Week 18, 2026: The Nap
I have a guestbook now. Yay.
My mother and I have been hanging out a lot this week. I took her to watch what would turn out to be terrible stand-up. On the way there, I reminded her that comics are evil and would do anything for a laugh, even if it’s mock a beautiful smart woman like her, and so we should do our best not to stand out. She got a raspberry thing and I got a ginger mule minus the vodka. We couldn’t agree on where we should say we’re from if they were to pick on us, so it’s a good thing they never did. I think I laughed three times and she five.
We passed by the boutique in the Louvre (Gulf edition) a few days later because I wanted a cute postcard to send to Toronto. I read the French captions on the back of Picasso postcards and we made disgruntled faces. When I read aloud the caption (Alqailoula / The Nap) for a piece by Iraqi painter Jewad Selim, we knew it had to be the one. I got the bookmark version too. Cutesies. Museum and gallery boutiques make for wonderful gift shops.
There’s a big emotional part to my week that’s not worth getting into here, though it has shaped my days enough to merit a mention. My mother has been a gift of a person to have by my side to chat through it all. Over a stuffed focaccia in the harbour; while trying on mesh flats in the souk; on the way home from the faraway beach. My grandmother helped too, in her own way. While teary-eyed, I asked her to tell me the story of Moses, so she did.
I’ve finished watching HBO Girls. I can't decide on which girl I am, maybe a mix of Hannah and Shosh. I had one eye on the screen and another auditing everything I own. I’m lucky to have grown up with a maximalist mother who inspired me to keep every journal I’ve ever owned but it was time for some of them to go. Some birthday cards and photo albums too. My oud is still on sale but to no avail. Another necessitated minimalist era.
On my Sunday evening walk along the shore, I was pleasantly surprised to find a couple swimming. I’ve never seen people swim here in the dark without the company of a man in a buggy flashing a light in their eyes and informing them that post-sunset swimming is not allowed. Twenty minutes after I passed them, I saw a buggy heading their way and it made me smile to know they had more time to splish and splash.