Fight. Fall. Cry. Get up and dust off the dirt. Fight again.
My battle was what is seemingly trivial to most people around the globe – mobility.
For as long as I can remember, I have hated to ask people to take me to places, absolutely despised not being able to do things because I needed to depend on others. And throughout those years, I have fought, but it wasn’t simple.
When I spent almost a year attempting to get a driving license in Oman, I wasn’t surprised that this too had hurdles. I complained to friends who would listen to me, whined endlessly to my parents, cursed the heavens and doubted myself through this one year – not able to understand why this was so difficult.
Even since I moved to Muscat, my social life has reduced to a blur. One evening of drinks with colleagues, an odd visit from an old school friend and the very rare movie or coffee date with myself. It is an understatement to say that my heart ached to be able to just pick up my bag and go wherever I liked.
In 2013, I promised myself that I would make the Omani driving license happen before I turned 27 – and while I was writing my year-end resolution recap, it depressed me to not be able to check it off. But this March, as I sat in the training vehicle waiting for the official to sit beside me and drive around in circles answering random questions – I expected yet another failure. I was wrong.
The first word that came to my mind when my trainer looked at me and said ‘Mabrook’ (Arabic for congratulations) was ‘liberation’. I tell most people and they just scoff, saying that it’s just a driving license or “I’ve been driving since I was 15” – but only when you cannot take your mother out to lunch on her birthday because you aren’t mobile – for years in a row, you’ll know what it feels like.
It’s good to score a win, yes.
I’ll write soon with a picture of my first car, once I make that happen.