WT_ Iam

Defining moments, turning points, the evolution of a personality.

Woman Today presents stories of an eclectic set of women who speak of the experiences that have made them

who they are.

i am Happiness is a discipline

In times of war...

I know what motivates me, what I love doing, what my passions in life are. I try to not just create room or time for those things in my life, I live them, writes Hillary Kozma.

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omen often tell me what a positive person I am, and ask what my secret is. The truth is, I have no secret. I do, however, have a recipe, and the ingredients are rather simple: A generous scoop of just being myself, a dash of creating my life the way I want it, a pinch of doing what makes me happy, a spoonful of positive energy.

Happiness rarely shows up on our doorstep out of the blue. Happiness is a discipline. We must practice creating it every day, and cannot wait for others to do it for us. Polonius’s celebrated words “to thine own self be true” to me means we can only be truly happy when we are being ourselves. These simple words are a powerful force that drive me in my everyday life. By being myself, I can achieve great happiness. I am lucky enough to have parents who always encouraged me to be myself, and do what makes me happy.

You want to grow up and train horses? Great!

You want to be an artist? Do it!

The emphasis was never “do what will earn the most money”. It was always “do what you love, do it well, do it to be happy, and the rest will follow.” And now I have a husband who supports me in the same way. I am lucky the people I love allow me the freedom to be me. I own my own business here in Qatar – a hair salon.

I absolutely love my business and am so thankful for the opportunity to be creative, artistic and make women feel good about themselves on a daily basis. They say you know what you are passionate about if you would do it for free. For me, I combined what I am passionate about doing, with business. And success followed that.

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June 2010

If I were to live my life to please everyone else, or change my personality to fit in, I wouldn’t be true to myself. I believe in not letting anyone else define who I am, or what I can achieve. To be myself, I must know myself.

I know what motivates me, what I love doing, what my passions in life are. I try to not just create room or time for those things in my life, I live them. If I am true to myself, I am an artist. I love to create. In fact, I think of my life like a canvas, and my passions are my paints. They colour my life.

Am I always positive? Am I always happy?

No, no one is perfect. But I try to be consistent.

I avoid negative people and generic mainstream conformity. Instead, I like to surround myself with people who are positive, have a zest for life, and are not afraid to be an individual. I believe in the power of positive energy. All energy is neutral until we personalise it with our thoughts, attitude and actions. If you are negative, you tend to attract negative. On the other hand, if you are positive, you attract positive people, opportunities and experiences to you. I do not create positive energy to hoard it and keep it to myself.

I love to spread it around to all I come in contact with. I encourage my employees to practice positive energy. Customers have repeatedly told me what an impact the good energy in the salon has on them, and how our being positive uplifts their spirit. In this very small way, I feel like I make the world a better place.

Hillary is the owner of Glow American Salon & Spa.

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hen there is a war in your country, your whole perspective changes. You don’t make long-term decisions, you think of the present moment; or just a day of being with your family and those close to you, of being safe and alive. I had not just the family and my children to think about, but my staff too.

It goes without saying that business was badly affected. Paying the salaries was also difficult. But the one good thing that happened to me, paradoxically, happened as a result of the war in Lebanon. Since business was badly affected, we thought of expanding to the Middle East and that was the best decision we made during the bad times. This decision also broadened my view about my goals. It made me think that nothing is impossible; it made me dream on... I learnt to survive, each day with a fresh zest.”

Happiness rarely shows up on our doorstep out of the blue. Happiness is a discipline. We must practice creating it every day, and cannot wait for others to do it for us

The Temple of Peace In a remote Buddhist monastery, Vaida V Nairn finds inner peace.

Christine Assouad Sfeir is CEO of Dunkin Donuts and Semsom – a Lebanese restaurant with a twist, that will soon be set-up in Doha.

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hen the news sprung that I have been selected to participate in a student exchange program in Japan, there was no end to my excitement.

At first I was rejoicing rather gingerly as if not to chase my luck away.

I realised that I had been awarded with a unique chance to get to know Japanese culture, its people, their customs and lifestyle at close quarters. As I was quite interested in Zen Buddhism, this news also augured that I will have an opportunity to visit many Buddhist temples and who knows, maybe even meditate with real Zen Buddhist monks and learn lots of secrets about Zen teachings from them!

