Thursday, June 29, 2017

The Dating Experiment – Online Dating for Egyptian Girls

This has been a long time coming. A LONG TIME COMING! Let me just give a bit of a backstory before diving into the details of the topic at hand. After my post a long time ago about my experience with arranged marriages, I decided to try the last available option to dating (journalistic integrity and all that) and write about it; online dating. This was back in mid-2013 so there weren’t a lot of people out there who would be into it as there are now, which I thought was fine, you never know what you could find. That was very wise because I found some weird.$h!t

The Journey:

Step 1: The Preparation

I was freaking out about having my private information so publicly paraded to strangers, but at the same time, this was supposed to be about finding a “serious relationship” so I still had to put a lot of thought into what I write on my profile. I decided to add a single photo and to make sure my profile, wherever it was, was as thorough as possible. Here goes nothin’!

Step 2: The Beginning

This was for the purpose of finding “the one” after all, not for hookups definitely which was really scary for me. So naturally, I thought the decent guys would be on the muslim dating sites, and this is where I started. I uploaded my photo and filled in every single nitty gritty detail with what I imagined was witty smart funny tidbits, aaaand confirm.
In less than an hour I had close to 1000 profile views, all very strange looking fellows with even stranger profile pictures, of all ages and from all over the world. I panicked and deactivated my account an hour later!

Step 3: To the books

Okay so maybe I panicked a bit too early and chose poorly. It was time to pick the best and brightest (website) out there for dating. So I went through reviews, testimonials, articles, blogs, you name it, and I came up with a shortlist. I stuck to at least 1 muslim dating site (whose name I cannot remember) and 2 others:
OkCupid -> their very long profile details schema makes it seem more serious, and it was free.
Tinder -> in 2013, it wasn’t hookup nation, and it had some nice reviews about how the whole process was simpler. Besides, no one can actually ping you unless you both like each other which seemed like a nice idea to filter out the obvious weirdos.
So, created my profiles, held my breath, and waited!

The guys:

With the exception of candidate #1, the guys are all the same with some variation. I added samples of the conversations I had and paraphrasing quite a bit, although looking back, I should have kept more accurate journalistic records!

The First Prospect

This guy was a mechanical engineer from Egypt living in another non-arab country when his family immigrated a while back. A couple of years older, cute, funny... looking good. He’d been on there (the muslim dating site) for about a year and I am thinking “and this catch is still single?!” we have pleasant ICQ-esque conversation for about an hour and then this happens:

Me: so how come you’re still single?
Him: I’m not exactly single, but not in a relationship either
Me: How come?
Him: Are you open minded?
Me: I guess
Him: I am not exactly straight
Me: You’re gay?
Him: No, I said I am not straight. I thought you were open minded?
Me: Not that open minded!
<End of Text, and of muslim site dating>

The Arranged Marriage Checklist

Him: Hello
Me: Hello
Him: Where do you live?
Me: Cairo
Him: Do you work?
Me: Yes I’m an engineer, what about you?
Him: (his job, don’t remember)
Him: What did you study?
Me: Engineering, and I’m doing an MBA now
Him: it’s great that you’re taking certificates to better yourself
Me: it’s not a certificate, it’s a degree
Him: you seem very studious
Me: … thank you
Him: What does your father do?
<end of text>

Rass-ElBarr Beauty Queen

Him: Do we know each other?
Me: I don’t think so
Him: I’m sure I saw you before
Me: Really? Where?
Him: You said you studied engineering, right?
Me: yes
Him: then this is how I know you! You studied architecture, class of ‘09
Me: no.
(similar conversations would be: I saw you yesterday with your friends.. I didn’t go out yesterday.. I know your brother... no that’s not my brother’s name, etc)

God’s Gift to Women

Him: What’s your number?
Me: I don’t give out my number
Him: But you’re going to give it to me
Me: … Not really, no
Him: You’re such a loser!
I get blocked…
15 minutes later…
Him: I decided to forgive you
Me: …
Him: Now are you gonna give me your number?
Me: I’m sorry, I just want to let you know that however cool you think you are, you are definitely NOT God’ gift to women, and I really do not want to talk to you again!
<end of text>
P.S. I’d closed off all accounts for a couple of years and then got back to it at the pressure of one of my friends. I ran into the same guy again, who remembered me, and I gave him the same speech!

You’re a desperate loser on tinder

Him: I think people should meet in real life and anyone here is just not able to communicate with real people
Me: you’re here…
Him: I can communicate with real people, it’s people like you who need help!
Me: Dude, you ARE in fact texting me on Tinder!
Him: Whatever!
<end of text>

The hook-up

(after some pretty nice platonic flirting)
Me: You should start a school to teach Egyptian guys how to flirt!
Him: So when are you coming over?
Me: excuse me?
Him: This is why you’re here right? To hook-up?
<end of text>

You should be ashamed of yourself

This guy had a profile that said he likes drinking, clubbing, and looking for casual sex, naturally I was not inclined to have a conversation with him (this is on OkCupid btw, which is considered a somehow serious website for dating), for some reason, I decided to be polite and respond with a no thank you. Big mistake!
Him: I saw your profile and tinder and here, are you on all the dating apps?
Me: some! Look, I saw your profile and I am not looking for anything casual and I am not ok with your lifestyles, so goodbye
Him: well you are a @!$#$%% and you give the world a bad idea about islam and muslim girls!
<end of text>

The Stalker

I met this guy on tinder and actually liked him. We texted for about a week and then I gave him my number to text on whatsapp. He used to text me constantly, asked to meet, found me on OkCupid, I asked for some space which apparently didn’t work. He followed me on facebook (I had my full name on whatsapp then, learned that lesson!), twitter, instagram, even LinkedIn! I could not block this guy enough!
When I got back to online dating the second time (which did not last long) he found me again. So boys and girls, please be careful!

