The Underdog

The Underdog!

I’m watching the World Cup games and as usual, I’m cheering for the ‘underdog’ team to win. I always cheer the underdog.

And whenever I see an underdog team win, I remember. ..

Let me take you with me back to 2001.

I had just moved to a new school (the international one I was telling you guys about) and I was supposed to be starting 7th grade.

That meant, that I would be taking 7th grade Arabic. In the school that I had attended previously, I had studied Arabic but the majority of the students had not, and it had been regarded as ‘an extra, minor subject”.
The new school I enrolled in…saw it much more differently.

In fact, it turned out that Arabic had the same amount of credit points as ‘Math”, “English”, “Science”. That meant, it counted.

Very seriously.

[The language that was considered ‘a minor subject’ was French. We all had to take it, but it didn’t really count much. And yeah, when I joined, I knew zero French! But that’s another story ;)]

I remember looking around me in my Arabic class and realizing that that in terms of the skills of reading, writing, speaking I was – how to put this lightly- far behind the other students.

That was not very good for the self-esteem of a *teacher-proclaimed perfectionist*.

I was used to getting straight A’s in all/most of my subjects, but man,
I could tell I would not be getting an in A in that Arabic class!

In fact, it was obvious to me and everyone, that I was one of ‘the worst’ in the class.

I also still remember the very first test we had in that class and the way I studied for it for hours. I memorized all the vocabulary words, their meanings, went over the questions that we covered in class again and again, etc.

The day of the test I was ready.

When I saw the test paper,
I wanted to cry.

The first question was a ‘comprehension passage’. One of the questions he had asked us was for us to read passage, understand its context, and provide the antonym for a selected word.

I understood the passage. I understood the meaning of that selected word in that context. But I could not for the life of me remember the Arabic antonym of it. I just didn’t have that vocabulary ‘at my disposal’.

Another question he asked was ‘provide the singular or plural’ form of the following word (I can’t remember which). In English, this would be a ridiculous question since plurals are formed by adding an ‘s’. Not so, in Arabic. Although we have 2 ‘obvious patterns’, we also have one form known as the ‘Broken Plural”, sorta like the English exceptions. I knew the teacher wasn’t trying to be hard but again, I had no idea what the answer was.

There were several other questions, as well. They were all ‘basic’ questions, things that were meant to raise your grade not lower your grade, but they really weren’t helping mine!

I still remember my grade. I ended up getting a 23 out of 30.

Basically a C+.

The funny thing was that my teacher was so impressed with that. 

Yeah, you could tell he didn’t think I was going to do to good in that class, either.

I mean, I remember him actually suggesting that if I was able to get that, the other students should have done really well, too. [He said that because by then he knew that I hadn’t studied Arabic the way they had and that unlike many of them, English was my native language, so he wasn’t trying to be offensive. Unlike me, they had messed up on the stuff that we had gone over in class, lol.]

Anyways, I could not accept getting a C in my report card. It wasn’t about the grade. It was that I knew in my heart, I could do better. I could!

And this has always been one of the rules I have lived by: if you can do better, than do better. No excuses. Even if means a lot more work, a lot more time, do it. Give the world the best you’ve got. That’s the standard that we should try to reach—our own best.

So I tackled Arabic.
We wrestled…

I didn’t get a C,
And I didn’t get an A.

I got a B.

Definitely not bad—my teacher was thrilled, ecstatic, lol.

But me?

I still knew I could do better.

My next goal was to just get an A.

I was able to barely reach that goal.

Slowly, I was starting to be considered one of the good students in Arabic class, although to be honest, I was still very hesitant and shy to ‘speak Arabic’. I also barely volunteered to read aloud in class. The other students still sounded ‘better than me’, and besides our book did not have the ‘harkaat’ or small vowels that are supposed to appear on the letters- I knew I would read it all wrong.

It was 2006, though, that was the ‘sweetest’ year.

I was in 12th grade then. We were mostly taking Arabic poetry and our teacher obviously expected us to read the poetry aloud. One day, we were reading one of the poems and to my surprise the teacher said she wanted us to read with ‘passion/really let the words come alive’.

To my shock, she called on me.

I think the whole class was stunned because deep down inside, I am pretty sure no one thought of me as a ‘reader’ (not in Arabic, at least).

