Because You Are Beautiful!

Because You Are Beautiful!

Tania Kurd Mirza, LL.M.

Dedicated to my mother and all other hardworking mothers

She stood a lot, leaning against the wall of the rooftop. She stood so much

that her legs could no longer bear the weight of her back; she would bend

down and look toward the right side of the house.

House? It wasn't a house; it wasn't her house!

On the left side, the sky was less visible; on the left, she couldn't find a

road or a way out. She put a hand under her chin and said: If you don't

leave now than when?! If you go away, if you go in this weather and

wilderness, if you go until God burns your right!

She wanted to go, but she never went! Once she had gone to Chamchamal

(a town located in Sulaymaniyah Governorate, Kurdistan Region), that too

as a bride.

Two years; by people's count, but in reality she had stayed there a year or

even less. Sissy(me and my sister called mom Sissy, because she was like

sister more than a mom) went as a groom, stayed as a groom, but didn't

return as a groom.

During her bridehood, she was always busy wearing Kurdish cloud

dresses. My father had Trotsky and Marx books in one hand, and flowers

and clouds for his bride in the other.

(I'll bring a photographer, you get ready in the courtyard, we'll take

pictures), she had heard this sentence many times during that period.

She wore the yellow cloud dress, put on the Cloche hat, the scarf over her

shoulder, painted her lips red, herself and a small life in her womb, standing

next to her husband, and a little girl who was sunburned and bored in her

father's arms—that was me.

Three people from one family in the picture, the fourth was her husband's

sister-in-law, standing lopsided next to her uncle.

She had them; beautiful days with her husband, but they were very few.

She was happy that on the birthday of her newborn daughter, her husband

had called a photographer, in the courtyard they all wore Kurdish clothes,

all waiting for the good news of another life.

She recounted with enthusiasm that my father, in Kurdish clothes, had

awaited my birth and was eager to take pictures with me.

Sissy said: Your father adored girls, he wanted to quickly become the father

of three daughters, he had named you Tania and Vivian.

Vivian, lovely Vivan, no, it's a bit long.

Tania, lovely Tate.

During her bridehood, she became a mother twice, wandered around

Chamchamal and its surroundings. My father would hold her hand and take

her to the forests of BaniMaqan, showing her how he was planting and how

he was greening that area. He took her to Sangaw, to Aghjalar; in Aghjalar,

she was afraid not to be a bride.

Dad had to live there for a while. Mom said: The house was near the

cemetery, the grave markers were scary, not like the ones at homeland.

I don't know if in that short period of bridehood, your fears were greater or

your feelings of being safe, did you even have feelings of being safe?!

I don't know if your sorrows were more in that short period, or your joys!

Why not, perhaps your joys; you were twenty years old, you had a good,

intelligent, and patriotic husband.

You became a mother twice, became the bride of a big family, your children

had a good father; if these aren't joys, what are?!

With laughing she said: Once your father took me to a restaurant, people

stared at me a lot, I had dressed up like a tree branch, they knew I was the

new bride of Mirza Mohammad’s family. Your father said: Why are those

people staring at you like that?

Before I could answer, he himself said: Because you are beautiful!

Did you finish your meal, in the restaurant or not? Did you return home,

argue or not? I don't know, all I know is that as much as it took to finish the

meal, just that much and everything fell apart, no one ever told you again

that you are beautiful! They cooled the body of your handsome young

husband; on that day when you stood in the courtyard watching the drying

of the olive clothes, at that moment they threw the body of your newly

married husband warmly in front of you, they stood watching until you

counted the money for the bullets in his body, then your bridehood ended!

Immediately your heart broke and became two large pieces and several

small ones.

You were left alone, you and two infant babies. The yellow cloud no longer

worn, black dresses and abayas came and enveloped your body.

The hat and scarf were taken off, veils and coverings thrown over your

head, no more flowers and curls, rings and bracelets taken off, the

necklace of society and tradition went around your neck, they took your

husband from you, buried your beauty under the soil, broke your heart, and

no longer let you breathe.

You dragged time along, your mood came with people's happiness, but joy

never touched you again, never soaked you, never made you wail, you

were content, you were grateful!

Knock knock knock, you threw yourself on your sewing machine, filled the

lamp with oil for your daughters to study, boiled water and said come soak

bread in water and eat.

Your paths were short, or very long, I don't know, your paths were from

home to revive the heart, reviving the heart was to home!

Your path was the distance between the mattress to the sewing machine, to

the star on the rooftop, to the markets of Sarchnar(a borough of

Sulaymaniyah).

These paths are short, in their shortness they are very long and boring. The

path to house’s stair was long, tiring, breath-taking, made your lips blue.

But you had to cut them several times a day, because you always had to

reach the room that way!

No more colors, black came, brown came beside it, gray in between them.

I didn't see your laughter, your eyes cried, that wasn't strange, other

people's eyes cry too, even the eyes of those who made you cry!

Your voice cried, that was unfamiliar, especially when compared to the

voices of those who made your voice cry, it became even more unfamiliar!

Your voice constantly cried.

By the color of your lips, by moving them, you knew that they were crying

too, that was strange too!

You were very broken, very tired, you knew that only with a final departure

would that brokenness end, you didn’t ask, in a gathering where your

friends planned to give their last birth, at that time, you left!

Just as long as your return with my father from the restaurant to home, just

as long as the cooling of your meals took, just that long your departure

lasted.

Happy women’s day Sissy!