The others (conclusion)

I got a lot of obscene texts and images, LOTS of drinkers, lots of guys looking for hookups, etc. I think the conclusion I came down to was that whoever is online is very similar to the guys offline. At the end of the day, they are a sample of the population out there, Egyptian or other. At the end of the day, they remain the same group of people on different apps, so one is not better than the other. To be fair, there are some decent guys out there, maybe none my type and vice versa, but just like the general population, they are hard to find and have different interests.
Nowadays, the guys looking for hookups are more (and maybe the girls online are just the same, I honestly don’t know), the stalkers are more, the obscene photos are WAY more. If you plan to go through the experience then by all means do that, just be prepared. In my humble opinion, it’s not a horrible experience but it personally stressed me out.

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Thursday, December 1, 2016

The Wisdom of 30

Today marks my 30th. It’s raining outside, I’m drinking my warm coffee, all I need is an old wooden desk and a gramophone playing the blues to make the mood perfect for the very important pearls of wisdom that come upon a person when they hit this significant milestone marking half their lives (my family has a short life span).

(Deep breath)


No, it doesn’t go away after school or college or your teens or 25 or 30. Waiting for it to go away will probably lead to nowhere. The best way to try and neutralize it is to tackle it head on. Confused about what you should do, try doing different things and don’t be scared of the wrong fit. Confused about love, I have no idea I’m still confused about that too. Confused about people, yes I’m sure some of them are aliens and some of them are cave dwellers. Confused about the creation of the universe, study science and religion and philosophy. Confused about science and religion and philosophy, they’re supposed to be confusing, you’re good don’t worry.


You probably came to that time in your life when you realized your parents are normal people that make mistakes, not superheroes, that the family you’ve always depended on doesn’t necessarily have to be there for you every single time, that your friends bail or disappear or change or just move to a galaxy far far away. You’ve probably met the backstabbers, the hypocrites, the liars, the cheaters, the better-than-thou bunch. You are probably one of the above to some extent (I’m in the better-than-thou bunch but I use my IQ as an excuse to get away with it). You have probably learned that the word “forever” has no meaning when it comes out of a mortal mouth. You’ve learned, I hope, that the world would break your heart worse than any lover would. I’m sure you’ve disappointed yourself quite a few times when your character and essence have been tested and have been found lacking. You have seen the glitter of this world fade, and you may have lost faith in everything and everyone.

This is the life we live. This is the truth they tried to protect us from.

But it’s fine!

It’s fine to expect disappointment at every turn. It’s fine to mistrust. It is really fine to sit in a corner somewhere, alone, and cry your heart out because growing up sucks.

It is NOT fine to only see the world as a series of disappointments because the family that may have failed you once have been there countless times, the regular-people parents have done what they think is best and you didn’t turn out so bad after all, the friends that have gone away to fight their own demons on the other side of the planet have enriched your life even for a short period of time. The job that isn’t all what you dreamed of was in fact all that you dreamed of for a few months or a few weeks or even a few days. Aside from all that, you must have gone through at least one situation, just one, when you’ve been overwhelmed by something that far exceeded your expectations.

At the end of the day (or the decade), don’t lose hope in good things happening because they do. Just make sure you have eyes to see them like you have eyes to see all the other stuff too.

(By the way, I am the most hopeless person you would ever meet, but at least I know that hope is good. Let’s hope I stumble upon it somewhere inside me in the next decade… see, hope).

Purpose (and where to find it):

FYI, I have no idea what my purpose is. I might never figure that one out. But I have become comfortable with trying to figure it out because honestly it’s super fun!

Everyone who knows me a little bit knows that I suffer from the “what now?” syndrome, which is basically asking myself “what now” every time I do something.

I am expecting to find the holy grail at some point. Arthur never found it, and maybe I won’t. But the quest takes me on amazing adventures and it’s fun! I might seem like a confused person (see above) but so what?! One of the perks of 30 is that you stop caring about these minor things like other people’s opinions. I have put it my head that I am an adventurer on a quest for the ultimate knowledge of what my destiny is. The trick is to keep moving and not give up. Actually, the trick is to catch yourself when you give up and slap her back into story mode. I mean when you die and your whole life flashes before your eyes, you don’t want that moment to be boring, do ya?! Who wants to die with a bored look on their faces?!!


That one is a bitch!

That moment when you go on a camping trip and realize you’re the oldest one in the group. That all the kids (20 somethings) are having way more fun than you are, have learned so much more than you have, and have seen so much more than you… That’s a tough moment…

Man up and walk it off!


Well, you’re probably too old for some of the swings at the playground, be a dear and don’t break those. But anyway, we’ve already established that you will stop caring what other people think at some point, and that yes, while you have backpains now and may be dragging two kids behind you with a 9 to 5 soul sucking job, you are still a fully functional human being who can do stuff! So, while giggling with the girls like teenagers or playing with Batman’s car at the toy store may in fact look silly to other people, have you ever wondered if they envy you for your ability to do those things since the sticks up their asses are, umm, there? Trust me, they do! Are you worried that the kids in the class with you will think you’re a silly old person? They won’t, they’ll think you’re cool and brave to be putting yourself out there, and will come to you for advice oh wise old one.

You have nothing to lose but your dignity… dignity… dignity… see how horrible that sounds? Lose it already!


I am wise enough to not regret the time I told a guy I had a crush on him (I was 28), or the time I threw a tantrum at a friend who was dumping me (dignity to hell, you fight for what you love).

I still cringe when I remember them, I still wonder if there are other ways they may have gone down, less undignified ways, but I am so happy I did them. I did what I thought was right. I stood up for myself against myself. That’s pretty cool.

I may be wise (or so I am told, along with crazy, oxymoron), but that’s because I let myself be very very stupid. The trick is to look back and do a retrospective meeting with you, yourself, and your higher self (or something like that, philosophy buffs will relate, and software people too). It’s not only about doing the stupid shit, it’s about looking back at it, and figuring the stupid part out, and learning who you have become, and saying YEEAAAAHHHH! That was so worth it!

I will not claim I know who I am, I’m too fickle to know. But I know that I’m fickle and that’s an achievement. I know that whatever I think I know is not enough, and may be totally wrong, and that I need to keep that on the forefront of my mind.

And while I don’t always do that, I am wise enough to say I don’t know. I am not very good at admitting I’m wrong when I am, but I am trying.

