It’s Mothers Day…

Not Reviewed, Not Edited. Straight chaotic thoughts to keyboard strokes! (Typos Alert).

This post is all about how “I” feel being deprived seeing my own family and mom for 4 years in a row and not being able to do something about it. Full of “I’s” and a bit of a narcissist’s post.


4 years of not being able to see my mother, I don’t think I can handle it anymore. When I left Palestine for the first time of my life in September 2012 on my way to pursue my higher education abroad, I told my mom one thing before I close the door behind me. I hugged her and said:

“It will be just a year mom, I’ll see you in 365 days”.

Little did I know that this year will drag to 4 years. Now my ultimate wish is becoming to be able to visit my mom in Palestine… I have to wait for politics to feel the pain in me and maybe work something out with the boarders. I am drenched, Every day of the past 3 years 6 months and 27 days felt like I am stepping one step away from my roots, my country, my family and mostly my mom. Of all my family members I have to admit that I was so attached to her. I was indeed the typical mom’s boy and she meant the world to me and still does (no am not shy of admitting that). I live in a daily struggle of keeping in touch with her capitalizing on the simple social media literacy she developed just so she can keep a contact (generations differences), yet, still it just doesn’t suffice.

I still recall how sometimes during my exams she’d knock the door and walk in with a cup of hot chocolate, or tea made her own amazing way. I still remember the times when she used to walk in while am laying down with a pile of unmade laundry and throws them at me. We would then start random conversations as she folds them and put them in my and my brothers’ closet. I miss that, the set of small details and the sense of closeness that doesn’t get communicated through mere 10 minutes Skype call.

Misplaced Palestinian mothers day.jpeg
I miss her existence in my life in the small details, in the pile of laundry she used to fold in my room, in her little chats and in her hugging voice.

I see myself as a perfect stranger to her now. Somehow everyday I find myself busy in my own life here in Qatar away from her. We talk once a day sometimes, sometimes we have weeks where we only talk once or twice, and sometimes I find myself dragged to spend a month without getting in contact with her. I HATE MYSELF FOR THAT. But again, its all this time and distance that made me somehow acceptable to the status quo. Maybe I am just not too satisfied with counting on the internet or social media to keep contact, maybe I am frustrated with it that I run away. or maybe a voice call or a WhatsApp message is just NOT ENOUGH for me!!!

Then comes mothers day, the day I remember that its been one more year that I haven’t seen her, hugged her or even helped her with something. The day where few pictures is all I can get from my brothers and sisters back in Palestine who celebrated her day. That’s me now, that son who’s miles away to whom we send pics from our life as a family, so that maybe (just maybe) that would serve as a reminder that he has a family still!

I set on my own, thinking of her, thinking of the reasons I am incapable of visiting her or even my home country. I think of mothers day as a mark for one more year passed, and in another 365 days another mothers day will come….till the day I fear when I have no one to celebrate mothers day for. I am terrified of that day. I need to end this post here.

(Thought about deleting the last part but because I don’t edit or review… I’ll keep it straight from my heart to keyboard strokes”.

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