tolkien)

Ramadan is a time of reflection.  So even though I am a non-muslim, I felt compelled during this month to write a reflective piece on the Islamic State that has graciously accepted me as a resident for the past (almost) seven years.

Every once in a while, someone asks me what I think of Doha, what I think of Qatar.  It's never an easy question to answer.  

On the one hand, there are so many things that I love about this country.  Oddly enough, it's not about the amazing architecture, the endless and sumptuous culinary feasts or the incredible wealth that literally seeps from every grain of sand.  While these initially piqued our interest and brought us here, they're not what have kept us here for close to seven years.

No, at the top of the list is that it's probably one of the most child-friendly places in the world.  Our friends and family back home are always a little skeptical when we say that, particularly those who still refuse to believe we live in anything other than a bedouin tent and ride on anything other than a camel.  But ask any expat family who's lived here with young kids; they'll all say the same.

When we first moved here, I suffered numerous panic attacks as restaurant servers and shop keepers would reach out to touch Kiddo, to take her in their arms, even to whisk her away to parade around to their colleagues or patrons.  My skeptic's head was filled with visions of child nabbings back then;  I didn't realize that many of the people working in the service industry here had left little ones like her back home, that they wouldn't see them for two years or more.  I couldn't initially fathom that they just genuinely loved kids.

We would go jogging with her in the jogger stroller on the Corniche on weekends, and laborers would stop us to ask if they could get their picture taken with her.  Our North American mindset would raise flags immediately, until we'd realize that these men had nothing to fill their one day off a week but a game slightly reminiscent of hopscotch.  The sweet giggles of a child were likely a balm to their calloused bodies and minds.  They would gather 'round her, each making funny faces in an effort to get her to focus her bright baby blues on him.

The attention didn't stop there.  I remember walking through the shopping mall and having fully veiled Qatari ladies stop me so they could kiss the top of Kiddo's 14-month round head and give her a hard candy.  Qatari men would lay a hand on her head and utter a small blessing.  At airport customs, we would get whisked to the front of the arrivals line as soon as she got spotted.  The one time I lost sight of her in a grocery store I panicked, and then found her sitting contentedly at the produce weighing counter, munching on the contents of a fruit bowl given to her by the clerk who had seen her wandering alone.

Second on the list would be the surprising acts of kindness, generosity and compassion that we have experienced when we least expected it.  A few weeks ago, I was leaving the grocery store and a Qatari man stopped his truck to let me cross to my parking spot with my trolley.  My trolley got stuck on the curb, and I signaled him to drive on; it was the start of Ramadan, and I didn't want to be contributing to the impatience that sometimes comes during the initial days of fasting.  But the gentleman didn't move.  He put his truck in park, opened his door and got out, and came over to help me lift my trolley off the curb.  Such a small act of kindness, but for some reason it really stood out.

Smilin' Vic once had a minor accident on his bike, nothing major but enough to get him to pull over to the side of the road to recover his bearings and sort himself out.  A Qatari man who saw the incident pulled over and offered to assist.  A slightly embarrassed Smilin' Vic smiled, told him all was fine, and waved him off.  The gentleman drove off, only to return several minutes later with his young son, some water and a first aid kit in tow.   Such a small act of kindness, but never to be forgotten.

I worked with one particular Qatari lady who was fully veiled.  The only thing we would ever see of her in public were her eyes.  But she had the most amazing, expressive smiling eyes I have ever seen.  I will never forget those eyes, not even if I live to be a hundred.  Everyone was drawn to this woman with the smiling eyes.  You would walk up to her and her joy at seeing you was palpable, even though she wore a head to toe cloak of black.  You didn't need to see the smile.  You felt the smile.  You felt the compassion, you felt the humanity.  Such very small crinkles at the corner of each eye, yet they spoke of a lifetime of kindness.

Third on the list would be the rediscovery of the true meaning of some of our most commercial Christian holidays.  Every year spent here for Christmas and Easter, we have opened our home to near strangers less fortunate than us to partake in a traditional North American holiday meal, a prayer of thanks, and a laugh with us.  We've gotten to know some amazing people from the Philippines, from Ethiopia, from Sri Lanka, from Nepal.  While we miss our family so much, we've been so blessed to have these people come into our lives.  Kiddo always looks forward to the "after festivities", when we pack up containers of food and sweets and go visit compound security and maintenance staff.    