At 30, this is my ultimate wisdom.

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Wednesday, August 19, 2015

This is what a girl without a father grows up to be

I was 10 when my dad died. Now, 18 years later, it seems like a lifetime has passed, and in a way it has. I've gone through all of my adolescence and my adult life so far without him. I can't say it was easy, but I've been blessed on so many levels so it is not for me to complain. Every single time I asked myself "how would I have turned out if he were alive?" the answer would be "spoiled."

My Dad and Me

My dad's death was the single most important event in my life, and it made me who I am today. I know a lot of other girls who share my feelings, who are somehow like me. I know many others who've had different experiences. For now, I am the girl without a father, and this is what I've become:

1. I love and trust my family more than anyone else in the world

It is more than just loving my family and trusting them with everything, it is the knowing that we have been through so much together, and they have always been there for me. For all the times my mom was the iron lady, for all the times my brother was my shield, growing up would have been so much worse without them, and becoming the person that I am today would have been impossible. When we lose the nearest and dearest, it is the people that still stand by us that matter, and that has always been and will always be them.

2. I understand how the world is flawed

People always think that hearts are broken by other people, but sometimes they're just broken by the world; the circumstances if you will. Losing my father made me realize early on that the happy bubble I've lived in; the sound of the key turning in the door when he comes home, the biggest hug I ever get, getting everything I ask for, and the feeling that nothing else matters, has burst. For years after that, I realized that I am not safe from the world because the world is not the Utopia that it was when my dad was alive. The interesting thing is that it's ok really. C'est la vie!

3. I'm strong… really strong

Skin hardens at the soles of the feet when a person walks barefoot for so long. They aren’t bothered that much by the thorns or the pebbles, not anymore. They can walk faster and farther and it becomes a blessing at the price of those feet. A guy told me once that I am focused on loss. I am in a way. I see every loss and every grievance and while they still hurt, I can focus on the loss without getting distracted by the pain, and I'm still here, and I'm still going forward.

4. I will always look for perfection

Just because I know the world is not perfect does not mean I won't look for perfection. To me, it was perfect once, my dad was perfect because I never got to see him other than superman to a child. If perfection existed once then it can exist again. I won't stop looking for it, and demanding it if I have to, my search will disappoint me as it has over and over, but sometimes I'm grateful for the imperfections, and not perfect can be perfectly good enough.

5. I look for the spirit of my dad in people, and in myself

Just like my search for perfection, I search for glimpses of my dad. I like looking in the mirror and seeing how much I look like him (although I'd loved to have looked more like my gorgeous mother), but I also love looking for my dad's spirit in the world, for people who like to laugh like him, or talk like him, or think like him, or act like him. I love tall guys for that exact reason, and salt and pepper hair, and thick glasses, and a quiet voice. I like it when people remind me of him, and I like those people, even though they might never have known him. To me, he is alive always and I see him everywhere I look, if I know how to look that is.

6. My conscience has a name

ElMaamoun Nasser El-Din. The thing is, I've already understood my mother, my friends, my teachers, my bosses. I'll never understand my dad, nor his expectations of me. He is the person I've never learned to disappoint. Maybe it's just my imagination, but I feel like the truest I am to myself is the truest I am to him, because then if he were here, I'd tell him I was true to myself and he would understand. For now dad, all I can tell you is that I am not a robot, be proud of that.

7. Memories have a much higher value to me than the average person

After 18 years, the sound of his voice slips, the way his teeth looked when he smiled slips, his laugh, the way he sat, the feel of his hand, all of those are memories I can no longer conjure up. A memory is precious. A memory means the world. A memory could be his drawing board which I've never seen him use, a memory could be someone else's story of him (and all my loved ones, dead or alive). Our memories and prayers keep them alive. May they rest in peace.

8. I developed a fear of abandonment

It was fate, God's will, his time, not in his hands that he died. I know. But it doesn’t mean that he didn’t leave me. The person I loved most in the world left me, and I've become deathly afraid of people I love leaving me. Sometimes they die, but sometimes they just change, or become distant or just disappear, and it scares the hell out of me.

9. I have a huge capacity for love

I have a hole in my heart. I've had one for 18 years. It's not the place that he left when he died because his place in my heart is still there, it's the emptiness that surrounds him, it is the love that grows with people over time and should have been his, the memories we could have made, all that could have been.

10. I am always and eternally grateful

He would have spoiled me rotten, and I would have been daddy's little girl forever. Maybe a smart, independent, not so annoying daddy's little girl, but just the same, I am what I am now because of having him and losing him.

My belief is firm that we will be reunited in heaven, God willing.

متجمعين في الجنة إن شاء الله

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Wednesday, December 31, 2014

My only New Year’s Resolution

It’s this time of year again with all the hope of a better year than the one before… again, and all the new year resolutions… again, and all the online articles and blog posts about how you did it wrong last year with the new year’s resolution but this year, it’s a winner, baby… again!
Most common resolutions I’ve seen (and made):new-years-resolutions
  1. Lose weight
  2. Be healthy
  3. Be happy
  4. Find a better job
  5. Be happy, dammit!
  6. Follow your dreams
  7. Find your passion
  8. Study more
  9. Work more
  10. Get married (yes I’ve seen it, and I sort of get it when a couple has been together for a couple of years and it just doesn’t get done!)
  11. Leave your spouse (seen it too, not an easy choice)
  12. Become more spiritual.
  13. Meditate.
My own personal favorites, that happen to be mine and very few other people’s:
  1. Write more (2014 was an all-time low for blogging at 9 posts –this makes 10 –and 4000 views) so I showed ’em!
  2. Study more.
  3. Become a better daughter/sister/aunt/sister-in-law/niece/etc.
  4. Do something daring.
  5. Learn to cycle.
  6. Learn the cello.
  7. Write a novel (that’s my favorite, I always kill all the characters in chapter 1) J
  8. Finish that story I got in a folder I call “old old old laptop” which just means it’s something I’ve had for a long time.
  9. Finish that other story in the folder called “stories” which has a few more other stories right next to it.
  10. Face my fears, again!
  11. Get in touch with my long lost friends.
  12. Drop all the sucky friends.
And because I’ve had so many resolutions for so long that are hardly ever achieved by plan, and usually by accident, I’ve decided to wade into the new year of 2015 unprepared, unplanned, un-disappointed, un-hopeful, with both feet firm on the ground… or not, who knows right?
Here’s what I know about 2015:
  1. Absolutely nothing!
I also know that I need to lose weight, write more, finish my stories, write a novel, learn to cycle, face my fears (and all those fears I never realized I had until life decided to throw a curve ball). Therefore, with no resolutions, and with the help historical data and objective self observations, I’ve decided to do one thing in 2015, and that is…
Drumroll please…

