It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)

I’m not actually bleeding, but my heart breaks a little bit being here in Marrakech without my mom. I see her everywhere. And in everything I see it is bittersweet to know just how much she would love it here.

Any sense of style I have, I have stolen from her. She has the most incredible eye. She is effortlessly ahead of the curve. Everything I see here reminds me of my mom and dad’s home: the Berber pillows, the Moroccan wedding blankets, the tagines. Lynn has been collecting these things for decades.

I found some hard evidence of why she would love it here after visiting the Berber museum within the Majorelle gardens. Berber culture is rooted in both Africa and the Mediterranean. I see bits of Greece here in Marrakech and even more in Essaouira, which is why it’s hard not to see my mom in the stalls of the Medina or the alleyways of Essaouira.

The Berber museum also highlighted a staple of my mom’s signature look: black eyeliner. There is an entire display of Kohl containers for Mohammed believed Kohl protected your eyes from the sun. I’m thinking he was onto something. Why else would baseball players put that black stuff under their eyes? Either way it’s an anecdote she would appreciate because learning to use black eyeliner is a rite of passage in the Psarras household and you can expect to find one in your stocking every Christmas.

Lynn’s signature look is a healthy amount of black eyeliner, a fuschia lip, and big black sunglasses. To steal from the late, great, Joan Rivers - I’m the bitch who stole Lynn’s look. Lately more so than ever. My everyday lip is a light pink, but I lost my only tube in Cape Town, which forced me to wear the three different evening lips I packed: red, hot pink, and fuschia. I have been rocking a fuschia lip on the regular: even after finding the Marrakech MAC store and replacing my lost light pink . At first it was out of necessity but it has become a matter of preference. Morocco demands more color. My muted Angel simply doesn’t cut it here. The time has come to literally Amp It Up. I speak fluent cosmetic. My specialties are MAC, OPI and Essie.

So my mom can’t be here, but I am subconsciously channeling her as best I can to bring her along for the ride. I wish we could share this city together. I hope that one day we will. In the meantime I make due with our phone calls. I find myself calling her almost every day here: literally bursting with excitement to tell her about my day. She is a gracious audience as I go on about the day’s trip to the Medina, the clothing exhibit at the Berber museum, or what new dish I tried at dinner. In telling her about my days, it’s interesting to see what bits I share or what details stand out more after speaking them aloud.

Just the other day I was telling her about my recent stay at a local riad and how I was so grateful it rained. I got to sit on my bed, writing away the afternoon, with the balcony door ajar letting the breeze in and with it the sound of the rain mixed with the call to prayer and how it was a moment I won’t forget. She said “T, I am going to miss Morocco for you.” Sharing this city with someone who appreciates it is a gift I am given every time we talk. When I leave on Saturday I leave behind a little piece of our heart.