Freesias In A Turkish Tea Cup
When I got home, they were there on the table. Bent towards the entrance door, the flowers of the freesias stared at me. Wide-open 👐 in their bright yellow, I took it they bade me ”Welcome home!”.
Now you’re talking!
”Hello, beauties! You smell quite fine. Still, I wonder how did you get into that Turkish teacup? What the rose !”
Julieta had saved the day. So it seemed. Out of all the tiny small vases we have, she opted for this Turkish teacup.
“Who am I to stand in the way of creativity? You are her favourite flowers. And you have been hanging on for more than 9 days now.
”We love flowers and flowers seem to love us back,” I thought to myself.
Anyway, I cannot stop staring at this frame displayed in front of my eyes.
The tablecloth had been brought from Damascus by my parents, in 2008. That was the last time they set foot in Damascus... As for me, the last time I physically landed in the capital of my wonderful childhood was the summer of 1997. JLO had recently launched her album ”On the 6” and I’d listen to “If you had my love...” over and over. What would you expect? I was a teenager. In many senses, I guess I am still that girl from Damascus.
Coming back to the tablecloth, my parents bought it at
Souk Al Hamidiye - the main Bazaar in Damascus.
Souk Al Hamidiye integrates in the Old Damascus. The authentic Damascus emerges at the folds of the ancient Citadel of Damascus - the universal city. The Straight Street crosses Souk Al Hamidiye and leads to the Christian neighbourhood known as Bab Tuma - The Gate of Thomas. And it is on this street, the only street mentioned by the name in the Holy Bible, that my grandpa, jdo, had his workshop of sieves. Al Midan is part of the neighborhood. Tolerant to all religions and nations, the residents of Al Midan have always been quite conservative. They have their code of manners. A code resembling the one in the South of Italy. Ma girl, ma lady... 😉 You know what I mean!
Last year I learnt that, allegedly, they won’t have people from the outside in. It’s seems to be a closed circle. My father’s family took in his Julieta. They believe she’s a bint halal - a Lady indeed.
That’s the beauty of stories. They have no ending
When I think of it, I am the first female in all the generations of the family, on both sides, to have lived by herself. To have traveled on her own. To have created her own business system. Yet, my father is an atypical. He is a tenis fan who celebrates the beginning of the New Year with Strauss and doesn’t eat cheese and olives. Quite uncommon for a Damascene Arab, from Al Midan, one would think. And since I am his -like father, like daughter.
I remember going to Souk Al Hamidiye with my younger sister in 1997. So shy was I upon entering the shops. The majority of the shopmen and sellers were men. It was a bit awkward! One doesn’t get to see so many men sellers here in România. It was as if we had stepped into the realm of 1001 textures of silk, velvet and Damasco...
Nevertheless, finding the freesias in a Turkish teacup, on a Damascene tablecloth, a scenario created by a Romanian lady, is nothing out of the ordinary in our home. By now, multiculturality is our middle name!
What is our house but a mosaic of varied cultures?