Losing sight

I had found my glasses emptying out the last box I had here.

I’ bought the glasses a few years ago – and I thought I had lost them at a friend’s house – but all along, they were tucked in a cabinet where I kept my tax files.

One side was loose giving it a crooked appearance.

I placed them on my face and the world seemed clearer. I guess, I’d been living in such a way, where I felt like my vision wasn’t a priority.

In a sense, when I thought I had lost these glasses — I kind of, well, lost my way.

And now that I’ve found my direction in life, I can see a bit clearer.

I left the glasses on and in front of me stood my beautiful mother.

Fussing over little details, worrying too much over my sisters and I.

I told her I read a poem today:

My mother had acknowledged that the poem had a strong level of truth behind it — but that her children weren’t the turning point in her life — escaping a country and coming to this one was.

I had sympathized.

I began to picture my mother and father in love. Her in a pencil skirt with a button-up chemise tucked in–and, my father with a groomed face in a fitted suit. Both young, in love and attending university in Mosul.

Maybe it happened once for a brief moment. Maybe the love made her so happy then, that nothing could compare now.

My imagination helped me cope.

I don’t know what it’s like losing a country. I was far too young to understand what was going on.

And I’m not sure if I could ever cure my mother of her sadness from it.

However, one thing is for sure: I’ve lost sight of my own world — once, too often. Days I took for granted.

Moments like hearing my niece tell me she enjoys writing.

Her voice replays in my mind again.

I’m glad I didn’t get to miss out on that, even if it meant losing a country – and sight of my own world.

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