Gifts That Really Matter

As the holiday season approaches, we see more quotes and posts about gifts, Santa Claus and Christmas lists. One that caught my attention lately says, “I think as you grow older, your Christmas list gets smaller and the things you really want for the holidays can’t be bought.” Reading this quote made me think how my Christmas lists have changed over the years.

Like any child, I loved dolls and soft toys but I had only a few as my parents could not afford to indulge me with presents. We were five kids and my dad’s job was not going well at the time. What mattered most to my parents was for us to be well educated and well fed. Dolls and toys were never a priority for them, even for Christmas. During my impressionable childhood, this was somehow upsetting to me. But now I have the perspective of a few years, and when I reconsider the situation, how much did I miss? Not much at all. On the contrary, having only what was strictly necessary made me appreciate more what was really important in life and motivated me to work harder and improve my status.

“The greatest gifts you can give your children are the roots of responsibility and the wings of independence.” ―Denis Waitley

I was 11 when the civil war started in my country. The surrounded violence turned me from a joyful extroverted child to an introverted teenager. I loved reading, drawing, listening to music and watching movies. The gifts that I enjoyed most were music tapes and CDs. I never had any interest in fancy gifts, and that never changed in me. In fact, I recall an incident in one of my wedding anniversaries; my husband surprised me with an expensive piece of jewelry. But he was disappointed upon seeing my facial reaction when I opened the gift. At that time, I wished that he had bought me Time Traveler, a set of five CDs by the Moody Blues that I had seen earlier with him. He knew how much I loved this band and how much I cherish such gifts. 

The years went by, and the thing I wanted most was to have a child. But this was not an easy task for me. Ironically, the only tests I ever failed in my life were pregnancy tests. But I never gave up. Deep down inside, I knew I would have my own kids. Finally, after 20 years of childless marriage, seven IVF trials, loads of medicines and injections, and three miscarriages I had beautiful twins, one of each gender.

“Everything you need will come to you at the perfect time.” ―Unknown

Since the day they were born, my twins were pampered with expensive presents by family members and friends. But what amazes me most is that my four-year-old kids are more interested in some unusual gifts that they can buy from a vending machine in a local store, made of very small plastic boxes that cost almost nothing, each of which contains each a small toy. My daughter and son are always fascinated by these tiny gifts, which may contain fake jewelry, colorful bouncing balls, tiny cars or some build-it-yourself toys. This reminds me that the joy brought by any gift has nothing to do with its size or material value; it’s only the pleasure of unfolding it and discovering what is inside that matters most.

“Surprise is the greatest gift which life can grant us.” ― Boris Pasternak

Almost two years ago, my father died at the age of 94. He left behind some great stories and memories. When I visit my parents’ house, I always expect him to appear from behind, but he doesn't. There is nothing that can replace the absence of someone we love, and why even make the attempt? Our memories and gratitude are our precious gifts that can fill the emptiness created by the loss of our loved ones and transform the pain of their loss into acceptance. 

Thus, the gifts that I appreciate most are the ones that are useful in my life—that is:

• Love, to give and receive abundantly.
• Peace, to be able to live freely and with dignity.
• Time, to live and love the way it matters to me. 

“Everything I know, I know because of love.” ― Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace

* I would like to thank my friend Richard Pennington for his most valuable comments!
* Corel Drawing by Hoda Maalouf 

Memories Die Hard

Couple of months ago, I read an interesting post entitled “Leaders Know When It’s a Good Day to Die Hard” by a friend, Dan Forbes, founder of the Lead with Giants Community of which I am a member. When I commented on the post, I mentioned that I remembered only watching the first movie of the “Die Hard” series, although I might have watched a couple of them. I was able to recall the first of the series probably because it reminded me of a story that happened back in 1975 when I was just 11 years of age.

“Memory…is the diary that we all carry about with us.” ― Oscar Wilde

The war started very close to home. I was born and raised in the east suburbs of Beirut with a majority-Christian population and where right-wing political parties and militias dominated on the ground. Less than 1 kilometer away from home, there was a small zone where a group of people from other political inclinations, religions and nationalities lived. Naturally, when the conflicts started in the heart of Beirut, other regions of the country soon had their own daily frictions among different conflicting groups. This also happened in what had been considered “my safe neighborhood.”

When the violence erupted around that mixed zone, the local right-wing militia decided to put an end to it and to cleanse from that spot anyone considered alien to the region. A fierce artillery fight started. It was the first time in my life I had ever heard such loud, scary noises. At home, mum, dad, and my brothers and sisters were all agitated and did not know where to hide or what to do. Since our house was full of windows, it had always been considered a healthy place to live with the sun infiltrating it from all directions. But it suddenly became hazardous because of the risk of getting hurt from the broken windows and shattering debris incoming from all directions.

The battle to take over that spot lasted only a couple of days. When we heard the good news, we thought, perhaps naively, that “finally” the violence was at an end. But what we didn’t know was that some of the defeated militias had managed to run away from the spot, were hiding in neighboring homes and were taking hostages. That’s what happened to our peaceful neighbors living in a building just 50 meters away. Four heavily armed gunmen entered their building, and took them hostages along with all the other residents of that building. They were forced to go to the top floor. Then the gunmen started to shoot, targeting the surrounding buildings. When we heard the very close shooting, we all ran to hide in the corridors, the safest places in our house. The local militia could not attack the building because of the taken hostages, so they decided to force their release by using a horrid technique that I can never ever forget

“The mind replays what the heart can't delete”―Unknown

A lineup of approximately 50 captured men, of all ages, passed in front of our house down the road until they reached a big, long perpendicular wall, which was used as a fence for a neighboring convent and home for the elderly. Among those poor people being led at gunpoint, there was one man who shouted dad’s name when he passed by our house, begging dad to save his life. I recognized his voice; he was an old man who used to sell us fresh oranges from his garden. Without a second thought, dad reacted to help the peasant by asking one of the militia guys to release him because he was a peaceful person and we would shelter him at home. The guy shouted angrily at dad, telling him to go inside and not get involved.