Fourth would be a deeper understanding of other faiths.  I am so grateful that we have had the chance to meet people of different cultures and religions who have been willing to share with us the meaning behind many of their practices, holidays and beliefs.  I really do feel like I've grown into a much more respectful and reflective human being by living here.

Fifth would be the understanding that at our core, we're not all that different after all.  The last company I worked for employed more than 80 nationalities.  While we might differ on work ethic, or procedure, or approach, there were always similarities (whether or not everyone would admit to them is another matter!).  But I have sat in a room and shared a laugh with Syrians, Egyptians, Columbians, Venezuelans, Americans, New Zealanders, Iranians, Qataris, Pakistanis, Philippinos, South Africans ...  I have commiserated with Scots, Australians, Indians, Nepalis, Malaysians, Sudanese, Spaniards ... I have shed tears with Ukranians, Brits, Dutch, Lebanese, Iraqis, Palestinians, Jordanians ... at some point in time, some or all of us have managed to find some point of commonality, some common bond.  The differences aren't so scary once you've gotten past the similarities!

So I guess that would be my long-winded partial answer to a question that I find so very hard to answer:  "What do you think about Qatar?"  

But the full answer is really hard to pin down.  What I'd really like to answer is closer to Tolkien's poem above.  And that's not really an answer.  More an impression, an interpretation:  

What would appear to impress us most in this land somehow leaves us rather indifferent.  What impresses us has nothing to do with glitter.  I am no more attached to Qatar for its architecture or its wealth than I am to Canada.  

My Canadian roots are strong, and I am an expat, not an immigrant, so I naturally find myself longing for my culture and my heritage. 

And one day, inevitably, I will return to the land that beckons.

We really are grateful for the opportunity to be here, and there are so many experiences to be had.  It's different for everyone I guess.  For us it's not the massive crystal chandeliers, the sky scrapers, the Versace boutiques, the Dammas jewelry shops or the multitude of Bentley's and Ferraris cruising the streets of Doha.  It's simply that we've built a life here for now, and collected the most amazing moments and friends and memories along the way.

 

How Kiddo Keeps Me Grounded ...

There is a blessed perspective and a bellyful of laughs that come from having an 8-year-old around the house.  Here are just a few snippets of conversation with her that manage to make us giggle and keep us grounded:

On Pilates

Me:  "I just did 20 roll ups."

Kiddo:  "They looked like regular sit-ups to me." 

Me:  "I've been trying to get these right for months."

Kiddo:  "You'll have to do a lot more if you wanna catch up."

 On My Blog

Me:  "Hey, Smilin' Vic, Kiddo, I have 4 subscribers." 

Smilin' Vic:  "Cool." 

Kiddo:  "What are subscribers?" 

Me:  "People who want to read my blog." 

Kiddo:  "Cool, then they can use your ideas." 

Me:  "I guess." 

Kiddo:  "So you only have 4 subscribers in THE WHOLE WORLD?" 

Me:  (heavy sigh)  "Yeah ... "

On Food Choices

Me:  "If you don't eat meat, it's hard to get all your protein and be healthy. "

Kiddo:  "Just because you want to eat something that was happier alive doesn't mean I have to.  Can I just have beans, please? "

On Boobs

Kiddo:  "How come women have to wear tops but men don't always?" 

Me:  "Because men don't have breasts." 

Kiddo:  "I saw men with boobs at the beach." 

Me:  "Are you done your homework?" 

On Death

Kiddo:  "Maman, how come people have to die?" 

Me (thinking hard):  "Because you start to get pretty bored of living once you're past a hundred or so." 

Kiddo (thinking hard):  "I'm pretty sure I'd rather be bored." 

On Desert Fashion

Kiddo:  "I'm happy you don't have to wear an abaya, Maman." 

Me:  "Why's that?"  

Kiddo:  "Because then no one would get to see your new bra."

Me (silently, in my head):  "Note to self:  Ditch the shirt ... apparently it's transparent in sunlight." 

