ihath

I woke up at 10 am in the morning and found myself feeling stressed.

“Oh! My God! I woke up at 10 am, I am becoming a bum, I am a slacker, How could I have slept in so late” One voice would say inside my head, but then a calmer voice would say: “ihath, relax, you are on a vacation, it is ok, it is perfectly acceptable to sleep in on a vacation, you are not late for anything, it is your time off and you can sleep in if you want to”

So I got up, took a shower, got dressed and went to the coffee shop across the street to have breakfast. As I was eating my tostada and drinking my café con leche, I noticed the clock in the coffee shop telling me it was almost 11 am. Again I got that panicky feeling and the voice in my head said “Oh my god, it is 11, I am having breakfast when it is almost time to for lunch, I am becoming a bum, a loser, I am totally loosing it”. But then I would try to calm myself down. “ihath, it is ok, you are on a vacation, it is ok to have breakfast at 11 am on your vacation, your dance class is not till 1 pm so you still have plenty of time to finish breakfast, walk around town and do touristy things and then calmly stroll down to the dance studio, relax, everything is under control”

That was me on the third week of my vacation to Spain a year ago, after I had relaxed enough to be able to sleep in on the morning. The first two weeks I woke up at 7 or 8 am bright and early even though I was going to bed somewhere between 2 and 4 am, yet somehow my brain was not giving me permission to sleep in. My travel companions called me the alarm clock, because I was waking them up at 12:30 pm so that they wouldn’t miss their 1 pm dance classes.

I was so wonderful to spend three weeks away from work, husband and kids and soak myself in music and dance in Spain. Every morning I woke up and thought to myself, “Wow! I can do whatever I want, go anywhere I want and eat when I feel like it”. It was a real vacation, away from all responsibilities. A vacation from my job, a vacation from being a mother and a vacation from being a wife. O! the freedom.

But the freedom was also disorienting. Each time I saw a child, I would feel a pinch in my heart and remember my kids. Every night I crawled under a foreign smelling blanket and missed my husband’s hugs. I had all these mothering energies, only everybody around me was a grown up and didn’t need a mother to take care them. I was walking on the pavement with two other women, as we were about to cross the street, I noticed a speeding car coming. I extended my hands to prevent both of them from crossing the street until the speeding car passed. Both of the women laughed that I am acting as their mother, only problem is that all of us are the same age. At a different incident I was in department store with another friend. She placed her purse on a counter as she was busy trying on some jackets on. I immediately picked up her purse and kept in my hand worried that it might be stolen since the department store was full of people. As soon as I did it, I thought to myself, why am I doing this? My friend is a grown up and her purse is her responsibility any way. Many other mothering spurs followed. Have I become so mothery that I don’t know what to do with myself when I am not around children that I start expending mothering energies on poor grownups around me? Argh! … How I have changed in just 10 years. I was so irresponsible and selfish and now I am one of those annoying boring people that think they know what is best for everybody else. Is there a cure? Can I unmother myself? Has mothering become molded with my personality? Is it possible to be a mother without developing a mothery personality?

I don’t know the answer to any of these question, But thinking about it disturbs me.



Being single was fun for three weeks, But I was happy to go back being a wife and a mother at the end of it. The best part was when I got home, everybody was so happy to see me. I felt appreciated. My kids, my parents, my husband, made me feel special when I got back.

Every mom should get a vacation from mothering once every seven years.

Here is a review of the play that ihath recently participated in.

My fourth painting
Acrilyc on canvas
20x16 inches

About one year ago, I stood in the town of Tarifa thinking of all the weird coincidences that brought me there.

Tarifa is the south most town in all of Europe making it the closest to Africa in Europe. You could take a ferry in Tarifa and be in Tangier of Morocco in 30 minutes. In fact, on clear day you can see Morocco from Tarifa.. But more interestingly, there is a spot in Terifa where you can see the Mediterranean sea on your left and when you look on your right you can see the Atlantic ocean and they actually have different colors and feels to them. It has the “standing at the edge of things” feeling. Verge of change, opposites violently coming into contact.

I heard about Tarifa first when I read the al-chemist by Paolo Coelho about 3 years ago. At the very beginning of the story we meet Santiago who dreams of visiting the pyramids right before visiting Tarifa. Once he arrives to Tarifa he stands at a rock by the sea side looking across at Africa contemplating, when he encounters an old wise man who tells him that he needs to leave everything behind and follow his dreams.

Several weeks later I encountered the name Tarifa again, but in a completely different context.

As part of my political activism activities, I was hosting two young women in my house who work with Ta’ayush a group that brings Israelis and Palestinians together to oppose the military occupation. The two women were on a speaking tour in north America to raise funds and to raise awareness about the situation in occupied territories. In order to save expenses since we are a poor organization, I volunteered to host them in my house. One of the women is Israeli and the other is Palestinian and I didn’t know either of them, I met them for the first time when they arrived at my door step to stay for 5 days. The Israeli women handed me a CD that sent shivers down my spine.

I had just started taking Flamenco dance classes few weeks earlier and I found it peculiar that this woman who never met me decided to give me a flamenco music CD of a band I never heard of called Radio Tarifa.

Later on I asked her why she chose this particular CD, she told me that since she is a student she doesn’t have much money, she went into the CD shop and chose a random CD from the sales bin. “Is the CD really bad?” she asked apologetically, “No, it is fabulous” was my reply.


I always felt drawn to Flamenco music. The sad songs with vocals that sound like whaling and makes you remember the darkest moments in your life, reminds me lots of classical Arabic songs that have similar quality to them. Most people who are not used to that usually hate it when they hear it the first time, this applies to both flamenco and classical Arabic songs. “He sounds like he is screaming” I frequently heard somebody comment and they are right, the singer is screaming.

For 8 centuries, Spain was under Arab domination; their music was influenced by Christians and Jews, and later by gypsies to produce a unique hybrid that is unique onto its own. At the end of the Arab rule and during the Spanish inquisition, Arabs, Jews, gypsies and non Catholics were all prosecuted. Flamenco became their collective expression of anguish and protest against oppression.
These groups in turn were persecuted at the end of the Arab rule and during the Spanish inquisition so that Flamenco was born and thrived as a voice of protest and hope and as a cultural and emotional expression of the subjugated masses.
After two years of studying flamenco I decided that I would spend my vacation studying flamenco in Spain, while attending the Jarez flamenco festival. It was a real vacation since I traveled there on my own without a husband and without kids and completely immersed my self in music and dance, it was an absolutely wonderful experience. On the one day off from dancing and festivaling, I decided I would spend a day visiting Tarifa. I bought a bus ticket and arrived there early one morning to discover that Tarifa is a tiny little town with maybe two main streets running through it. Most of the year it is a bit of a ghost town except when the surfing season begins and surfers from all around the world descended on it to practice their favorite hobby. But since it was not surfing season yet the whole town felt empty. I walked and walked, but it is rather hard to get lost in a town where there are two main streets. I finally walked towards the beach and stood on a big stone. I was kinda hoping that just like Santiago, I would encounter an elderly wise man who would tell me that I must follow my dreams. But no such wise man arrived. I figured I didn’t need to meet the wise man since I was already on way to pursuing my dreams.

While most modern Flamenco music attempts to blend Flamenco with Jazz of modern music to give it refinement and perhaps more credibility, contrary to popular trend the band Radio Tarifa attempts to bring Flamenco to its roots and mix in Arabic music. The chose the name Radio Tarifa because the town is the closest European town to north Africa which is an indication of where they attempt to place their music. The result is astounding.