Before long, I was rejoicing over my realised dream more loudly as I was walking up a winding mountain steep path leading to the Temple of Peace. My backpack was weighing my shoulders down, but the good mood was inexhaustible and I was humming to myself while surveying stunning summer scenery on the way to my long-thought-after destination. I felt embraced and refreshed by the green peacefulness of the forested mountains and I felt spellbound by the mist which was soaring up from the meadows into the sky and right above my head it was turning into the clouds. This serene and placid beauty will stay with me forever as an everlasting moment of splendour.

The temple I was heading to for a three week stay was built in 1923 in Kyoto, the ancient capital of Japan. In the late sixties the temple has been moved to this remote place, but has never had its own parishioners, thus there is a minimum of Buddhist services available. However, it is a fairly lively place with several monks residing permanently and visitors coming here from all parts of the world to experience life in a Zen Buddhist community (sangha).

This temple attracts many people as it has always been known for its hospitality and devotion to pure and simple practice of sitting meditation (zazen) around which the life of the temple revolves. The temple is self-sufficient, thus everyday schedule consists not only of several hours of meditation, but also, quite a few hours of work (samu) on the farm and in the forest. The monks do not seek to lead an ascetic way of life just for the sake of it, but they rather aim to experience life

as it is and as it unfolds here and now and work plays a very important part in this process. Thus, guests are asked to participate in the temple’s schedule without fail as it certainly helps the person to review or revolutionise his or her attitudes.

One of the biggest challenges a visitor, especially a beginner like me, can throw down is to take part in a monthly retreat called sesshin. This retreat lasts five days and consists of fifteen hours of meditation a day starting at 4 am and ending at 9 pm. It is interrupted with two ritualised meals, some cleaning and rest at night.

Everything being done in silence [no talking for 5 days - Gulp!] and stillness.

However challenging sesshin would seem to be at first thought, it only presented me with positive lessons of self-discipline, self-discovery and an amazing experience of Zen. It has also gifted me with the most remarkable sounds I have ever heard in my life. And they are the sound of an opening drum of sesshin, which echoed over the mountains intermingling with the singing of the early morning birds; the sound of the monsoon rain which was soothing me back into my meditation every time I thought I could not bear it any longer; and the sound of an inner silence, peace with myself, and unity with the people and world around me.

Besides the meditation and work I have also had the opportunity to use the temple’s library which was teeming with outstanding literature and attend several lectures (dharma) given by the abbot. And what’s more important, I was greatly honoured to spend all this time with and learn a great deal from very experienced monks and other fellow guests. We have all genuinely shared many stories of hardship and self-realisation in order to find our true selves and build a temple of lasting peace within us.

Vaida was born and bred in Lithuania, a small country in the Northern Europe.

Her interest in religion, philosophy and cultures led her to study Theology in Lithuania, and Comparative Culture, Buddhism in Japan, Tokyo. In the summer of 2008 she moved from Tokyo to Doha where she currently lives with her husband and works as a freelance photographer and photojournalist.

2010 June

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i am For all the small things, with great love

Asha Toulmin writes to her parents, because they have made her who she is...

Thank you for being the best doctors, psychiatrists, chefs and chauffeurs in the world. While I’ve now moved on from your services, I realise I should have been paying more attention so I can be as good for my future kids

I am not just ‘I’ F Shalinee Bhardwaj finds in herself the reflection of the women who created the I.

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June 2010

ace mirrors what’s in the mind” and when I see this face in the mirror it tells me lots more than just that. I, who started as a foetus in my mother’s womb, combined and contained in my egocentric child’s frame, now stands branched out, diversified and shared.

Born as the third child to my doting parents, I have spent all my formative years in India, Delhi, except for a short phase of my childhood which was in Tripoli, Libya.

Often described as the fair, shy girl, good in studies at school, I expend a major chunk of my time observing and just observing people and places that have always captivated my attention. My subject of study (Botany/Plant Sciences) brought me closer to nature and its intricate life forms and phenomenon. From being a Lecturer in Education to a writer in magazine, I seemed to have taken a twisted path but at the end of the day I feel happy to have done justice to my interests.

Today, I see myself as the product of my three mothers.

My biological Mummy who gifted upon me the virtues of good health and wisdom and who is patient enough to tolerate all my eccentricities. I copied her actions; bestowing upon myself her never-failing spirit of standing tall and emerging stronger whatever may come.