Follow Through

And to give myself a helpful hint:
Don’t bite off more than I can chew

So even if I decide to do nothing, and follow through, then I’ve done something. But, if I decide to become NASA’s next top rocket scientist, I’m following through on that too because it doesn’t really matter how terrible our lives are now, or even how wonderful. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t written a story this year, or haven’t learned to play the cello, or even if I gained another scary 10 kg. What matters is that I write 1 and only one story, if that’s what it means to not have a dozen incomplete stories in my old old old laptop folder and say at the end of the year that I want to finish it on the next.
Bridget Jones's New Year Resolutions

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Saturday, December 6, 2014

The Year I Was Too Busy to Live

It’s time for my yearly blog on the not so happy occasion of getting a year older and a year closer to the infamous 30. (P.S. my birthday was actually 6 days ago, that’s how busy I am)

I’ll keep this short. I haven’t really learned anything this year. I’ve been too busy working, and too busy studying, and too busy thinking about all the problems I face during working and studying to actually work effectively or study well. It’s like I’ve choked myself by being busy; biting more than I can chew and still trying to bite a little more. Sounds disgusting and gluttonous, except it really isn’t, at least not in that sense.

During this fine year, I was too busy to keep up with my friends, and I was too busy to do anything fun. I was so busy even that I think I sent the guy I liked hidden messages telling him I’m too busy for him, which sort of sucks, but anyway.

New year, new life. MBA should be over by the end of the month and I will actually be free! Of course, I try to pretend that the MBA is what’s ruining my life and keeping me busy except I know it’s not. I try to say that working too hard is ruining my life, which it is, but it’s not like the world would end if I work too hard or too little. I’m another cog in a horrible machine. Once ruined by burnout, I would be replaced… not much point in that either.

I wish I could say I learned something, even without the constant reflection that takes me around in circles into my brain and back to that same starting point. I learned book stuff in the MBA. That was an addition. I learned that politics is everywhere no matter where or what you do for a living. I learned that nice people are usually weird but there are still nice people around. I keep losing my faith in humanity and getting it back again, but in the end humanity is what it is; flawed, and the world is an ugly place despite our constant attempts at being appalled by its ugliness without doing anything about it. Well, maybe I haven’t really learned that but a reminder is always nice.

So what’s my new year’s resolution based on my not so deep learnings? That’s actually the worst part about the new year. I won’t have the MBA excuse anymore, I have to think about all those things that I should do or else life is futile. I have to dodge all the marriage nagging from practically everyone (it really isn’t that I’m against it, there is just a horrible lack of adequate AND interested supply). I need to finally figure things out, which is what I’ve been trying to do for the past God knows how many years and never reaching an answer. I’ll probably come up with more big ideas that are like hot air balloons. At the end of the day, I am still me, my birthday is just another day when I get older, like all other days when one gets older (it’s called time passing), but this year, I haven’t grown wiser, just more used to life with all its downs and ups and downs that are actually ups.

Happy Birthday to me!

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Tuesday, June 10, 2014

The Real Depth

I wrote the entire last post as an introduction to this one, to present an idea of actual deep people that I have met and would have totally dismissed had I been following the bohemian depth thing. It is important to notice these people because they are everything the other ones aren’t.
Real people with real depth have opinions, but are eager to hear the opinions of other people as well. They might not go into deep passionate discussions, not because they are not passionate about what they believe in, but because they need to digest what the other person is saying first before dismissing it as something that doesn’t fit their framework, and they’re polite too.
Real people with real depth are interested in a large number of ideas, and are eager to learn. They don’t necessarily parade the latest books they’ve read and possibly haven’t understood, or the documentaries they’ve watched, but they form ideas and link them together in something more tangible. To them, the environment and the economy go hand in hand. Education and science, along with a higher standard of living and respecting the rules are indispensable. And yes, they ask questions that are not rhetorical. Imagine that!
Real people have various interests in music and movies, but they do not call them eargasms and they don’t care if what they like is not necessarily the most popular. They understand that different people have different tastes, and their tastes might not fall along the same lines as the collective.
Real people with depths have passions, contrary to the popular belief that they are cold, and they are eerily well informed about those things that trigger their passions, which puts them in positions to speak fervently, but only in the form of statements and not in the form of directions as to what is the best and what is substandard.
Real people are also not afraid of saying they don’t know, or that they are interested in something new, or that they do not agree with something without sounding at all ashamed or offensive. There is no passive aggressiveness to them. In fact, when they say they don’t know something, they will ask you to enlighten them so that they broaden their knowledge and their wisdom, which usually puts the other deep guys in a hotspot of having to say something meaningful.
Real people with actual depth don’t use sarcasm to display their higher IQ, instead, they listen with patience and comment with sincerity without making fun of anyone, even if the sarcasm is subtle. It is called respect. 
It is important to understand what we are becoming in our attempts to gain wisdom and knowledge, and in our attempts to display them as well. What is the message we are giving? What are we trying to achieve? Are we really being opinionated and individual or are we following the crowds that give us a sense of belonging when the mainstream doesn’t work anymore?

So ask yourself this, which camp do you belong to?

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Monday, June 9, 2014

Dude.. That’s deep!

A few years ago, opinions began to actually matter. The more opinionated you were, the better. The more dismissive in a romanticized sense you were of others habits and opinions, the better, you were a rebel then. The more books you claimed to have read and analyzed, the more poetry quotes you post on your facebook and twitter pages, the more underground music you listen to, the better.

