Jul 8, 2008
Disclosure: This post, will be dictated through the eyes of a Rambling 15 year old girl, many of my initial thoughts displayed here, have since changed, as I have now become a wiser Rambling Saudi Wife :D Nothing I say here is meant to offend anyone, and I do apologise in advance for anyone who takes offense to anything said in the following post. I remember it all began in Damascus Syria, when I was 15 years old. My mother had just forced me to move there for a year, and I could not stand the country! I hated the people! I hated everything about it! Pre-Syria I was a chubby little girl, I always had this smile planted on my face, saying 'Hi' and 'Good morning' to everyone I passed by. I loved giving away hugs to everyone. I loved how I looked, and never felt self conscious, as my mother would always remind me that I was a beautiful girl, and made me feel like a princess at all times. I was teased at times, and can still remember being bullied my entire 6th grade year, as the girls thought of me as a 'rich snob'. I wasn't anywhere close to that, they just hated that I wore things they couldn't have (and it wasn't on purpose, I just wore whatever was in my closet- or my sisters much NICER closet). I entered high school, and everything changed. I saw myself change, from being with my mom 24/7, and sitting with her all the time, I became someone new. I became very distant; I found a new circle of friends, friends that thought it uncool to sit around mommy dearest. My grades dropped, I was skipping classes, I was a whole new (not-so-cool) me. My dear mom feared she would lose me, she felt that I was changing too fast, and that if we stayed in Toronto much longer she would lose me forever. She spoke to her family, and for some odd reason planned a vacation to Syria. I was OK with it, as long as I would only be gone for a month. My mom assured me that we would be back, and that this was simply a vacation. I was excited, and looked forward to seeing a new country. Syria I remember arriving in Syria, the airport was awful and filthy. I could not understand anything anyone was saying, and was awed by this weird culture. They made us pay them money to enter the country (something I have since heard they do to everyone!). I remember leaving the airport building and being engulfed by the most disgusting stench in the world, it smelt like a sewage system- the worst kind possible. I felt sick to my stomach, and already wished I never came to this God forsaken land. The cars were outside waiting for us, and we were taken to this flat that was quite disgusting, we could not believe the people got such filth ready for us. Ok! It wasn't dirty, but there was NO washroom, or at least the washrooms I have been used to. There were HOLES in the floor to relieve ourselves. We slept that first night in tears, and in shock. First thing in the morning my mom went out and came back an hour later with cars, and had us move to another flat. This one was much more like it, it was lovely, and they had REAL washrooms. The floors were marble, and shiny. There were TV's. There were all the regular amenities we have come accustomed to. This was more like it! There were no fast-food chains anywhere. I had to buy chocolate bars such as snickers under the table! I was not happy, I missed Toronto. I missed my friends! When my mom finally broke the news to me that I would not be going back to Toronto, I was in SHOCK, I cried, I locked myself in my room. I remember the first day I threw up. I was trying hard to get attention from my mom, and was ready to get it whatever way possible. I remember not eating food for 18 days0 save one green apple! (Yes 18 days) My mom was going crazy, but refused to send me back. I was still angry, and even began to cut my self (inflicting pain upon myself), I used to sit out on the balcony with a knife in hand, staring out at the stars (I wasn't used to being able to see stars), and scrape my arm, till it was bleeding. And even after it bled, I would continue to just cut myself. I did not feel the pain. (I still have a faint scar on my arm from those stupid days). Another stupid attempt at attention was to overdose on pills. I sat in my room one evening, and took out a bottle of medication. I remember popping one pill after another. Until the bottle was empty, I became drowsy, and did not know what was happening. I remember seeing my mom come to me, slap me in the face to get me coherent. She saw the pills and started screaming for help. They rushed me to the hospital, and the doctors had to pump the pills out of my stomach by inserting a tube down my nose. I remember hating my mother to death. She was evil in my eyes, and I thought I would never, ever want to see her or speak to her ever again. I would continue to refuse food for months to come, and would only eat small amounts if any. After a while I began eating, but I would vomit it out within minutes of eating it. I was 15! I did not know what bulimia was at the time, but looking back at it, that began my struggle with this disease, a struggle I still fight till this day. I lost weight. I was once the girl with the pretty face; I now became the HOT girl that should become a model (I am 5'9" tall). As a teenager, that kind of appreciation meant the world to me. POST Syria We later moved to Kuwait. I loved it there, enjoyed myself very much, made lots of friends, and was always out and about. Once again, I forgot my mother, refused to spend time with her, as I felt she was the enemy. I was a teen having fun, with a great body (thanks to bulimia!), out doing all kinds of water sports, and just having a blast. I remember getting in trouble with my aunt and uncle that came from Saudi to make my life hell. I got beat by my uncle, treated like trash by my aunt, as they felt that as a young girl, I shouldn't have been out, shouldn't have had male friends, and the list goes on. Forcing me to leave the house, and live with one of my best friends for 2 weeks! My mother went crazy, she was lost, and she did not know what to do, should she stand by my side? Or pledge allegiance to her family? She knew me well; she knew that she taught me well, and that I would not do anything crazy. She stood by me, she gave me her shoulder, she gave me her heart, she loved me unconditionally, and that is when my dear mom became the center of my world again. We became close. Although I will never deny the pain I put her through, I made her life miserable. Yet she stood by me, and loved me none the less. For that I will always love her. She means the world to me. We moved back to Toronto, me a much wiser 18 year old girl, ready to start my University life. (now that I have my own daughter, I understand what she did much better, and know that she was looking out for my best interest; I love you mama) Here is a poem I wrote for my mother when I was about 19 years old... Mother Dear… This is a poem for you, my mother Who has dedicated her life to us, Who has taught every one of us, That hard work is work needed, To succeed in the future, Hard work, that will never be, Forgotten. This is for your determination, To make sure we live life So that we may be, Honoured and respected Someday. This is for taking us across seas, and back So that we might get a better insight into the world. This is for your strong mind, That made us love God And what God has given us, So that we may not take life for granted. This is for you my mother, Who has seen me to 19. Thank-you. By: Om Lujain As for my bulimia, I have tried very hard to steer clear of it, but it is an illness, at times after I finish eating, all I can think about is how can I get to the washroom without anyone noticing. I have become an expert I don't even need to stick my finger down my throat to relieve myself. I have been bulimia free since I found out I was pregnant, I was not ready to hurt my baby, and later after I had her, I knew she needed all the nutrition she could get through my breastfeeding's. It has been over a year and a half now, but I will never deny that I have urges to take the easy way out, and just vomit to shed the extra lbs.