Loba Blogs

“Loba, what do you want to be when you grow up?” That was the most common question I’d be asked. Proudly, I’d answer “I want to be a doctor!” And of course, then the smiles would emerge. “Good for you honey! You’ll be rich and you’ll be able to buy anything you want!”

So that was the plan, or so I thought. Money was it and that’s what life meant. Adults must have known something to make it seem so exciting! That was my mentality until I was about nine years old.

My great uncle was a wealthy man. He was a real estate investor in many countries and seemed to live in many luxuries. He lived with his wife, in a great mansion, traveled everywhere, had sent his children to the finest boarding schools in Italy and helped family members anytime needed.

When his son had decided to marry, he took about 30 members of the immediate and close family, including my mother, on a trip of a lifetime to Italy. He paid for everyone’s flight, accommodation, meals, tours and all activities for two weeks and sent back many souvenirs and gifts to all the children in the family.

I was always mesmerized with his giving nature. Considering their wealth and status, anyone would have considered them pompous and arrogant. Yet nothing could have been farther from the truth.

From an early age, I loved going to their home and cuddling with their daughter’s Bambi stuffed toy for hours. They had left their children’s rooms untouched for when they’d come to visit and judging by the rooms, they hadn’t visited since childhood.

He was a kind and gentle man, yet very reserved. His wife was bubbly, sweet and adorable. After they came back from Italy, we were invited to their home for dinner. I remember being quite excited and knew he’d saved us all kinds of foreign candies and sweets.

When we arrived, my great aunt was in the kitchen. I can’t remember how many servants they had, but it seemed that they could have afforded plenty for every task. Yet my aunt was in the kitchen making spaghetti by herself.

Seeing my confused face, she told me that no matter how rich you are, it’s still very important to take care of the home yourself and never forget your home and traditions. That day, she taught me how to make pasta.

The dinner table was elaborately set up with many different Iranian dishes, and the spaghetti just in case my siblings and I became fussy with our food. Traditionally, the host cooks at least two different dishes; usually with their own side dishes and variety of rice. This table must have been set up with five or so.

We all sat and began eating happily. The adults dove deep into conversation and once a while they would look at us, and tell us to sit properly or finish our food. It was at one of these moments, when I noticed something strange.

While all of us were dining on the most aromatic and delicious meals, my great uncle was eating a dry piece of toast, with a bit of cheese and sweet tea. I was very confused. How could he have not liked the food?

Later that night, my mother explained how he had some type of skin disease and was allergic to most foods and had been put on a strict diet. He had to soak in a medicinal mud bath every night, and was undergoing various treatments.

His wealth and status seemed of no use to enjoy life. Sure he was able to afford the treatments but he spent his days in pure pain and misery because of his disease. His various great travels consisted of seeing specialists and looking for a cure.

That’s when it hit me. Money wasn’t everything. If I had to pick between living a rich life in misery and living a happy life with moderate lifestyle, I’d pick the happy life. I was very naive to have believed that money was the key to happiness.

I abandoned the fantasies of medicine first year in university, reversed directions and chose English and marketing. Subsequently, my career goals became to be the director of marketing of Coca Cola! Yet, I must admit something.

I don’t remember my great uncle and aunt for what their professions were. I remember them for who they were as people. I remember their kind smiles, their warm hugs, and the sweets they’d hide from my parents and sneak into my pockets.

So what do I want from life? I have the same answer every time. I want a specific feeling. A feeling of total peace. I want to wake up every morning glad to be alive, thankful for all the blessings.

I want to wake up with a smile. Striving to do my best, helping others, and God willing having a family of my own someday. I want to be remembered for being a wonderful daughter, sister, wife, mother, aunt, grandmother and friend.

Last year my great aunt passed away of intestinal cancer. Their son divorced his wife, their daughter has signs of the same skin disease and my great uncle battles life alone.

So what do you want from life?

Loba