Better what? Well depth of course! You’re living the bohemian life where everything is an emotional roller coaster, everyone is an artist or an appreciator of art, and the lingo is the same because only people with that level of depth deserve to exist and everyone else should be shunned out.

Well, my humble opinion says that is bullshit.

I admit, the whole bohemian style of things was interesting at first. And there is some truth in it: underground music and good books along with a great cup of coffee and maybe some poetry is indeed beautiful. Visiting cultural places and having opinions about existential issues as well as political and cultural issues is important. But all this does not matter if it is fake, which unfortunately is lots of times.


So here is my tiny experience with this mad bohemian world that has come to exist in the groups of the 20 somethings I know. We start off by opinions on politics, and how the world should go, an what’s wrong with our countries, which is all fine and dandy having lived through a revolution, then it turns to music; underground music, classic oldies, Fayrouz & Ziad Rahbany who are a genre of music on their own, and this is fine too because usually the music is good until you start getting the pretenders and you start noticing: if you don’t like the new guys who are supposed to fall into the above genres then you don’t really belong. Next, we move on to the books and ideologies; everyone has a strong view on things, and starts discussing ideologies; anarchism and socialism and fascism and capitalism. The passion with which the ideas are being communicated gives one a sense of absoluteness: this cannot be wrong, these people must know what they are talking about. Then, we come to the books, which gave me the first hint of fallacy. You see, most of the new books are just that, new! They lose a lot of the essence for the sake of ideas that are not necessarily solid. Stories have been getting raving reviews while lacking character composition, scene composition, and plot, but because they are falling in that large bowl of bohemian depth everyone is so dying to dive into, they are considered masterpieces of art. The last measure of depth, and the second clue, is the cultural sites. I won’t claim to know so much of anything, but suddenly, old Cairo and down town Cairo have become places where young people flock to in order to live the bohemian depth. For me, since I enjoy the architecture and the stories spun from history, I expected those people knew where they were going or what they were doing, but unfortunately, it was the new “cool” as such settings adds to the look of depth they cherish so. That got me thinking; do I really like Fayrouz and underground music that much? I prefer Abdel Wahab with his very chic music and Bon Jovi with his in your face songs. I will still hate the contemporary books. I will try to learn of the places I visit before just admiring the sites like a tourist in my own country. And, as I like some of the underground music, some of them just suck!! Ideologies, much as I admire them, should be analyzed for pros and cons and discussed objectively with points on application, not dismissed and definitely not changes on the whims of the collective.

There is this movie called Almost Famous about the very young reporter who goes on tour with a rock band and meets this groupie girl who is mysterious and crazy and teaches him all sorts of new things in life, only to find out that she’s a silly lost teenagers with a crush on a band member who lives in her own imagination. If you’ve seen it, then it’s clear what I’m talking about. If not, I guess by now the idea is clear: My generation believes that culture is the new cool, without understanding the real meaning or price of being “a cultured” person. We are becoming groupies to this fallacy, with no depth at all really; more like an optical illusion made out of an elaborate lie.

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Thursday, May 29, 2014

Diaries of a workaholic

Hi my name is Dina and I’m a workaholic.

I wake up every morning to go to work. I set the alarm at 7:30 and end up snoozing 3 to 5 times until I actually get out of bed, and the first thought I have is “I don’t want to go to work today.” But it stays as a thought and eventually I get out of bed and do the morning rituals. I don’t do this because I lack sleep. I usually sleep my 8 hours give or take an hour or two. Sometimes, I’m awake before the alarm rings; I just can’t get out of bed. I’m usually thinking about my to do list throughout the morning rituals, and I’m usually overwhelmed. Lately, I have had to deal with unpleasant situations or people which make it even harder to know that I have to go through that horrible meeting with those obnoxious people. But it’s a living, and I’m a workaholic.

I arrive at work, drag my feet, turn on my machine and, as we say in Egypt, “Spray the water” (which is a metaphor for the first thing shop owners did in the 19th and early 20th century when they were open for business) and make coffee. I do the morning chats and depending on the energy I get, I start the day. A call here, an email there, a discussion on the side, and my daily computer crash, and we’re already rolling. The to do list gets bigger and I try so hard to check something off without adding 5 more in its wake. I do the runs between the different team members and the different teams; best part is the running about, I can never sit for so long at my desk anyway unless the sky would fall on my head if I didn’t. I remember that I forgot to eat, generally because I start to feel a bit dizzy, so I grab a chocolate bar, or coffee or something with lots of sugar. Let the sugar rush begin! It’s 6 pm already, which is a good thing because people should start leaving the office and the emails will be less and I just might get something done in the end. I live close to work so I don’t worry so much about traffic anymore, and I always have this one more thing to do, one last sheet, one last email, one more task, and before I know it, it’s 10-ish and my mom is freaking out.


Sounds terrible right? My friends are all mad at me, I work too much. My managers are telling me two things: get a life, or get a vacation, but I know that I’m just not ready for either.

The truth is, I get a fix out of it. That moment when I get something done, or help someone at work, or even send a status report; I end up feeling satisfied, even just a little bit. I don’t always enjoy it, but sometimes I do. I know it’s killing me, but I can’t help it. If I don’t go to work, I get a sour taste in my mouth. I’ve actually come to the conclusion that I hate weekends, but I don’t work on weekends as much as I can because I end up resenting myself and suffering from self-pity (as if I don’t already). That moment when I think I have to go home now because I can’t stay at work any longer is not because I miss home, it’s because I know deep down that I might OD and die or something. Going home has become a chore of its own, because then I will have to stop thinking about work (as if) and I have to engage in normal day to day activities. I have to remember that I have problems that I need to deal with or worry about, and that I have been too busy working to give them any room in my head. I have to be a part of a family and do my duty as such. I have to meet my friends and hang out to talk about boys and old bosses and how our parents still treat us like children. Again, please don’t get me wrong. I love my family and my friends. I feel blessed with a wonderful life and I am grateful. But somehow, it’s harder to be a normal person living a normal life than just being at work with all its glorious stink.