"To dare is to lose one's footing momentarily. To not dare is to lose one’s self." ― Soren Kierkegaard

All the captured men were forced to stand against the long wall. Using loud speakers, the local militias ordered the four gunmen to release their hostages. Otherwise, they would shoot the captured men one after the other. Shortly after that we heard a lot of screams and firing of guns. Horrified with all that was happening, I started to cry, taking refuge next to mum and dad. Finally, the gunmen ended up by surrendering. We later learned that none of the hostages or the captured men was killed, as the militias were only hitting some of the younger ones and firing in the air. A tentative peace came back to our neighborhood, and, what we thought was the end of the violence was actually just a truce preceding a long civil war.

Memories die hard when our innocence has been hurt so deeply. Those stored memories from 1975 come to my mind again and again, reminding me of the horrors of war. Being exposed to such situations, in spite of the atrocities involved, taught me some good lessons in life and how to behave when emergency strikes. Such lessons are that:

• We must resist the urge to respond to aggression with more of the same. If not there is a big risk of unintended casualties.
• We need to have the courage to take risks and speak up for what we believe in. "It is only by risking our persons from one hour to another that we live at all." ― William James
• Even in extreme situations,we need to retain our essential humanity and aim to support others rather than spectating on them. "Never let the odds keep you from doing what you know in your heart you were meant to do." ― H. Jackson Brown, Jr.
• Family support and love are very important. Love gives us courage to overcome fear and the giving and receiving of support strengthens our resilience even in extreme situations.

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer…. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone, there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”― Frank Herbert

* I would like to thank my friends David Hain and Richard Pennington for their most valuable comments!
* Drawing & Collage by Hoda Maalouf 

She who Kept me Going

My story is about an unusual journey that happened in August 1989. It started with a telephone call from my fiancé who was studying in London to let me know that I had been awarded a scholarship to pursue a master’s degree in the UK. Having the scholarship in hand, I went to the British Embassy to get my visa. But I was informed that there were no visas because all the diplomats had fled Lebanon; I was directed to go to either Cyprus or Jordan to get it. 

Since Beirut Airport and various sea ports were essentially closed due to the chaos of Lebanon’s civil war, my best option to get a visa was to travel by car to Damascus and from there take a plane to Cyprus, where existed the nearest British embassy.

The roads from Beirut to Damascus were in no better condition because of the shelling and the risk of kidnapping. For that reason, very few taxi drivers dared to undertake that 84-kilometer trip to Damascus. But I managed to find one driver who agreed to take me at 4 a.m. the next day. It was the safest time to travel as combatants usually had a couple of hours of truce around 4 am.

At home, Dad was very reluctant for me to leave under such dangerous conditions. But Mum opposed him and said decisively: “Let her go. Let one of us survives this war.” When I heard her say that, I hesitated to leave, but Mum insisted and said, “You have a great opportunity you can’t miss. Go and don’t look back.”

Unfortunately, the evening before my departure was a very bad night of heavy artillery shelling. After I finished preparing my luggage, I waited anxiously in the corridor—the safest place in our home—together with Mum and Dad. Toward 3 a.m., the bombing stopped and I managed to snooze for an hour until I heard a frenzied honk at our front door. The driver had arrived to take me to Damascus!

My God, how could I travel after such a horrible night? But since there were rumors that the road to Damascus would be totally closed, I had to depart that morning. I left in such a hurry that I could not even say goodbye to my brothers and sisters who were hiding in a neighboring shelter.

The road to Damascus was deadly calm, no one on the streets, just our mad taxi driver, me and Dad who decided to escort me to Damascus to ensure my safety up to the border. We crossed several checkpoints where the soldiers were half asleep. They checked the car, and since there were no young men on board they let us pass. The driver was in such a hurry to reach the Syrian border that he was driving extremely fast, and we nearly had a fatal car crash.

“If you're going through hell, keep going.” ― Winston Churchill

We reached Damascus early in the morning and I stayed with my aunt who happened to live there. A week later, my fiancé flew in from London. We got married very quickly in a small church and then traveled to Cyprus a week later for a honeymoon of sorts. We remained there for almost two weeks until my visa was approved. It normally takes 5 hours to travel from Beirut to London, but it took me 30 days to get there in 1989.

We reached London penniless as we spent all our money on that long journey and my scholarship was due one week later. The first day we were there, we went for a walk in Fulham Road. While walking, a summer breeze lifted some tree leaves from the sidewalk together with a twenty-pound note that got stuck on my foot. I could not believe my eyes! What was the source of the money? I really don’t know, but this piece of money had come out of the blue when we most needed a penny. It triggered in my mind the idea that I was never alone since the day I left home and went to London. I can even think and argue that probably I had never been alone since much earlier—probably from the day I was born.

As a result of this journey, an important chapter in my life started. And it simply would not have happened had Mum not pushed me to go for it. Mum was and still is my guardian angel and my main inspirer. She taught me to remain positive, to never give up, and to work hard and see opportunities in every difficulty I might face.

“Our journey is filled with never ending struggles, we must meet them with an open heart.” ―Lolly Daskal

Picture by Christelle Rahme