Описание: It is the beginning of September, the first day of school, and the sun is flirting with making an appearance. Butterflies fill my stomach, but in a good way. Today marks my four-year-old daughters first day of attending the big school at the end of our street. Shes wearing the robins-egg-blue dress I bought for her birthday earlier this year with the silver filigree design down the front -- an echo of her Middle Eastern roots. My husband Shakil and I leave the house to drop her off together. With her marching gait, laser-beam gaze, and set mouth, she seems fine. Better off than her mama.
I feel alone. The paralyzing isolation I felt during the early years of motherhood has given way to tenuous new connections with many other parents -- through daycare, local Facebook groups, and community gatherings -- but Im still off balance. Despite reaching middle age, despite having achieved professional success, despite all the wonderful things and people in my life, this moment undoes me.
The sight of monkey bars and green playing field makes me feel tight and floaty at the same time. I know its because a part of me was left behind in a place just like this, where I learned that in order to survive I had to make myself disappear. I cant catch my breath. I feel dislocated.
My daughter runs into the play area without a backward glance, and I call her back to give her one last hug. Enjoy your first day at your new school, Baba. I love you so much, I whisper. I cant tell if its her or some earlier version of myself that I watch twist and spin away, the past collapsing into the present. All I know is that my daughters story begins with my story. And my story begins with my people.