The role of a mother passed on to my second mother when I got married at a ripe age of 26

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f I have learned one thing in life, it’s that there is never a wrong time to say thank you. So, at the end of each school year, I write thank you letters. To friends who are graduating, someone who has helped me with a personal problem, or a roommate who has dealt with my socks on the floor and leftovers in the refrigerator. But one of the most important thank you notes I write every year is to my parents. Without them I literally wouldn’t be here. And it’s about time I wrote them another.

Dear Mum and Dad, Thank you for learning how to use Skype. I know it was probably a bit of a challenge, but seeing your faces on my computer screen brings you much closer even though we are continents apart.

Thank you for bringing my favourite meal to the airport when you pick me up, you know the way to your daughter’s heart is through her stomach.

Thank you for trying to embarrass me in innumerable ways.

Even if I was less than happy at the time, it teaches me how to laugh at myself and not take things too seriously.

Thank you for sending me off to a country you had never been to before and being excited with me about it. Knowing you trust me and want the same challenges in life that I want for myself is all I could ever ask for from my parents.

Thank you for the care packages you send me once a year even though I can tell, you had absolutely no clue what to put in them.

Seriously, a plastic scarecrow action figure?

Thank you for standing up against discrimination in front of me - living your morals instead of just telling me about them.

Thank you for the guitar I got for Christmas when I was 12.

Even though I still haven’t learned how to play it.

Thank you for bringing me up to never question interracial relationships, for your love of each other regardless of race and culture, and your unconditional acceptance of each other’s fami-

lies and traditions.

Thank you for giving my sisters and I ridiculous nicknames (just call us Asha “Ten Plates” Toulmin, “Ann Pan buckets of blood” and “Alicia Cupcakes”).

Thank you for making me shovel the driveway and rake the lawn. While I can’t say my muscles are any bigger or stronger, a little manual labour is humbling.

Thank you for being the best doctors, psychiatrists, chefs and chauffeurs in the world. While I’ve now moved on from your services, I realise I should have been paying more attention so I can be as good for my future kids.

Thank you for talking to me on the phone when I’m on my way to class, even though it only takes me five minutes to walk there, making our conversations a little brief.

Thank you for letting me paint my room lime green in 5th grade.

Thank you for forcing me to demand the best for myself, especially when I’m about to give into something I know is wrong.

Thank you for teaching me how to play bridge and other card games. Gin rummy will still be my favourite activity over any movie or video game.

Thank you for a million other things and for being you.

Love, Asha While I can’t sum up everything in one letter, writing things out keeps me grounded. Whether they are a friend, lover or even just an acquaintance, each person you meet helps make you who you are. That is something that should be appreciated.

Asha is an editorial intern with Woman Today and is looking forward to being embarrassingly greeted at the airport by her family on her return to the US.

-- an age when conceived notions had long been cemented and I thought what ‘I’ think is right! With her patient care, she saw me through the difficult phase of studying and succeeding in an exam, a must for my erstwhile career -- a career that gave a boost to my confidence and independence. She teaches me the ways of life in this unsheltered world, to survive amongst strangers by being one of them!

All this time as even now, there is my third mother- my ma’m, my mentor in college and beyond, whose shadow guided me to all the right paths-in studies, career, marriage, and relationships. She opens new vistas of learning for me to explore, always ahead of her times. Inspiring me to spread my wings, she has helped me to think maturely, timely and fairly!

My personality quivers with the daunting waves of living but the pillars are already laid, steadying me at every moment.

‘I’, in all my distinctiveness is probably a synthesis of these three women in my life who look back at me every time ‘I’ gets reflected in the mirror!

Shalinee is a freelance writer who is interested in issues pertaining to childhood education, environment and nature.

My personality quivers with the daunting waves of living but the pillars are already laid, steadying me at every moment.

2010 June

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i am The Muse

Beauty brings pleasure, replenishment, and enrichment. It represents what we feel is good in life, writes Elizabeth Hyland.

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ur search for a villa was over. We’d finally found a place in Doha with large glass doors looking out onto a colourful garden. Tall, leafy trees lined the back wall. Magenta bougainvillea interlaced between them and jasmine entwined thickly around the pillars.

A beautiful garden was almost more important to me than the design of the villa and this one was beautiful.

I knew how lucky I was to find an oasis like this in a desert country. I knew that having this would give me sustenance and inspiration.

