When a piece of your heart dies

10 March 2016, the date I will never forget for as long as I’m on this earth. This was the last day I ever spoke to my mum, because during the early parts of 11 March 2016, God recalled one of his favourites.

To write about this isn’t easy, I never thought it would  be when I started. I don’t think you’re ever the same after you lose your mother, your biggest fan, your best friend. I can’t even explain the feelings I experience daily but all I know is that life is no longer as it was. I know I’ve changed and everything around me with it.

I also know that I need to begin a new normal because all the things I previously thought important suddenly seem insignificant. I don’t want to go into details of how I lost my mum, I believe it was predestined.

I’m writing this so that I can document memories about my mother while they are fresh in my mind lest I forget them with time. I will continue to add memories as I remember them.

I remember my mum enjoyed reading – books, newspapers, periodicals, magazines, billboards, everything. I would look up and see her mouthing every word she read silently as if they meant the world to her.

I remember my mum always referred to us (to others) as hers: “my Aysha” or “my Ahmed” or “my Issa“.

I remember her waiting to have breakfast with me, always (unless I was away).

I remember her being loud and full of life.

I remember her scolding me saying: “You think you’re perfect…”

I remember her striking up a conversation with random people in a checkout queue, a long-haul flight, the Tour Eiffel elevator while waiting for me at the airport.

I remember her snoring, it held a certain comfort for me knowing she’s there.

I remember my mum loved music, she hummed to songs on the radio or our playlists. She loved Queen, Roy Orbison, Elvis Presley, Nana Mouskouri, Maria Callas, Luciano Pavarotti, to name a few (this list will increase as I go through her CD collection).

I remember my mum loved house plants, our flat was infested with potted plants all healthy and happy, well taken care of.

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My mother was not perfect, she did not have to or want to be but the day I lost her was when a piece of my heart died. All I have left now are fragmented memories and a time slipped through my fingers.

Fatima Patel (née Mayet) 10 January 1944 – 11 March 2016

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When Time Kicks Your A$$

It’s been nearly four (4) years since I posted something here. Time passes us by so fast that you don’t realise it been four years since you last checked your own blog. You get stuck in living other people’s lives that you forget to update your own. Perhaps there comes a time in your life when you realise you’ve become a very private person and updating everyone about your life, every so often, online is not something that appeals to you anymore.

A lot has happened in four years – I moved from Paris to London and in doing so realised I miss Paris more than I ever imagined, I became single, I lost good friends along the way and people don’t blog anymore – they now VLOG.

Life is a strange and fragile thing that is made up of both tangible and intangible elements. Time is one of those intangible elements some of us are blessed with, others are not. It’s always free but in its passing it will give you something, always take something in return and you will never be able to retrieve your loss or happy moment. It has simply become a memory, which we can either choose to forget or keep strong in our mind. Either way, we have to make the best of what we have for now.

In the words of the High Priestess of Soul, Ms Nina Simone: “Time is a dictator as we know it, where does it go, what does it do and most of all is it alive. Then one day you look in the mirror and you are old and you say where did the time go.”

This post is dedicated to Maria Ghelakis (1981 – 2015)