On Driving in Doha

Me (in the front seat to Smilin' Vic):  "Is that driver crazy, blind, or both?" 

Kiddo (in the back seat):  "I don't think blind crazy people are allowed to drive in Canada, are they Maman?"

Smilin' Vic and Me:  sorry, this part was unintelligible through the peals of laughter ... 

Everyday traffic in Doha ...

On Driving in Doha, Part 2

Kiddo:  "Why is there always so much traffic in Doha?" 

Me:  "I don't know ... the roads are too small, there are too many cars, no trains ..." 

Kiddo:  "Maybe it's 'cause the crazy blind people drive really slow." 

Me (silently, in my head):  "Time to really start watching my big mouth around Kiddo." 

On Michelle Pfeiffer

Kiddo:  "Maman, that lady looks just like you." 

Me:  "And that, my child, is why you will go far in life." 

There's just something so crazy great about an eight-year-old's perspective. 

At Least They Don't Have Me Doing This ...

I think I'll call this first day on the job a resounding success.  Everything went quite smoothly.

Except for traffic. 

I dropped Kiddo off at summer camp an hour before I was meant to present at HR.  Since her summer camp is a short five-minute drive from the office (literally 2.5 km), I was sure this was more than enough of a time cushion, even for Doha.

Silly me.

Smooth sailing until I veered into the far left lane preparing for the final u-turn before my destination.  It had taken me barely 20 minutes to make it that far.  Plenty of time to spare.  

Or so you would think.

For the next 32 minutes, I sat in that same spot, staring directly across the street at the parking lot meant to harbor my car as I went off to earn some dosh.  I watched as the four police officers at the intersection stopped all but oncoming traffic for 32 minutes.  I watched as the left-turn traffic light turned green, then amber, then red, then green, then amber, then red, then green ... you get the picture.

I fumed in my car as the other cars corralled around me honked their horns ceaselessly.  I resisted the urge to step out, raise my hands in the air and cry out "and WHERE, exactly, would you have me go?"   Though I struggled, I managed to maintain my "first day on the job high".

Eventually, all ended well, with me stepping into the lobby exactly 4 minutes before my scheduled meeting with the HR rep.  As luck would have it, the HR rep held the elevator door open for me for the ride up.

That's the one good thing about traffic in Doha ...  no one is immune.  If you're late, chances are most everyone else will be too.

The rest of the day went swimmingly.  Other than the call from sports camp saying Kiddo was feeling unwell.  After a quick chat with her, we agreed that Smilin' Vic would pop out of work early to bring her home.

One must expect such small glitches on the first day of work.  Murphy's Law and all that.

But all in all, I feel like the day was a success.  Not a roaring success, but definitely a nice day in a welcoming and seemingly productive environment.

I have a good feeling.

No doubt there could be worse scenarios on the job front: 

At least they don't have me doing this ....

(See those teeny, tiny dots dangling from ropes strung over the roof?  Those would be some very, very brave window cleaners.  There are definitely some tough jobs out there.) 

Hand Me Those Steel Toed Stilettos, Would You?

So tomorrow's the big day.  Sunday - tomorrow - the first day of the work week here in Qatar (weekend is Friday and Saturday).  Tomorrow, the day I start my new job.

If at first you don't succeed ...

Donning a new pair of work shoes tomorrow in the hopes of achieving our goals that much sooner.

(These were actually Kiddo's, but she would always stand 2 feet taller whenever she wore them.)

Back to work, back to the 9 to 5 grind.  (It's Ramadan, so it's actually more like the "9 to 2" grind as work days are compressed to five hours for the next two weeks.)

I'm surprisingly calm.  Especially considering that this is pretty much a dream job (on paper, at least).  I don't know, maybe you just don't get as excited about things at 43 as you used to in your 20's.  Or maybe I've been hardened and wizened by my most recent 'career' experience.

I won't say I'm not nervous.  Last night I dreamt that I showed up late for work and got called out by the HR rep.  I woke up feeling horrible, regretting "Dream Me's" inability to get to the office on time.  I would hazard that's probably the result of some latent fear of failure. 

