(The table in this photo is a mere three inches from the ground, but I’ll get to that in a moment.)
My favourite story of Yaz’s is that of the gentleman who told her he liked her “costume” (aka hijab).
In early December, Yaz hauled it to Ottawa for a friend’s wedding and I took her to my favourite restaurant where she, for the first time ever, ate Vietnamese.
I understand your initial reaction here is ¿Qué?, but that she’d never before had Vietnamese is la verdad, my coco loco amigos that live in the Barrio. Olé. (I’ve just used every Spanish word I know; you are welcome.)
The few things about Yaz that I wish to share are:
(1) When you look at her big brown eyes, you think you’re looking into the face of a baby. I considered reaching over and burping her after lunch, but Alhamdulilah, I didn’t. (Even though I would have done it gladly.) On several occasions and moments before she would speak, I half expected her to gurgle instead. That’s how pure and innocent her eyes are.
(2) You know how she comments and writes “HIGHFIVE”? She actually HIGHFIVEs you in public. It took me a few seconds to figure it out, but I catch on relatively quickly and started HIGHFIVE-ing her as demanded during the course of our time together. This, though most of you know my complete distaste for the HIGHFIVE-ing industry which sucks us dry of other potential exclamation scenarios.
(3) She wrote the Encyclopedia Britannica.
(4) She has a laugh that puts the loudness of mine to shame. It is infectuous and catchy and made me laugh harder and louder. Honestly, I’d not laughed that hard in a long time and so it was with pleasure that I let her virus infect me…
(5) She is an excellent keeper of secrets.
(6) From the bottom of her heart, she says things like: “Dude, that’s hell-a not cool. That’s just about basic human character and respect. Hell-a. Not. Cool. God’ll take care of that shit. HIGHFIVE.”
(7) She is a Kung Fu Master.
(8) She is the tiniest creature I have encountered and she wears three socks which she tucks into a size 2 running shoe. Propelled by her petiteness, I was forced to pick her up and attempt hanging her on the Christmas tree. (Recall the height of the table in above photo.)
(9) She is a text message fiend, who writes novels that fly through the mobile airwaves at least 23 hours a day.
(10) I kept wanting to hug her, but contained myself until the very end when we said our goodbyes and hugged twice – once for Anjum, and once for her. I was satiated, but did notice that Ottawa dimmed a wee little bit after that goodbye, as she seems to be followed around this little earth by warm sunshine…
(Safe and Happy New Gregorian Year, folks.)