Hiam Sakr

Mrs. Hiam,

I am writing to you anyway. I know you cannot read this. I am writing to you anyway, because some people leave such a profound mark on the world that the least the world can do is keep speaking their name.

You were a role model to my mother before you were one to me. Do you understand what that means? You shaped the woman who shaped me. You were present in my life before I even knew you were, living inside the lessons my mother carried, inside the way she held herself, inside the standard she quietly set for what a woman could be and do and become. You were already part of my foundation.

And then I got to know you myself. And everything I had heard became something I could see with my own eyes.

You were not simply accomplished. Accomplished is a word for resumes. You were legendary, and there is a meaningful difference. Legendary means that when you walked into a room, the room understood that something significant had arrived. Legendary means you built institutions that outlast you. Legendary means that every student who passed through the doors of AUST carries a piece of what you created, often without knowing it.

I know it.

What you gave to Lebanese education, to the women who looked up to you, to the people fortunate enough to be in your orbit, it cannot be measured. It can only be felt, in the way we carry ourselves, in the standards we refuse to lower, in the doors we walk through because you proved they could be opened.

I will carry your example with me into every room I enter for the rest of my life. So will my mother. So will everyone you touched.

Rest in peace, Mrs. Hiam. You gave everything. The world is quieter without you, and better because you were in it.

With deep love and eternal respect,

Elia