And for that fix, I have been doing my MBA! I’m still going through it, with all the assignments and projects and team meetings and classes. I love it; I’m learning, I’m meeting people, and I’m keeping busy. What is even more important than all that is that I get to always be thinking that I have more stuff to do. I will think about the next assignment instead of having to go get a medical checkup. I will complain about this team or that instead of wonder how big a space all those people who died actually left in the world. All the while, I’m learning, I’m adding lines on my resume to tell the world that I do stuff and I am not just a cog in some company’s wheel (because I’m actually a cog in several wheels at the same time; now THAT is multitasking), and I’m keeping that brain of mine that enjoys overloading itself with existential questions busy! Finally, if at a time I go through that list of people I call every time I feel like I miss my friends and no one answers, well who needs them, I’ll call someone from work and get a status instead!

The naked truth is this: I have had it drilled in my head at a very young age that there is always more that can be done. In the 10+ years I have known my dad, I actually knew him for a total of 2 years because he was always working. If I’m not working or studying, then I’m wondering why I exist, or why I’m alone or lonely, or why I feel like my chest will implode. When I’m working or studying, I’m not remembering the bad things, I’m not even remembering the good things which can be a blessing as well. When I’m working, I’m my job or my degree because I don’t have to think about broken cars and law suits and betrayals and lies.

I wonder if it’s hereditary; my dad was a workaholic, and when he wasn’t working he was making sure to keep busy with something! Some argue he worked himself to death; too much work, too much coffee, too much stress, too much cigarettes. Did he also feel empty? Did he feel overwhelmed? Did he hate his life outside of work? Was his family not enough for him? Was it too much? Did he just need that fix, regardless of anything else? I will never know.

At the end of the day, I work, therefore I am real. Everything else is just one of those exhausting dreams where monsters chase us and we wake up more weary than before we went to bed in the first place.

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Monday, May 19, 2014

Some People are Cool

Some people are there when you need them, every single time.

Some people don’t answer the phone, but you always know they’ll call back.

Some people you can talk to about probably everything at any time and it never feels off or awkward.

Some people don’t change when their circumstances change, they stay open, don’t hold grudges, treat you now the same way they treated you 3 years ago, 10 years ago, 17 years ago when you first met them.

Some people smile when they see you, even if the topic is sour or if they are sad or down or upset, or if you are sad or down or upset, and that smile is never out of place.

Some people are kind of moody, but then again that fades next to your mood swings, so it’s fine really.

Some people can gossip about everything and anything, make fun of you to your face, don’t need to ask for subtitles, and know more about hair products and make up than you ever will.

Some people read you like an open book, understand your flirts when the person you’re flirting with is totally oblivious, and say that he’s stupid for not getting it, even though you are a geek after all and geeks suck at flirting.

Some people can tell you that you look fat without actually telling you that you look fat and you will never feel horrible about it, not even in retrospect.

Some people are just way too decent in the way they act and the way they talk, it makes you feel like you’re in a PG-13 movie.

Some people have a very sour comeback to other people, or at least they did. I don’t think they still do it, but you know deep down they can.

Some people make you feel like you haven’t grown a day over 12, and that they haven’t grown a day over 12, despite sounding very much their age.

Some people amaze you by actually caring!!! And it always always shows in the little things.

Some people read your stupid blog without tagging them in it or posting it on their wall or asking them to. Some people say they like it too J

Some people are all the above and are wise as well.

And sometimes, talking to those some people in that once in a blue moon event, you always feel like the conversation ended smack in the middle with so much left unsaid. To be continued when they, or you, pick up the phone again in a year or so.

Makes you happy that some people are in your life, even if it is once a year that you talk to them or something.

Some people are just 1 very special person: Mostafa Esmat Sheba (who despite me calling him Sheba lately is known in my house as Mostafa Esmat).


I have a message to some people:

Please don’t allow me to keep you at arm’s length, or to drift, or to think twice before calling you in my next car accident (God forbid).

Please don’t let the world get too much for you that you stop smiling as much as you do.

Please know that you are an important person in existence.

Please take note of the happy moments in life, no matter how few, and of the bad moments because that’s when you make your best jokes.

Please stay honest, with yourself and with everyone else (even though you can be so vague sometimes, you should work on that!)

Please hold on to yourself for me because it’s handy to have someone like you to remind me of who I am, and you know how I have a terrible habit of losing sight of things and people.

Oh, and please don’t wear pink shorts ever again!

Till your birthday (which is probably the next time we’ll talk)

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Monday, May 12, 2014

A Haphazard Bundle of Inconsistent Qualities

“For thirty years now I have been studying my fellow–men. I do not know very much about them. I should certainly hesitate to engage a servant on his face, and yet I suppose it is on the face that for the most part we judge the persons we meet. We draw our conclusions from the shape of the jaw, the look in the eyes, the contour of the mouth. I wonder if we are more often right than wrong. Why novels and plays are so often untrue to life is because their authors, perhaps of necessity, make their characters all of a piece. They cannot afford to make them self–contradictory, for then they become incomprehensible, and yet self–contradictory is what most of us are. We are a haphazard bundle of inconsistent qualities. In books on logic they will tell you that it is absurd to say that yellow is tubular or gratitude heavier than air; but in that mixture of incongruities that makes up the self yellow may very well be a horse and cart and gratitude the middle of next week. I shrug my shoulders when people tell me that their first impressions of a person are always right. I think they must have small insight or great vanity. For my own part I find that the longer I know people the more they puzzle me: my oldest friends are just those of whom I can say that I don’t know the first thing about them.”
--Excerpt from A Friend In Need By W. Somerset Maugham

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Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Stray Thoughts: Love and Frienship

Some people spend their whole lives trying to figure out two things; love and friendship. Love is that thing which everyone seems to feel but no one can really describe, it's like saying something is blue; who am I to tell that the images two people send to their brains and their brains interpret them as blue are identical? It's all a matter of perception really. As to friendship, it used to be who would play with you in the park, then it became who would sit next to you in class,or who you would spend the longest hours on the phone with. It matures to who would cover for your mischefs, and to who would tolerate you and turn a blind eye to your flaws. It finally becomes who would look into your soul and not wince in disapproval. If love feels like reaching the light at the end of the tunnel, friendship is the torch you carry to light your way.

