Fareeha and the Ponytail

Ever since I joined Overwatch, I worried about whether keeping Fareeha with me was the right decision. Things have settled down since we put an end to the Omnic Crisis, but that doesn't make my job as a mother less stressful. We continue as a peacekeeping organization, which means that we're still flitting between different parts of the world. Our organization can't justify hiring a private tutor just for my Fareeha, so between our rotating shifts out in the field, my co-workers and I take turns homeschooling her.

There are many reasons to be worried about her schooling. None of us have been officially trained in education. Another is that although I make sure to speak to Fareeha in my mother tongue, the universal language of Overwatch is English. Recently she started responding to my Arabic in English, and I gave her a good scolding afterwards. Now whenever she's lazy, she uses Arabic for nouns and verbs, but slides in English elsewhere, in the place of pronouns and the like. I hope my daughter will retain her fluency in the language of her ancestors.

Schooling aside, Fareeha spends most of her time around people much older than her. There hasn't been a word of complaint from her; she seems to love it. Whereas many children these days grow up around computer games, I don't have the time to find such easy entertainment for Fareeha. But even if she did have her own computer, I think there is still nothing she adores more than sitting on each adult's lap, and listening to their stories. Reinhardt is a particular favourite of hers, and the old lion certainly has no lack of embellished tales to tell.

We are never in any place too long, but each time I encourage Fareeha to make friends her age in the surrounding areas. But due to trouble revolving around language barriers, my Fareeha has grown quiet and shy. Now, even when we move to an English-speaking country, she would rather stay in the base than play with the other kids. We keep a lot of balls around, both for easy games of basketball for the adults, but also in hopes that Fareeha will bring new friends back. I suppose it must be hard on Fareeha, knowing that no matter how close she got to these children, she would likely never see them in person again.

For these reasons, I was overjoyed with the newest addition to our team. Her name is Angela Ziegler, and she is a prodigy from Switzerland. As a mere teenager, she is already a licensed doctor, and has real life experience as a medic. The child lost her parents in the Omnic Crisis, and starting serving as soon as they died. She is only five years older than my Fareeha. Even if she weren't killing anything, nobody that young should be on the battlefield.

Fareeha seemed to take a shining to Angela right away. I doubt most of my teammates would have noticed, but mothers have keen eyes. Fareeha keeps her distance from Angela, as if she doesn't know what to do, but I know she watches her a lot. Angela doesn't spend a lot of time in the common areas. She prefers to hole herself up inside the research lab, scribbling down words in English that are too long for my tongue to wrap around. Fareeha didn't have much reason to go there before, but now I find her peeking through windows in the doors. The first time I caught her doing it, I laughed and told her to fetch Angela some supper. The young doctor frequently forgets to eat and sleep, making her little more than a pile of skin and bones, which is completely unacceptable to go into battle with. Still, she insists, and I always make sure to watch her through the scope of my rifle, making sure she stays safe.

When Fareeha brought Angela a platter with food, she left it next to her and tried to leave without saying anything. Angela has a skill with tuning out the presence of the large, heavy adults, but being interrupted by a child is unexpected for her. Angela noticed Fareeha, and thanked her for the consideration, but explained that it is a health hazard to eat in a lab. Fareeha turned as red as I have ever seen her, and said the first word she had ever said to her: "sorry". Angela said there was nothing to be sorry about and invited Fareeha to eat with her in the main common room. Fareeha nodded her agreement, but spent the majority of Angela's meal looking up at her.

This morning I found the bed that I share with my daughter empty. It surprised me because Fareeha is the type of child that has a hard time falling asleep at night, and a hard time rising in the morning. I always wake up first, and it's always a hassle to get her out of bed. But this morning she was in the washroom, staring at herself in the mirror. She was holding an elastic band in her mouth, and she was clumsily trying to tie up her hair.

"Ya habibti", I said to her. "You should use a proper hairband to tie your hair. An elastic band will tear out your hair when you try to take it off."

"Oh", said Fareeha, who promptly dropped the elastic. She brushed her hair and reached for her usual hair ornaments. The gold trinkets had been mine as a child, and I had passed them on to Fareeha.

"Are you looking to change your style? I thought you liked these." Fareeha blushed and looked at her feet.

"Sorry Mama. It's just that lately I've been thinking that Angela has the prettiest hair. It's so light and fluffy, she looks like an angel."

My baby is so adorable.

"You wanted to look like Angela?"

"Yeah, but I don't have pretty hair like hers, so I'd probably look stupid."

"Child, don't tell your mama she didn't give you beautiful hair", I said jokingly. "Come here."

I took one of my rarely used hairbands, and brushed Fareeha's hair into a neat ponytail. Her hair is thick and soft. I wanted to cry when Fareeha said she wanted to start doing her hair by herself. She said she wasn't a baby anymore. I missed playing with her hair.

"All done!" I said to her.

"It's not the same", she said. Despite her words, I could hear that Fareeha was pleased with how the ponytail turned out.

"Would you like to show Angela?"

Fareeha's face looked like I had just slipped an earthworm down the back of her shirt when she wasn't looking.

"No! That's embarrassing!" She reached to take out the hairband, stopped to admire herself by turning her head slightly to the left and right, and then took down the ponytail. I tried to put on her hair ornaments for her, but she protested. "I can do it myself!"

She must have seen the pout on my face, the kind that I have too much respect for myself to show in front of the others.

Fareeha tugged at my hand until I bent down on a knee in front of her. She is quite short for her age. Then she whispered in my ear, "can you help me put up a ponytail tomorrow too? I just want to look for a little."

I pulled that child tightly into my arms.

I wish she'd never grow up.