Photo courtesy of Joel Cran
In my early 20s I came to the big fat realization that I was at risk of upholding an Arab tradition I never wished to be a part of: to move from my mother’s house straight into my husband’s house. The thought of having no independence – to truly discover myself and my own living habits, good, bad or ugly – was terrifying. To me, it was the biggest failure I could think of. It was giving up on myself. It was too easy. I had to know if I could go it alone. If I could rely on myself solely and completely without anyone’s help. I simply wouldn’t be able call myself an adult otherwise. Read the rest of this entry »
I, Vancouverite 