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Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Of Lady Moon and Master Sea – Eternity Ends

This is a sequel to Of Lady Moon and Master Sea

The seas raged all over the realm of earth. It was as if the moon did not control the tides anymore. Whole cities were submerged and destruction filled the lands. Meanwhile, the moon was always covered in thin mist, always blurry. If a man looked up to it, he would think he was looking at it through a veil of his tears.

It has been months since Master Sea and Lady Moon met. On every full moon, she would go down to the realm of earth, on that far away beach where no creature ever dared tread, and she would walk. She would walk close to the sea but not daring have the water touch her, feeling his rage, knowing that he must see her, and hoping that maybe if she walks far enough, he would come. She would walk until dawn, and risk showing herself to Lady Sun, who would shine brighter in celebration of Lady Moon’s dismay. Month after month, she descended to meet him, but Master Sea never came. Eventually she stopped walking the nights for him, she stopped walking the nights at all. But still, every month when her cycle is whole, the Lady Moon went to where they met. Her face, once radiant, has become pale. Her tears, once moonstones, have turned into mist, and the night that is her hair has been starless ever since. He has abandoned her. Eternity has passed as a witness of their love, eternity must be over.

The wind whispered to him, telling him of her plight that he surely knew, asking him for mercy, but he was deep in those dark corners at the bottom of his realm, too far to hear the whispers of the wind. Lady Sun shone brighter, eating at him, taking little pieces of him into the clouds and making the wind blow them away to rain deep inside the realm of earth, but he was too deep in his realm to notice, and she knew that no matter what, Master Sea would never allow her to see him as Lady Moon did. And so she burned at the world.

The universe was going into chaos, conclave was called into order.

The observer sat at the head of the table, waiting for the masters and ladies of the realms to come. His face has never displayed concern, not even when stars are born and die, not even when planets are consumed, not when entire species disappear with no trace. He observed everything, and everything followed the wish of the Creator. The order in the chaos was never broken, except now.

The wind blew in first, he never liked to be called master. He said he was a servant of the universe and the Creator, and master of none. Master Earth came second, the ground shaking with each step. The wind greeted him and blew through his leaves. Then, Lady Moon crept in. she shed no light and spoke no words. She was covered in mist. The moonflowers on Master Earth’s surface have not even felt her presence. “My lady, your flowers have missed you,” he said as he offered her his hand with a moon flower in gloom. Lady Moon stared at the flower in with unseeing eyes. It may have been an eternity before a tiny shadow of a smile grew on her face, and the flower started to bloom. Lady Sun came next, radiating so much heat that the leaves on Master Earth were withering. He glared at her and looked to the observer. “You had best dim your lovely light my lady. Remember, this is conclave,” said the observer. For a second, Master Earth thought she would laugh at the observer, but she conceded with a shadow of a smirk. She took her seat opposite Lady Moon, her eyes blazing at the pale lady Moon who sat quietly and said nothing. They sat, waiting for Master Sea to come. They waited silently, nervously, but Lady Moon was oblivious, staring into nothing, until the waves could be heard.

Master Sea came in with the flood at his heels. The masters and ladies greeted him, all except Lady Moon who stared at him, there was no hiding her love. He ignored them and sat down, returning love with ambivalence. “The conclave is now in session,” said the observer.

“Master Sea, you have been neglecting your duties and your realm is in chaos. The species are out of control, the seas and oceans are flooding Master Earth’s shores. You are no longer heeding to Lady Moon’s functions.

“Lady Moon, you have lost your strength and the power over your realm. The entire night sky has dimmed. Stars are dying more rapidly and the constellations are losing shape.

“Lady Sun, you have been scorching the realm of earth. Your influence on Master Sea’s realm and the wind and causing it to rain in deserts. You are burning the crops that you should help grow.

“Masters and ladies, you are breaking the eternal order. Explain yourselves.”

Master Sea stared into the void and gave no answer. Lady Sun started ranting about how it was her right to shine the way she liked, she had always been giving life and she would continue to do so. But then she agreed that she had been taking it too far and conceded to going back to normal. The observer looked to Lady Moon, who was still quiet and distant. She finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “I have nothing to say for myself, Observer. You all know my plight, and for me, eternity is over. I wish to be destroyed.” Conclave was quiet, no one dared speak. The lovers who reside in Master Earth’s heart began to cry, the flowers were dying. Everything that lived on the realm of earth was heartbroken. As the observer was about to speak, Master Sea said, “I will flood the realm of earth. Master Earth, I beg your pardon. You have been nothing but gracious to me, but it has to be done. If the Lady Moon wishes to be destroyed, then I have the same wish for myself. My only request, if she accepts, is that our ends bring us together. If she moves closer to your realm, Master Earth, I will have no choice but to concede to her power and flood it. Your realm will be gone by the time she crashes into mine. I would appreciate the few moments I would have with her at the end of eternity when as if they were all that has ever been.”

Master Sea knelt by Lady Moon, showing his love for the one and only time to the ladies and masters of the realm, “my Lady Moon, I beg your forgiveness. I have been blinded by your love and crazed by my desire for you. I have never meant to cause you harm, I would rather annihilate myself and the universe a thousand times over. But my heart is dark, and the darkness consumed me. Eternity is indeed over, but it has never been because my love for you faltered, it is because our time has finally come to exist together, and it would be for eternity, even if eternity is but a moment.”

Master Sea opened his hands, they were filled with moonstones. The moonflowers were blooming for the last time on Master Earth’s realm. The room was filling up with silver radiance as Lady Moon’s face lit up, and above them, the void was alight with stars. “Lady Moon,” said the observer, “do you accept?”