I paint, although far be it for me to call myself an artist. I have always been fascinated with the historical role of the muse. Originating from the Greek word mousa, in Greek mythology the word 'muse' refers to any one of the nine daughters of Mnemosyne and Zeus,

Death gave me life

Pausing to take stock of her out-of-balance life saved her, writes Nicole van Hattem.

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June 2010

each of whom presided over a different art or science.

The muse has traditionally been a female source of inspiration for men, inspiring poetry since the time of Chaucer.

But what about we women? It seems to me that in these modern times, any form of extreme beauty can operate as a muse. When beauty is such that we fall into reverie, the mind surrenders to the senses. Suspended in a state of wonderment and even awe, we transcend momentarily the mundane aspects of life. In this engaged, more expansive state we find ourselves fully present in the 'now' – and that is a much-needed thing in our fast-lane, left-brain world.

My garden and the beauty of nature in general has always been my muse. The garden is of itself a work of art, a living, sculptural work in progress, its play of light and colour combining with waves of movement to create a visual symphony for the eyes.

There are no words to describe how I felt the day I arrived at our new villa, a couple of weeks before moving in, to check on maintenance work, only to find every single tree canopy gone, savagely lopped off. Years of verdant growth had been chopped down in a few ghastly seconds. The decapitated trunks were now level with the top of the wall. The bougainvillea and jasmine had been pruned to an inch of their lives.

My muse was gone.

Without the surrounding protective green buffer, the frenetic urban life beyond the walls crashed loudly in.

This was not the villa I had chosen to live in. The experience was highly stressful and left me anxious to find a new muse, a new source of inspiration, to provide a focus of beauty that would stimulate my creativity to spring forth anew.

Beauty generally, not only in my life but in everybody’s brings pleasure, replenishment, and enrichment.

It represents what we feel is good in life. In my mind there exists a kind of continuum by which beauty can

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be quantified, with the skin-deep and pretty on one hand and deep beauty on the other. The location of something on my personal continuum is dependant upon the impact it has upon me. To experience something beautiful at this end of the continuum is profound.

This is where I find my muse.

Nature provides an experience of beauty that is shared universally. A beautiful sunset, the ocean, green forests, blue lakes, snow capped mountain ranges, curvaceous sand dunes can all induce reverie and a sense of the sublime, as can great works of art.

An example of this was the recent magnificent performance of the Carmina Burana by the Qatar Philharmonic Orchestra. With a double choir, celebrated opera singers and the superb direction of Nadder Abbassi, the flamboyant piece was so powerful that the entire audience was on its feet for a standing ovation that seemed endless. I left the auditorium elated, refreshed and feeling like a different person. It was cathartic and on the scale of my continuum, absolutely sublime. Such is the power of good art.

Still mourning my lost foliage, I have immersed myself immediately into a new and urgent creative endeavour, the planting of a new garden. My face is well known at the plant market now. I fear I have become the eccentric lady who buys up to thirty of the same plant a time. “My musings have resulted in my concluding that we should all become beauty activists, to consciously seek out more beauty in our lives. And as I cultivate the emergence of a new muse in my garden, I wish you all well in finding yours.

Elizabeth is originally from Melbourne, Australia, and has a keen interest in both the human potential movement, and the arts, including costume design, painting, music, dance and theatre. She is a nature lover and has a passion for her garden. For the past 20 years Elizabeth has lived as an expatriate in Hong Kong, Sydney, Taipei, Dubai and Doha and has travelled extensively in Asia and around the world.

verything happens for a reason, and sometimes a tragedy can give life a new purpose.

With more than 20 years of the corporate world behind me, I’d achieved great successes in my career, travelled extensively, and filled my life with impressive possessions and stories of adventures. However none of this seemed to fill my life and it felt as if I was dying.

I had no illness that any doctor could label, but my life was dangerously out of balance. Working very long hours in a high stress role, neglecting myself physically and spiritually, my relationship with my husband was strained and I didn’t feel connected to my family or friends.

My mentor, guide and friend, who was also a work colleague, was in a similar state of imbalance. We spent countless hours discussing the needs of the business and its people and lamenting about how stressed we were. Yet neither of us heeded the numerous warning signs, which

To Beg Or Not To Beg

Call it God, call it Karma or whatever other higher force you might believe in, but I have never been in need, nor have I ever been in want, writes Nadira Mendis Amarasinghe.