I won't say I'm not looking forward to it.  I've bought new shoes and a few very professional looking hand bags.  I've got some lovely new office wear as well, but most of the cute dresses will have to wait until after Ramadan to make their first appearance.  Discrete and demure is the motto for the next few weeks.  

I have to shamefully admit that one of the biggest thrills of this new job is knowing that it is a much more moderate environment than that in which I was working previously.  In my last job, I referred to my collection of black pant suits, ankle length skirts, long-sleeved button-up shirts and turtlenecks as my Western abaya wardrobe.  

That's not to say classy and modest are not a requisite in this new workplace, and knees and elbows should still be covered for propriety's sake.  But the look I've seen around the office when I visited is much more business chic.  Tailored suits, pencil skirts, smart cotton slacks, houndstooth A-line dresses, 2+ inch heels and lovely bangle bracelets.  It has the feel of a professional workplace with some 'oomph'.  

Other than that, I don't really know what to expect.  My new boss won't be there until next week, so it will be up to me to find my way around and figure out who's who.  I'm expecting HR formalities, ID processing and IT set-up to take up at least the better part of the day tomorrow, and I guess I'll figure out the rest from there.   

My fingers are crossed that the actual job is going to live up to the hype.  I actually think it holds the promise of excitement and challenge.  It is a new and growing organization, much smaller than my previous employer, and from all I've heard it is a dynamic, progressive and positive environment to work in.

I am so, so, so hopeful that it will be a positive experience.  That it will let me exercise my brain and my creativity.  That I will want to be there.  I don't ever want to fall into the pit of despair that engulfed me those last few years in my last job.  

Granted, that desperation is most likely what drove me to try my hand at blogging again, but I don't think I need the impetus of a near nervous breakdown to keep me at it. 

Tomorrow's the big day.  I'll pull on my big girl panties, lace up my steel toed stilettos, tuck away any doubts, and rise up to meet the challenge as best I can.

Wish me luck! 

Believe in Me, Beliefs in the ME ... (Rod Stewart - It's Over)

As we often find ourselves doing on many an expat weekend night in Doha, Smilin' Vic and I sat f2f across the kitchen island, sipping on wine, gabbing, and "YouTubing" for a laugh, an inspiration, and a touch of home.

We caught up on some funny parodies of Gotye's "Somebody That I Used to Know", a few flash mobs (including one in City Center Mall, Doha) because they're always fun, and some awesome old and new Bruce Springsteen tunes (check out "Death to My Hometown" about the 2008 financial crisis if you haven't already ... awesome celtic stomp tune).  

By chance, Smilin' Vic clicked on a video by Rod Stewart, for old times' sakes.  We didn't even know he'd released anything recently.  Giggles stopped, conversation ceased, we couldn't do anything but watch and listen.  

"It's Over" ... Rod Stewart ... 2013 ... 

How the f*@& does a 68-year-old maintain an almost 50-year career music high?  Competing with 18-year-old hot bods with techno voices and choreographed routines.  Seriously.  How does he do it?

I'm a child of the 70's.  Smilin' Vic was born in '61.  We both grew up listening to 'Maggie May', 'Sailing', 'Do Ya Think I'm Sexy' and so many other Rod Stewart tunes that we sing to this day a cappella in the car, the shower, when dusting and whenever we think no one's listening.  We keep on thinking his last hit is the last.  

Yet somehow he always bests himself and stumps us. 

He always seems to manage to capture something that really speaks to the soul.  From a good place.  There's no anger, no regret, no bitterness.  He sings about moments in life, captured in their beauty and their unsightliness, simple fragments in a journey.  And he puts music and magic to it, in a way that simple words cannot.

I ache to capture that symphony of words that conveys the voice of the heart.  What a gift he has.  His gift is his talent - what he gives to us.  His gift is his prize - what he's been blessed with.  The ability to speak to nations of souls who simply want to be reassured that their pain and their joy is not their's alone.

As we watched and listened to this latest video, both Smilin' Vic and I once again found something in his voice, his lyrics, his music, his imagery that touched our souls.  

It's Over ... 

Listening to the song, memories come flooding back.

Our union is not the first for either of us.  Thankfully both of us have turned the page, finished that chapter, closed the book.   

