“The bud stands for all things, even those things that don’t flower, for everything flowers from within, of self-blessing; though sometimes it is necessary to re-teach a thing its loveliness, to put a hand on its brow of the flower and retell it in words and in touch it is lovely until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing.”
Galway Kinnell

I am so blessed.

Sometimes I look around at my hopelessly messy and meandering life with a sense of awe and wonder. These twisted paths are not ones I consciously would have chosen, but oh, how they wind together so elegantly!

I am returning to the Arabic language again, after seven years of neglecting it. After some soul-searching, I decided that I need to be an entrepreneur and put my existing skills to work to make me some cash. Last week I had my first tutoring gig with a beginning Arabic student. I was absolutely terrified going into it because I didn’t even have the textbook that she studied with (back in the day I learned from a different textbook). But it went spectacularly well. I felt like I was able to impart some of my knowledge in way that was useful to her. And she signed up for another lesson, which is probably the best endorsement!

Arabic was once the language of my dreams. I lived and breathed her. I even once won a literary prize for a short story I wrote in Arabic. Thirstily I gobbled up new vocabulary words, new grammar, new colloquialisms. I couldn’t get enought of the language, which came easily to me, so much so that sometimes it embarrassed me.

And yet, I abandoned her to pursue other loves. But I am overjoyed to discover that the language still lives, inside my head and my heart. Relearning it is like learning to ride a bike. I feel a sense of excitement, like I am becoming reacquainted with an old friend. Every night before I go to bed I pore over words. I read passages. I review grammar. And it’s actually fun!

I always wondered why on earth I would invest so much time into a language only to throw it away. It was always a source of shame. And now I am finally coming back to it, in a way that is so natural and so easy.

It gave me chills the other day when I realized that I am re-teaching myself Arabic so that I can teach it to my son.

I guess I always thought I would leave that to his father. But now that he is no longer in Sami’s life, the job falls upon me. I want him to know his heritage — the Arabic language, language of those rich, diverse cultures of the Arab World as well as the language of the Holy Qur’an.

As this year unfolds, I can see myself sitting with Sami, patiently teaching him the Alif Baa’ (ABC’s). Intuitively, I have a strong sense that it is imperative that he know Arabic, for reasons that are unknown to me now. So perhaps the “profit motive” in re-learning Arabic is secondary to my motivation to give Sami the gift of this language that is his birthright.

So, like the Kinnell poem, I feel that the long-dormant bud of Arabic is flowering within, of self-blessing. It is a lush time, a potent time. I am unfurling green and leafy into the skies. Dormant Arabic words float to the surface of my mind: words like al-baraka (blessing) and al-noseeb (destiny) and al-3awda (return).