A simple girl, a brave girl, a quiet girl.

She lived the first twelve years of her life helping her mother in the kitchen and occasionally aiding her eldest brother’s wife with her babies and her chores. Somewhere in the 1960s Anbar, Iraq.

 A simple girl, a little girl, a happy girl, a sparkling girl.
Fields, sunshine, and clay tandoor ovens… 5AM wake ups and long walks to the shops. It goes without saying that tradition was different six decades ago than how it is today.
Waking up at dawn, doing house chores, baking bread in the clay oven, tending for the children, running errands and preparing a lunch tray for her father to bring to him at his shop.
Another father sees her and asks the family for her hand in marriage for his son. The son claims to have turned down about thirty potential brides and that claim was true. A seventeen year old boy with a knack for driving his car beyond the borders, adventuring. A wild but gentle, tall and tanned boy with the yellowest of eyes hiding behind big glasses. She was a short girl with the fairest of skins and eyes the color of the soil she tends to in her family’s garden.
The kids met and apparently they felt something for each other, got married with the flashiest 3 day long wedding and a new life starting. 4 kids later they moved out of his family’s house into a house of their own.
She lived her life maintaining that big house and taking care of her four loud kids  trying her best to avoid their pranks. She was content with this life and still is. She bargained her way through shopping, traveled alone to countries, planted many things for the kids to eat from, oranges, pears, figs, bananas, tomatoes, mulberries, basils and palm tree dates. She played video games while her kids were trying to convince her to give them a turn. She tried to learn to drive but the school kids passing the street were terrified of her driving, she was forbidden from ever sitting behind the wheel again. To many, the start of her story seems a bit worrisome but she never complained and never regretted it. A girl that did not know what she was doing, relying on tradition and what is known to be the best thing to do. A life starting way too early, yet she seemed to love it so much. Wearing many many jewels, she loved the leadership of it all, the control she had, the love of her family and the fun of the kids around her. 

A daughter living in that same old house, eating those oranges had a different story, a different perspective and a different life than her mother, the simple girl. She craved attention that she rarely got, an understanding that was barely met. Yet it never stopped either of them from being the women that they are. 
a brown eyed girl, with long and beautiful hair, a fair skin yet somehow less fair than her mother’s. Living her life misunderstood and a bit enraged because of it all. A different girl than her mother or her sister for that matter. An enraged girl, a brave girl, a spoken girl, a funny girl. A reader of books, a writer of some sort, a knitter of fabulous clothings and a cook of many yummy things. She lived a life somehow spoiled somehow not, there is food on the table but maybe not enough attention.
A life that started from the midst of the 1970s Baghdad, Iraq. Where she was living a double life of wildness and bravery in secret and a well behaved daughter of a businessman in the light. Living an action film life living for the thrill and the adrenaline of it all. Going on many missions as if she was a superhero, a vigilante of some caliber. A mission to help a girl that was about to be killed by her family to escape and start a new life with a husband. missions to help anyone and everyone in need get a better life. Never stood silent even if she could help it even if it was not her business. The life of the party girl, turns your stomach upside down laughing girl, the center of attention girl, the dream girl. A girl that knew exactly what she was doing. 

Then she married and had one daughter. The husband passed after a mere 5 years, he was tall, tan skinned with hazel eyes and the quietest of attitudes, he loved her so. Now she is on a mission of single motherhood. A work-hard-never-ask-anyone-for-anything mission raising that little girl by her own terms without a care in the world to anyone’s opinion. Ten years of hard work to provide for the little girl. Maybe provided too much and too little of her presence. She Gets remarried and finally has someone to rely on. Still going on missions but now she has a partner in crime. Some say he was the male version of her. 

A granddaughter, an offspring of both these two women. A half and half of them, a carefree, a bit confused and a quiet girl with a heart that beats loud when she is nervous, a good friend, an artist, a writer and an observant. Tanned skin, two green eyes, A slim tender girl. trying her best to maintain friendships and relationships. Sometimes socially under trained other times the most confident woman in the lot. An understander of people, giving you the benefit of the doubt that she never got. Gives you the space she rarely had. A girl that has no skill in showing emotions, cooks for you to let you know though, show you a good time as a thank you girl. She married her best friend, loves her so boy, makes her laugh boy. She enjoys her own company yet she is the friend that gathers everyone around the table and bakes for them. The eldest grandchild and some say the favorite. Yet she contradicts their teachings, disapproves of many of their traditions, she is the one to call out the nonsense and redirect the lot towards a better direction. An only child, a lone soul, a sock puppet master. A reader of books and a painter of some sort of urban life. 
A quiet girl, a caring girl, a smart girl, a simple, happy, sparkling, brave, enraged and a spoken girl, a collage of generations came before and a blueprint for generations to come. Lived a fun yet an odd childhood, overshadowed by a mother, maybe because she wasn’t as brave or as outspoken but definitely got that same fire. Never considered herself the main character, that was her mother’s role. A bolter on occasion, stays out to not be home. A girl that wanted to breathe but never found air. A girl that chose to do things differently than those who came before her. Break cycles or maintain ones. That is up to her. To paint the newly updated family portrait. Be the new architect. Decide on what to keep and what to throw away. 

Is it this or is it that? A bottomless pit that question is…reviewing the artifacts and going through the evidence that led all those generations to this point. Has she been in her right mind or has she gone crazy in this lot? A simple girl or a brave girl or a quiet girl? Who was more right? Who lived a better life? Who should we learn from and who should we not? A quote says:

“the ones that don’t respect the past are doomed to repeat it”

but how can someone know if they are repeating it or if it is simply a choice that had to be made regardless of the endless promises made to break the loop. Is learning about who came before us enough or is practice a requirement? Do I have enough peace in me to accept the flaws of the past or is rage still a good thing? Do I need to calm down or can I cry? Would they understand or would they not? Do they realize all of this though? Or do they not? Is caring still an option or do I have to forget about all of that?…A simple girl or a brave girl or a quiet girl?

Written in English by: Athraa Hussam Aldeen

English Editor : Tarneem Maitham

Translated to Arabic by: Zainab Emad

Arabic Editor : Zainab Emad

Translated and edited in Kurdish by: Mir Haval Mohammed