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k, fine. Let me start off with an admission, I was one of those privileged, indulged children. I am the youngest in my family by quite a few years (not that I am offering that up as an excuse or anything) but to be honest, I had everything a kid could want. If it was “in” I had it: eventually! I say eventually because when I wanted something I got it, but there was a procedure I had to go through, first. It wasn’t whining or demanding, neither was it conniving or scheming. It was simple and straightforward. I just had to beg.

My parents were opposite sides of a coin when it came to “giving”. My mother would indulge me before I even asked. But my father who controlled the lion’s share of the finances was, let’s say, restrained. Ok, make that highly restrained.

Actually, he enjoyed the game of withholding for a while before giving in. When I wanted something I would have to ask for it and the first reaction would be “No”.

If it was something really necessary he would first (almost on principle) fuss about it and only then give it to me. The end result of this stonewalling was that it made ‘getting the object’ a kind of silent game for me. Each time I managed to breach my father’s resistance I felt like I had won a victory.

As an 8-year-old I used to write him “official” letters of request, for a raise in pocket money, listing reason after reason as to why I think I deserve a raise. At 8 it was fun, it made me feel grown up, discoursing with my dad about “money matters”. By the time I reached my teens, it became just plain irritating! Nothing felt worse than having to argue and beg for everything, no matter how small or inconsequential. I still did it though because at thirteen or fourteen nothing mattered more than having the right shoes for an outfit, or the newest style of backpack, or simply engaging in the latest after-school activity. All of this first had to be explained to him, then I had to beg for him to say ‘ok’ and actually by the time I was done with the begging the allure of the new shoes or backpack or the enthusiasm over the new activity would have waned a great deal and it no longer seemed as attractive as it did when I started asking for it.

In Sri Lanka, where I am from, most young people go through what is termed

with hindsight now seem so obvious.

At breaking point another of my friends convinced me to go with her to a health spa for a couple of weeks. I went and had time to reflect, rethink and reinvent. It was a revelation. With new inspiration to make changes, I returned to face the harsh reality of losing my colleague a few days later. He died of a heart attack at the age of 49. For him it was too late.

To say that the intense pain of losing someone so important in my life was a turning point, a wake-up call, is an understatement. His tragic death paradoxically, gave me my life back.

I used this painful life lesson to recreate my life in balance and abundance. I now live my passion of empowering people to create their best lives.

Nicole is Founding Director of Art of Abundant Living (www.artofabundantliving.com), and is a Health & Wellness Coach.

“extended adolescence”. Especially if you are female, your adolescence is extended into your 20s until you at least graduate from university. Unfortunately, this also means you remain dependent on your parents for much longer than a child would in the west. Again, people who knew me saw me as spoilt rotten by my parents, because it seemed like I had it all. But by the time I was 18 I really couldn’t have cared less about material items. I was sick of having to beg for them and somewhere along the line I seemed to have made a decision that nothing of material value would ever have a hold on me. I got a car for my 18th birthday but I never asked for one; my mother instead had pleaded on my behalf and got it for me because she wanted me to be the “cool kid” on campus. An ever changing wardrobe of clothes through university – I never asked for it – my mother used to buy my clothes (thank god she has great taste). A super huge 21st birthday party, it was a lovely party, but again my mother did the organising. The list goes on.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed all these things, and I am grateful for everything and for the efforts that went into getting them. I know that my life would have been harder, had it not been for them, but if I didn’t have any of what I just mentioned, I really would not have missed it either.

Though my father may not have meant it to be a life lesson, or who knows maybe he did (I just saw it as a power play), the bottom line is that I have become a person with very minimal attachment to “things”; relationships with people I can’t do without but I don’t need to have ‘things’ to complete my life. If I own stuff, that’s great! But if I don’t that’s ok too. I don’t crave things. I don’t let them rule my life and I definitely don’t pine and yearn and waste away ‘wanting’ things.

The upside is that up until now, life has never let me down. I do look at things and think “it would be nice to have that” but it’s always in passing and I hardly give it a second thought, but I have always eventually got it, and I am very grateful for that. Call it God, call it Karma or whatever other higher force you might believe in, but I have never been in need, nor have I ever been in want. This attitude of mine seems great to me, but I assure you it drives my husband insane. When he is stressing about stuff, my attitude is “Relax. It will work itself out!” and he looks at me like I have lost it. But here’s the thing; I know from experience that things do work themselves out. My life is by and large stress-free and uncomplicated and I am thankful that however painful the lesson was when I was learning it, I have come out a better and stronger person because of it.