Then came time for the final final Arabic exam. That exam was not written by my own Arabic teacher. It was written by a group of teachers outside of our school and was given to all schools across the country by the Ministry of Education.

That meant that I was being tested the same as students all over the country [private school students].

I took the test.
We finished school.

It was time for the graduation ceremony.


May 29, 2006.

As I stood there on the stage, the announcer began to speak of the students who had excelled in certain subjects. They passed out an award to the senior who did best in physics, math, English, etc.
And then…
They said “Arabic”,
And they called on me.

And I ,
Who had started out back in 2001 as the underdog,
Went
And collected my award.

What a Genius She is...

Asalamu aliakuam wa rahmat Allah wa barkatoo and HellOOo!

Guest post today by my very dear friend sister. She writes poetry but usually doesn't share it with anyone (other than me), but finally I convinced her to let me post some. Yes, most of the world doesn't know that behind these peering brown eyes is a poet...

Some day, though, they will know...the people who pass her by...what a genius she is! Some day :)

"When I Grow Up"

When I grow up, I’ll

I’ll…

I’ll shake hands with the man on the moon

Twirl with the stars

Dive in black holes and…

And race comets in the night,

I said.

“Silly, girl. You can’t do that.

Now, class, let us think of something she can do”,

My teacher said.

Twenty years later, I sat down for dinner with my family. After sitting alone for eight hours at a desk (alone except for a never ending stack of papers, which only seemed to grow and loom over me), it felt good to be alive.

 “Did you see the snow?” my father asked.

“What snow? It can’t snow here. We’re in a desert,” I said, laughing at the thought.

“I guess no one told the sky that,” my father answered.

“Because it’s snowing.”

 

A  Happy Family

He sat

Eyes super-glued to the screen,

Oblivious to everything

Like he was in his own glass booth

Or bubble

His eyes never blinked

Piercing eyes

Which never saw anything

His son sat

Glued like him to the TV

Stuck to the sofa

And except for his mouth,

which sang along with the commercials,

every damn one of them,

He never moved

Just sat, a ghost frozen in place

His wife was out

Shopping

For things that never seemed to end

But which they always seemed to need

Out with her friends

And she’d come home late

After they’d fallen asleep,

Like she always did

His daughter was on the phone

Again

Hidden from view

In her room

Her door locked

Her voice a whisper

And she giggled into the phone

And they were all happy

Each in their own world

One happy family-

Perfect strangers 

Happy- alone.

-------(New poem which purposefully doesn't have a title)

I woke up today morning

Without a voice

Opened my mouth

Nothing came out

Not a mutter, not a whisper,

Not even a croak

Nothing at all

At lunch, my mother came over

Began talking to me about this and that

And as I pointed frantically,

 with my hands, to my throat

Tried to mouth out what was wrong

My mom looked at me,

Glasses resting on her nose

And said,

“You never listen” and carried on…

Later at night,

After my fiancé called,

And I’d gone to work,

And watched the news,

I realized

Nothing had changed

And no one had noticed

No one at all

---

And one final short story by me (it's less than 500 words as the challenge was) that her second poem reminded me of. 

Crumbs of a Family

            I remember how it used to be. I remember how we’d all be sitting around the dinner table, waiting for the sun to set so that we could break our fast. I remember the noise. There were always four conversations going on at once. My big brother would be discussing something about the university with my dad, and at the same time, he would be arguing with my mother about his engagement party. My sister and I would be laughing over something that happened in class, and my younger brother would be talking to himself. It wasn’t always the same people talking to each other, but there was always somebody talking to somebody, even themselves. I remember the crunching and munching noises. I remember how it used to be if somebody slurped. I remember how I would tense up, sigh and glower all at the same time at the offender. I remember how I was always annoyed at all the noise around me. Why couldn’t everybody just be quiet for once? Why couldn’t we be a normal family? I remember how I would complain that the way certain members of the family ate made my appetite go away. I remember. And now, my father works overtime. My big brother lives far away, with his wife in a different house. My sister eats dinner with her friends out. My younger brother skips dinner to play soccer outside. And now, only my mother and I dine together in silence, and I wonder…What happened to the family? I hit my spoon against my bowl. Anything to break the dreaded silence. And I remember. How alive we used to be.

P.S. It really did SNOW in the desert (in certain parts of the UAE and of Saudi Arabia) in recent years.

P.S.S.