My precious city...

Dearest...

 I don't know what to say or where to start from. I won't talk you through everything that happened today, but you can just go and read my tweets... then, you might understand.

Today, this precious city that I live in got wounded. Four explosions, 6 killed, 62 injured. I saw the smoke from the office window...

Sad that this has to happen. I feel like I owe those six police men my life. I feel guilty that I am alive and they're dead. Salute! Salute! Salute!

The place where the incident took place is my route to and from work every single day. Every morning and afternoon. Could have been me. Could have been any of my relatives, family and friends.

I hope this united us and makes us stronger. I know it will. It must.


Good night
Saza - I love Erbil too much, I can't see it like this.

The journey... continues

Dearest,

Love your job. 

That's it. I am leaving the fancy office, the whole "Director" title and everything else that goes with it.

Saza will be teaching. While I am a little nervous about the experience SK and some of my close friends have been very supportive. Of course, there are the individuals who think I am out of mind for leaving behind a job that not many people my age can have. Still. I have done what makes me happy. For now.

Yay!! That means I can finally wear some flat shoes, jeans and I can say bye-bye to my row of formal black blazers, who happily said "Good Morning" to me for the past ten months.

Don't get me wrong. Until about 8 weeks ago I was definitely in a dream job, starting a career and loving every step. However, I am a strong believer that things happen in our life for a reason, and we always change. It reached a point where I wanted something more than just a 9 to 5 (correction, 8:30 to 4:30) job. I can go on and explain my reasons forever, but don't worry I won't. 

Love

Saza - wish me luck! It is going to be a very interesting experience. By the way, working on the 2nd Edition of  the book My Nest in Kurdistan with some parts that have never been read before. 

Mayada

Dearest,

Mayada 

Today I spoke to Mayada on the phone. She is the Iraqi woman that Jean Sasson wrote about, in her
book "Mayada." For someone who reads a book, bonds closely with it, and then somehow, someday her wish comes true and she meets the character in real life... sometimes you get disappointed and at other times you are happy.

Previously, I was in contact with Jouana (Love in a Torn Land) and our phone conversation was long, in depth and I must admit she was everything that was built and created in my mind. Today, Mayada, when I heard her voice on the phone (this is after email exchanges) my heart sank. Why didn't I say Ms. Mayada? How about Auntie Mayada? She sounded a little older on the phone. And here I am, casually referring to her by her first name, as if we were lifetime friends.

It was one of those moments I will cherish for a long time. And you know what? She is going to send me a signed copy of her book....

Before I say goodnight

Dearest,

Just wanted to come by and say alhamdulilah* for everything in my life.

The highlight of my day? SK and I went to a few places, I won't give details. But once I got back home it really hit me the difference between wealth and poverty; the high and low class. I have always taken note, and I hope I have never ignored the fact that even my own society is unfair--and probably my own living standards--but today I saw two worlds right after the other. Yet so different from one another.

I just wish I don't become the sort of person who can live only in one world and forget the other. We don't count or realize out blessings until we see the lives of others. You know what's weird? We call people that are not well off financially 'less fortunate' but I have truly come to believe that they are not less fortunate. The real 'less fortunate' people are those who are well off and decide not to look at those under them or those behind them.


Lots of love
Saza - I miss two things: 1. Pura Gulizard at the elderly people's home and Mam Khalil and his teashop.

p.s. Today marked three months since I said "I do."


*The International word (Islamic word I guess) for thanking God, Allah.

Quick update

So...

Dearest,

I am work at the moment (on lunch break)  - earlier this week I wrote a blog entry on how few of my friend and people I know could help the individuals in the Domiz refugee camp. I am so happy with the response. I got a few emails that really made me happy. Including two people who said they are willing to sponsor an entire at the camp every month.

Here is an email I received this morning:


Dear Sazan, 

As per you blog, I would like to help if I can.  I would like to donate a few more items to whomever you would see fit that I have.  

But more importantly I would like to make a regular monthly payment of $###,## to an individual, or family to assist in supporting, and resettling them.  Either one of the cases you have already mentioned, or another that you identify as being in need. 

Please let me know hoe this can be facilitated.

You are an inspiration to us all, and it is the least I can do to help

Best wishes

***** ***

A few other people are doing little fundraisers. So happy and proud.

Meanwhile, next stop will be South Africa for a summit. Will keep you posted what happens there. I am not sure how it is going to be, but I am representing Kurdish youth, I would like to think I can fairly represent Kurds. I just wish these meetings and summits was not just empty talks but action follows, because there are thousands of meetings and discussions that take place but rarely do we see people going out there and doing something.

Much love

Saza - 

Updates

Dearest..

It has been a while.

No. It is not that I had nothing to write or I was busy, in fact yes I was busy, but that is not the reason why I haven't written. There is so much going on. Day by day this wold disappoints me more and more and here I am with some amazing people doing my best to fix or help in fixing the little cracks I see. At least it makes me feel better.

What shall I write to you about?
Shall I tell you about the kids at the orphanage? Or shall I share with you the stories of the youth at the refugee camp? Shall I speak of the girls who wish to go back to their studies but are spending their days in a tiny tent with six other people? Shall I speak of the conditions of disabled people or the neglect of the old and sick?

My mind goes a million places every second. Sometimes I ask myself how it is that I can still smile and enjoy my days while taking in the suffering of all these people who I see in my daily life.

We spent some days at the refugee camp. One day, we left the camp to go to Duhok. I had taken in all that had happened in the previous days and stayed very strong. The second the doors to the car closed, and it was only the driver and my two colleagues (also trainers) I could no longer hold it in, all the way to Duhok I just cried. Like a baby I cried, because I couldn't fool myself, Saza could not change what she wanted to change. This time Saza could not.

On a daily bases I kept a diary in the camp, I will type them out and post them on the blog.

For now shawshad
Saza - I can't change the world. I know I can't. But at least I can try.