Nadira is a psychologist, living in Doha for the last few years. She is a freelance writer and tutor.

2010 June

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i am The power of her mother’s smile...

Myriam Chandna talks about how at 14, her life changed following her mother’s muscular dystrophy diagnosis.

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obody’s perfect. With this freeing statement, we cease to strive for perfection, unknowingly leaving many gaps that could have been filled had we stopped, just once, and thought: Is this worth investing slightly more effort into, enough for me to change myself and my priorities? It is ironic, that as convinced as we are that nobody’s perfect, we expect our circumstances to be perfect. Well, I did. Born idealist, hopeless romantic, overtly optimistic - I could easily be termed all of those a few years ago. I never imagined anything could go wrong in my life, much less disturb my rigid routine. My priorities revolved around myself, while everything and everyone else could either adjust or take a hike for all I cared.

August 2001 changed my perspective, my priorities, and my life forever.

Barely in her 40s, my mother was diagnosed with a terminal muscular dystrophy known as Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS). ALS is a progressive condition that attacks nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord, leading to muscle weakness and loss. This is followed by difficulty in movement and breathing, and eventually leads to death of the patient.

From state-of-the art hospitals to clinics with blood-stained walls, we had seen it all in hope of a cure. However, our efforts were in vain.

I was 14 at the time, but could relate to a 4-yearold who goes to kindergarten for the first time, and does not want her mother to leave her, because she feels she will never see her again.

Over the years, I witnessed the progress of my mother’s life and the deterioration of her condition with little denial. I knew this was as real as it could get, and I also knew there was nothing I could do to change it. My mother’s illness had a huge impact on my life, as a child and as a young woman. In the past, either I had needed her or she had needed me.

But as I grew older, I came to realise how even more intertwined our lives had become, because now we both always needed each other. Further, we had lit-

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erally swapped roles in each other’s lives. Every time I looked at my mother having difficulty in performing a routine task, I reached out like a mother to her child and aided her in whatever she was doing. I lived through a turmoil of emotions as I saw my mother tackle great difficulty in movement, lose an immense amount of weight, become unable to pursue her favourite and probably only interest - cooking, and very effectively cope with her gradual slurring and then loss of speech, and eventually, become bed-ridden at the Medical Intensive Care Unit(MICU) at the Hamad Hospital, in Qatar.

My mother’s illness taught me a few things which are an integral part of who I am today. For one, I definitely became more realistic in my approach to life. I decided that there are three kinds of issues or experiences in this world.

There are those that have absolutely nothing to do with you, and the earlier you realise that the better, because that’s one less worry.

Then there are those, that affect you in a direct or indirect way and that you can control. Do the best you can to manage those - give it your all.

Finally, there are those that affect you, but you can do absolutely, positively nothing about - accept them, deal with them, and do not let them overpower you. If

it helps, do not even think about it and move on.

Everyday as I see my mother struggling to lift her hand, I refuse to let myself think about it. Something else I learned was about the power of positive thought: It’s destructive. Do not get me wrong, thinking positive is great, but there is a fine line between positivity and idealism, similar to the fine line between negativity and realism.

I decided that I was going to expect the best, but also be prepared for the worst, because I had never gone beyond expecting the best till the age of 14.

We fool ourselves by wearing the garb of ‘positive thinking’ and shutting out all reality from our minds and hearts. And when the harsh reality of life comes crashing down on us, we are lost, with no choice but to let it destroy everything that comes in its way.

As she battled her condition, my mother also taught me something else, which even manages to penetrate through my hardened soul. She taught me how to remain strong and continually strive for perfection, for she believes that the effort to achieve perfection is in itself a reflection of it. I had always wanted to be her strength, but despite her weak exterior, she has become mine. Bed-ridden, she still manages to run the household through instructions and jokes; she reminds me about my to-do list and helps me choose the perfect dress. If she can manage such perfection, why can’t I try, at least? Perfection is relative and comes from within. My circumstances may not be perfect, but I am capable of doing every little thing in my God-given ability to achieve my potential and thus, my level of perfection.

Despite the evident agony she is going through, I often catch a glimpse of my mother smiling in her sleep. And that smile makes me strong and ready to face the world all over again.

Myriam is a freelance writer. When she’s not writing, she’s either reading or running – whichever form of escapism suits her at the time. A gypsy at heart, she loves to travel and knows when it’s time to move on.