Work

"You can never cross the ocean unless you have the courage to lose sight of the shore."            

            I love the people I work with; we have a good time. They all know that I am always down for a snack or a good laugh, sometimes both. We talk about food, how we are sick of work for the day, and sometimes we actually work.

            And the patients are great. I can always tell when the patient is trying to figure out how to ask “where are you from?” There are different ways they go about this. The beat around the bush question: “are you from here?” Do I look like I am from here? Or better yet, does it sound like I even speak Arabic? Ha! I love that question. The straight forward: “where are you from?” The trying to politely guess: “are you from America?” I always know when these questions are coming…but how? I can tell because I am always being stared at prior to the question.

            After he or she has pinned down that I am from America, the next question is where in America. I generally start with “you’ve probably never heard about it because it is small” and I’m usually right. I then explain that it is close to Texas. Sometimes I have time to talk about the good ole South or the fact that it is the Natural State.

            Then I’m usually asked why I am here. I explain that my (Saudi) husband is the reason. That usually blows their minds, and they always seem pleased. Next question: have I learned Arabic? I explain that I have only been here about 2 months. That also blows their minds.            

            The question I don’t really like is “do you miss America?” I always combat that question with humor, such as “I miss grass.” But on a serious note, I hate that question. It makes me think of my hometown and all my memories there. It makes me think of my neighborhood: the street I wrecked my bike on and the elbow skin I left behind on the pavement, the path I took while walking the dogs, the time Joe and I locked ourselves out of the house and walked to Aunt Sara and Uncle James’s house and broke in so we could use their phone. I think of the glory days in Fayetteville when I had no care in the world. It makes me think of Razorback football. And the worst is thinking of my family; all of our laughs, our tears both happy and sad, our feasts, our movie nights, our vacations, and all of our memories together. My authentic reaction would be to put my head down, sigh, and say “so much.”