All of us come with a past, with regrets, with doubts.  But we both look back and wish our former spouses nothing but the best.  Looking back on the past is almost like watching a movie, where you can love the cast of characters (of which you are a part) while calling them stupid, where you can curse the plot (reality) while relating with the storyline (emotional journey), where you can actually cry for the villain and curse the protagonist.

I use this forum to talk mostly about moments.  Which is why politics, religion and sex rarely rear their head in my discourse.  

But sometimes reality is more than a moment.  It is an accumulation of moments.

You come to realize that society is judging you on a moment, when in fact what you should be judged on is what came before, during and after that moment.  All of it.  The sum of all the parts.

Sometimes I want to scream out to this society that I am not 'loose'.  I am not a 'ho'.  I am not without values.  I am not without faith.  I am not without regrets.  And I am not without feeling. 

I did not take my vows lightly.  Not the first time.  Not the second time.  

I am a Western woman who cried and struggled and screamed and lost her mind as she saw her first marriage and her world collapsing around her.  

I am a Western woman who tried and cried and prayed to find the strength to make things right.

I am a Western woman who rebuilt her faith, her beliefs, her self-worth, her self-confidence, her love for life by renouncing the one person she'd built her life around.   

But she didn't stop loving him.  She didn't stop wishing him the best.   

She stopped living with him.  She stopped enabling him.   

She stopped letting him define her worth.

She walked away in the hopes that both he and she would find peace, fulfillment and redemption.  Because what they'd become together was toxic and painful. 

I am an Expat woman.  One who struggles with the adulation and judgement that comes when this society discovers that I am a Divorced woman.  One who struggles with the pain and self-reproach that comes from failing at what I'd committed a lifetime to.

I am a Human woman.  With feelings, and regrets, and memories, and hopes and dreams.   

I am a Human woman who is proud to call herself an optimist, a survivor.  I am a Human woman who is strong in her faith, in her values, in her beliefs.

I am a divorcee.  I am a wife and a mother.  I am a believer.  I am a sinner and I am repentant.  

I am a woman filled with dreams and hopes and desire.

I was married for the first time in the Catholic church.  Which meant I entered into a covenant wherein I would honor my husband 'til death to us part.  Breaking that covenant broke me for a while.  Made me question my ability to honor my faith.  Made me question my strength in the face of adversity.  

Until I realized that my faith and my strength could not be broken unless I chose to let them.  Until I realized that sometimes loving someone does not mean living with them.  Until I realized that sometimes alcoholism, mental illness, anger and despair can poison even the strongest person.  Until I realized that a covenant is not one-sided.  

And I walked away.  

"I don't stand here trying to focus the blame ...

It's over

What's the sense in pointing fingers? 

Who's the Saint and the Sinner? 

There ain't gonna be a winner. 

It's over ... "*

I don't believe I negated God.  I believe I honored him.  I believe I redeem myself every night as I kiss Kiddo good night, as I hold Smilin' Vic tight, as I thank God for all he's given me, as I pray for those in my past whom I may have hurt or who may be hurting.

I am a Believer.  I believe that I am worth believing in.  I believe that my beliefs hold true.  Here in the ME, there in the West, anywhere.   I stand firm.

I am not just a divorcee.  I am not just a mom.  I am not just a wife, a sister, a friend, a co-worker, a neighbor. 

I am a Believer.  I believe.   

Thanks, Rod Stewart.  Sixty some years old and you actually made me reflect on 25 years of internal struggle.   

It's over. 

P.S.  How the hell can Rod still be so sexy? 

*Lyrics from "It's Over", by Rod Stewart. 

Order 'Time' on iTunes: http://smarturl.it/dlTime Order 'Time' on Amazon: http://smarturl.it/BuyTime Official video for Rod Stewart's "It's Over" off the album 'Time' out now worldwide. Don't miss Rod Stewart on the worldwide Live The Life Tour 2013! TOUR DATES: http://bit.ly/LiveTheLifeDates Follow Rod: http://www.RodStewart.com http://twitter.com/RodStewart http://Facebook.com/RodStewart For tour information: http://www.rodstewart.com/events/