I have been yearning to start my own blog for so long. And now I am here…*gulp*, it is a bit daunting. I’ve wanted to write for so long. I knew since I was the age of 5. I knew that I knew, because I had just moved to the UK one year prior and learning English words became THE MOST EXCITING THING IN THE WORLD.
But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let us re-wind a bit. Fill in a few background details, and all that.
I was born in the Middle East. I don’t remember much of it, as we left when I was 4. I remember the journey over to the UK, though. One of my clearer earliest memories, as it goes. I remember feeling bamboozled as to where I was (at the airport) and why I was there (to board a plane to start a new life in a completely different culture). I remember just observing everything around me with fascination. I was especially fascinated by a kind, glamorous-looking woman who gave my siblings sweets.
I wanted sweets, too. But I was always afraid of putting my head above the parapet (judging by how long it took me to start this journal, and the fact that is anonymous, not much has changed). So, I watched carefully from the sidelines, acting nonchalant (no, I’m not completely enamored by the bright shiny wrappers of the delicious looking sweets, thank you kind stranger, wondering how best to ask for one, by not asking for one. My mum had installed a firm sense of ‘we-never-ask-people-for-anything-because-it-looks-uncouth’ in me (told you I’m Arab) and this was always one of the more prioritized motivating factors behind decision-making back then (and turns out, since then too, but more on that another time).
So I stood and watched shyly, desperately yearning for sweeties and pretending I wasn’t. She caught me watching and smiled brightly, and offered me one of the tasty treasures. I felt so embarrassed as I took one. This lady now knows I want something! What will my mum say? Well, after tasting its delicious chocolatey goodness, my fears melted away. Not long after, I repeatedly returned to her with an outstretched hand for seconds. And thirds.
My mum did find out and she did tell us all off. Apparently we had shown ourselves up and it was most unbecoming. I hopped on the plane feeling shameful. I don’t remember much else about the journey, and don’t have many memories of exactly how the first few weeks of our new life in the UK unfolded.
The next memories are hazy and with gaps. I remembered a house that had mice on the loose, that my father set traps for. I remember I cried when I saw a mouse caught in one of said traps. I remembered home life being…difficult. And crying when I was one day dropped off at a nursery.
And then quick as a flash….I started school. English classes. Words. Its funny how quickly kids learn at this age, isn’t it? I don’t remember exactly how I went from speaking zero English to suddenly…making my own little mini-book, ‘publishing it’ by making a cover and stapling the pages together and then ‘illustrating’ it with my own drawings. But I did, and I loved it, and I yearned for more of it. A little while later, came the incessant reading. I discovered books with longer stories and sequels and in some cases, parts of whole series! Which makes me now wonder, what comes first with writing/reading? Do we first learn to read, and then we figure out how to write based on what our brains have learnt from looking at letters? Or do we sort of learn how to do both together, interchangeably? I’m not sure…but in my case, the writing stands out more as the start of it all. In any case, I started to write, read and the rest was history, sort of. Well, not really, but it might as well have been.
Nothing much seemed to matter now I could do both. It felt like the world was at my fingertips, when I had a pen or book in my hand. Writing was the portal to my inner world, and reading to the outer world. And now, as it happens, both have proven to be a portal to my healing. Which leads me to here. Why I wanted to start this blog. And why it has been given its name.
‘Hala’ in Arabic, means: ‘welcome’ (of sorts). It sort of like ‘Hello’ but not exactly. Its an expression of greeting/welcoming someone. So, Hala – and Hello – reader. I want to welcome you to my journey. I wanted to include both Arabic and English in my title, to reflect on the two languages and cultures that have influenced me, for better or for worse, the most in my life. I wanted to create a space that my younger self would have wanted, and benefited from. I want to let you in on my world – the trials, tribulations, mishaps, growths, challenges, traumas, the good and the bad – all of it, to showcase life in a way that perhaps, many of us have not been allowed a spotlight on, in all its entirety. To not have to shun parts of life, or ourselves, in favour of preserving appearances that in the end, may sometimes do little more than dehumanize what may be perfectly human. I invite you to read my words with openness; to allow them to stand in solidarity with you where you may see your own challenges in them, and to laugh at the absurdity of it all where at times, it may seem unfathomably ridiculous. Because these are the things that have helped me to heal, and to continue to grow: to be able to share and unite in my pain with friends who gifted me safety in vulnerability, and at other times, to laugh with me through the insanity of it all. My wish for you, is that you may also find such healing here, or at least, the courage to look it in the eye and think: I can do this, too. So, hala, hello, and welcome to my world.
Halahealing 
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