Posts in Letters from Ljubljana

He would have turned 89 today. The last time we spoke on the phone was three years ago for his birthday. I was still hoping that I would be able to visit him again in the summer, but I was stuck in Saudi Arabia because of you know what. A month later, I couldn’t even go to his funeral.

He never met Tamer, I didn’t explain to him about my trips to Egypt and Sudan and then about moving to live with my husband in Jeddah.

My grandfather’s dementia hit us all pretty hard. When he was gone, the bad days were forgotten. There are only the good old days left, with the mischievous smile of a gentleman from Šiška, who went every day at the same time to the store to buy the same kind of bread buns and then for a cappuccino in the neighboring cafe.

Tamer and I went to Žale cemetery today. We stopped at the grave, which I myself have visited several times. It was a nice day. Happy birthday, Grandpa.

Funny things have been happening lately. On the one hand, they slow me down, but on the other hand, I often say to myself: “damn it, start doing everything you’ve dreamed of, regardless of others.”
A lot of us complain about the algorithm. How our instagram accounts aren’t going anywhere. Mine has been at the same number of followers for a year. But my reach often even exceeds the 50 percent share. Something’s not right. I wonder what I’m doing wrong. They tell me nothing. That I have substance, that I am not shallow. It’s true. I’m not selling anything. Could this be the problem?

I also don’t like to expose my husband all the time because it feels cheap. I praise him too much, I know. Then you are so happy when I take a picture of him. And questions, what does Tamer think about this and that, how is Tamer doing in Slovenia? At one point, I was baffled and thought to myself, “am I his lawyer, agent or something like that?” Whoever I am, I will never be a woman behind a man. I support Tamer in every possible way, as he also supports me. His success is my success, and vice versa.
But these nuggets really grind my gears: “I love following you two so much” or “I enjoy reading the two of you.”

*Looking around to see where the second person in this duet is writing this.*

Not a single text is seen by Tamer before posting. I am not asking him for his opinion or permission. Every word is mine and the English translation as well. This is not “our” account.
I know that I could easily gain a few thousand more followers with cutesy everyday videos of what we do, what we eat, what we laugh at. We could be so deliciously charming. We could pose as a wonderful mixed couple decoration hosted by a larger account, hungry to diversify its beige influence.

Last time I also heard a funny spicy sarcastic remark that we are doing too well. That I love my husband, I don’t complain about him… That’s really not interesting. There is no scandal. There wasn’t one even in Saudi Arabia because he didn’t confiscate my documents, and now there’s no reason to worry in Slovenia.
How do I proceed? Should I switch from writing to another medium, because most people don’t read anyway, they just like pretty pictures? Shall I take off my last reins of self-censorship, and welcome the devil-may-care attitude?

Last night, sitting in the loge, I look around the hall, from stage across the ground floor and a little higher… Unsuspectedly I invited in a memory of when my aunt took me to the opera for the first time. We went to see La Traviata. “We were sitting right up there. My God. That was exactly 20 years ago,” I realize out loud.

Tamer and I listened to Troubadour for the first time last night. “Are you sure you want to come along? I don’t want you to get bored…” I double-checked before buying the tickets. He didn’t let me scare him away.

The last tuning of the orchestra always caresses my ears and gives me goosebumps. I missed this! Curtain up, it’s time for some magic. The lead tenor was disappointing. That can happen too, I guess. But the spell worked for the mezzo-soprano. Her gypsy brought me to tears. After about an hour came the intermission. I look at Tamer and dare not predict his reaction.

“Amazing. What voices! How can they sing for so long and with such volume?”

“Does that mean you like it? Shall we go again some time?”

“Yes, of course! Please, let’s go again soon.”

A few years ago, someone told me that I had to come to terms with the fact that life is pretty unexciting, quite lame to be exact. At some point, you just go from day to day, and moments of joy may slip by every now and then. “No,” I said. “I am not settling for that.”

I choose a life that is as grand or even bigger than the opera. There is no shortage of disappointments, but my stage will always be filled with stories of greatness.

