Seven Years

In April 2006, I started this blog with a wild, faint hope of being spotted by a web-savvy journalist who would have stumbled here as he/she trawled through the dozens of Iraqi blogs that were sprouting at the time. The idea was that said journalist would write a feature on me, and then his/her editor would have been so impressed by my talent and ambition that I would be contacted soon afterwards by a number of reputable publications vying for my byline. None of that happened, of course. In fact, this far-fetched dream, whilst sounding like a Hollywood PG script, was not as big a deal to me as the above paragraph may suggest.

I began writing here as a way of communicating the mix the angst and awe that most eighteen year-olds feel. The months that followed were pivotal in my life, and this serene place proved an invaluable retreat that allowed me to make sense of it all: it became my sanctuary, my safe place. In it, I was able to express myself freely and without fear of being interrupted, as I so often am, or judged. The vastness of the world wide web offered a buffer from life's single and most potent threat; people. Weirdly, those whose judgement and criticism I had braced myself for were, more or less, the ones who encouraged me to keep writing. And so I did.

That said, I must confess a great deal of guilt towards this blog. The past couple of years have seen its level of new material plummet till it almost became defunct. In my meek defence, I've been very preoccupied by the endless chores and challenges -for want of a better word- my strange life keeps throwing at me. Chief amongst these is my degree whose commencement was announced with measured but heartfelt jubilation just over seven years ago. It is with mixed feelings that I am finally able to inform my few but oh so dear readers that the degree is -at long, long last- finished, and I am days away from donning the bizarre mortar board to signal the completion of an immeasurably fruitful stage of my life. The turning points that have taken place during these seven years are too many to list in one post. I suppose sifting through the archive may give you a few clues as to what I'm alluding to; but, whilst it was all happening at mystifying speed, I had never stopped wanting to come back here to jot down a few hundred words about what I was saw and how I felt.

Here's to the next seven years of living, loving and writing all about it here.

Incidentally, seven is my favourite number. It sounds pensive, unassuming and keeps itself to itself. I'm the seventh child in my family and one of my favourite Norah Jones songs is called Seven Years, hence the title.