When I was in the desert, I missed the rain. On this soaking 2nd of May in Ljubljana, I’ve had enough of it. Enough!

But without it there is no greenery. There are no lush canopies in the desert where a black bird and a sparrow and a tit are waiting for the drops to give way to their singing.

These days, I find myself missing Ramadan. This year’s fasting month, which was so lovely in Ljubljana. And the Eid that followed. In this green city of Ljubljana.

He was waiting for me at the airport. I arrived in the middle of the night, for the first time alone on a plane, for the first time so far away from home.

After more than a year, we had to make this leap, to overcome the distance. He was not welcome in Slovenia back then, or rather, Austria did not let him into Schengen territory. So I came a little over half way to meet him Egypt.

He was waiting for me at the airport. I still remember his hands in his pockets, the pacing and his broad smile. How nervous he was. When we finally locked eyes through the transparent fences, hearts in our chests could only be silenced by the loud hustle and bustle of the airport at the last baggage check.

And then there was no more ocean or thousands of kilometers between us, only one more step to make for an embrace.

We held hands for the first time in the taxi. Only this last piece was missing, and the puzzle was complete.

Four years ago today, he was waiting for me at the airport. And there was an adventure waiting for us.

Eid means a holiday in Arabic, Bayram in Bosnian and Turkish. Thus, at the end of Ramadan, when the month-long fast comes to an end, it is time for a celebration that lasts for 3 days.

If you’re at a loss for how to wish your co-workers, classmates, or friends who are celebrating, save this post for a cheat sheet.

“Eid Mubarak” comes in handy in any Arabic speaking country.

“Bayram Sheríf Mubarek Olsun” is a well-known phrase in the Bosnian-speaking Muslim community.

“Bayramınız Mübarek Olsun” can be said in Turkish language.

“Happy Eid. Joyous Bayram. Happiness and health and full of blessings to you on your holiday…” You can use all these in a sincerity in Slovenian. It’s the thought that counts.

“I’ve never seen you so happy about getting your period before,” my husband tells me, with a genuine smile on his face.

I am pressing pause on my Ramadan fast today. My body needs a break. The joy is not here (only) for food and drink during the day. I am quite content because my physical and emotional state of the last few days tried to tell me that I am not irritable and gloomy for no reason. That my cycle is approaching a new beginning and that I will be able to devote myself to rest without any guilt.

I admit, just yesterday I told Tamer that I was looking forward to a cup of coffee on the balcony during the day, because I’m expecting my period soon.

“I see you’re already making plans,” he teased me.

Before dawn, I felt quite miserable at ‘sahur’. Slight headache and unexplained fatigue, soon joined by actual nausea. Once I discovered the reason behind it all later in the morning, I announced it with a full blown excitement.

Soon after, I put my plan into action. Alhamdulillah for everything. For Tamer, for coffee and for the joy that I have the opportunity to share with you, without any shame.

“What will Ramadan be like in Ljubljana,” I was asking myself. Will it be easier or harder to fast? There are lower temperatures, but on the other hand, days are much longer.

My month of fasting this time is, at least according to my personal experience, incomparably easier than the past three years in Saudi Arabia.

Despite a much higher level of productivity and physical activity, the day passes without any trouble. What surprised me the most was the absence of a headache, it didn’t visit me neither today, nor yesterday, nor even on the first day.

In the hot and humid city of Jeddah, I had to prepare for Ramadan by thoroughly cleaning the house, since I knew that under no circumstances would I go for any deep cleaning of the bathroom. Today, for example, Tamer and I tidied up the whole apartment and swept the building corridor, which we are in charge of (right this month).

The only thing I really miss is the adhan. The one in the morning to wake me up, in case my phone alarm fails me. And the one at sundown, which would make the end of fasting much more celebratory.

As I write this short letter, the eggs are boiling on the stove. The table is almost ready. We just have to put the bread and cutlery on the placemats, and it will be time for iftar.