“I do,” she replied. He nodded. It was time for the world to end.in_the_shadow_of_the_broken_moon_by_justv23-d4xqocq

On a desolate beach, the sea was roaring, the moon was full, huge, filling up the night sky with silvery light. The sky was filled with stars. Even though the wind was raging mad all over the world, it was nothing but a light a breeze on that beach. A beautiful girl in a white frock that blew in the breeze walked slowly, letting her feet and the hem of her frock be kissed by the waves. The night in her hair twinkled with a million million stars, and her smile cast light shining deep into the darkness of the sea. Master Sea stood, shifting his feet. He has waited for eternity, and now eternity was over and another was to begin; an eternity of scarce moments that would feed his soul once and for all. He watched her come near, feeling her feet as his waves engulf them, for the first time, even though he was flooding the earth, he was calm. The rage was gone. He can finally touch her. In a moment, they would both perish, but eternity was now. He knelt by her feet but she pulled him up and held his hand. They kissed while the moon was crashing into the sea behind them. They kissed… as the world was no more.

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Saturday, March 22, 2014

Salonat on the Field

I owe it to my journalistic duty (note to self: buy a Fedora) to report on the actual happenings of my first Salonat experience (the Egyptian term for arranged marriage meetings). I’ve already done an analysis of the situation back in 2011 and my friend’s comeback to the idea just a few weeks after, which makes this my third encounter with the idea, and hopefully my last.

First of all, I would like to set the stage:


The prospective bride (Me):

I am a 27 year old workaholic who stays at work till 10:00 pm and says she enjoys it; her own managers are telling her to get a life. I am an engineer (lot of good that does me) and annoyingly book smart, potentially a know-it-all-goody-two-shoes, who is a self-diagnosed crazy person with very high standards in men that almost resemble the geek girl version of a Disney prince (I have actually published that too as a checklist!) and a couple of really bad relationships deeming me a very untrusting person.


The prospective groom:

A 33 year old banker who lives in Maadi, probably comes from a nice family, and whose father is a banker as well. (yes it’s a one-liner)

The circumstances:

I’ve been going back and forth with my mother about this for a while now. So far, I’ve been lucky enough (or maybe manipulative enough) to have my mother reject all the other prospective clients, sorry I mean grooms, without my interference based on her own set of standards, which are basically him being an engineer and from a good family. I have to explain that she is under the preconceived notion that engineers are smarter than other people, and I have made no attempt to remedy her perception since it works to my favor. As a disclaimer, I have seen my share of stupid engineers, and so from my perspective, a person coming from an engineering background only guarantees minor enhancements in cognitive abilities and nothing else. So finally, with her worried that I am becoming an old spinster at the age of 27, she has agreed to let go of her standards with respect to the engineering background and set up this meeting (while claiming that I’m only 26.)


The events of the encounter:

I was late… very late actually, to my mother’s utter shame. They had been waiting for almost an hour and she had to go ahead and meet them before my arrival. The party consisted of his mother, his aunt, and the groom to be (or not), in addition to the missing link, I mean the common link. As much as I would like to say that he was an alpha male jerk who was trying to make a poor display of his testosterone (like some guy a friend was trying to set me up with, both of them learned their mistake in half an hour or less), he was actually nice! I was expecting an anti-feminist-ugly-stupid-creep who would criticize me and attempt to tell me his version of how he sees my life. I got a normal guy, who was actually interested in learning about my work and my interests. He was noticeably shorter than me, a bit more on the traditional side, not the funniest or the most interesting. There was no love at first sight, or even admiration at first sight, but the conversation was pleasant. He was an average Joe, and there is nothing more to say there, and nothing wrong with it either.

All in all, we stayed about an hour. He was good at trying to avoid the awkward silences, and we talked for the entire duration. I didn’t linger on the conversation, didn’t think about it, or him, afterwards, and I can honestly say I didn’t feel anything about the whole situation; just someone I met, talked to, and walked away. The missing link said some things in the middle in a feeble attempt at trying to be funny, but only ended up putting everyone present at awkward situations. But the lesson was learned, or would be learned in the aftermath.


The aftermath:

I gave my mother the above feedback so that she can convey it to the missing link. Apparently, it wasn’t that simple. How was I to know that having polite conversation gave the impression that I’m interested? That “if they’re talking” then “they’ll get married in a fortnight!” The mechanics of the arranged marriage system escape me, and escape my mother as well. She got on the phone with the obnoxious lady and told her my feedback. The obnoxious lady wasn’t convinced so my mom resorted to the only negative thing I had actually said about the guy: he was too short! The obnoxious, and quite stupid lady, while promising that she wouldn’t tell his family that, conveyed the message and got back to my mother to tell her the events of the conversation, which of course included the short comment. By the end of her call with my mom she dropped an “oh by the way, why did your daughter get so fat?”


The conclusion:

I made it clear to my mother it was not to happen again, simply because I am not the type of girl who believes that having pleasant conversation is equivalent to being ready for marriage. I think my mom, knowing that a lot of my friends are guys, knows that I will not be impressed by a guy I meet on neutral ground, having the backup of his family who are gathering ammunition to fight back rejection. Isn’t that half of the equation? You meet someone and get a 50% chance of either rejecting or being rejected. Again, common sense most probably doesn’t apply to the arranged marriage mechanics, but at least I made it clear that it isn’t for me, and definitely snapped back an “I told you so” about the result of the rejection.; At the end of the day, it’s a judgment match; one team is judging the other. To come out of something like that with a pros and cons list, all very shallow and subjective, shows how this system does not work, at least not for me.


The silver lining:

My mom is happy that I did it. Apparently she doesn’t feel like I’m a freak of nature anymore since I wasn’t rejected. I think I have convinced her, for now, that the arranged marriage thing is not the way forward. The cherry on top is that now she knows that obnoxious women, like the missing link, should not be a part of her circle, much less present us with her suggestions about possible grooms, and ways to look, act, and dress to please (yes, it’s very 7th century) while she knows absolutely nothing about me. I’d take my mom telling me to “find someone” over “let’s do salonat” any day.

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Thursday, December 12, 2013

The Arrow

It caught her eye… the way it stood there, held firmly, confidently, like it was right where it belonged. It was silvery but not shiny in a cheap sort of way. It didn’t scream out “look at me” but it demanded respect, and she was willing to grant it that. She knew it was special the moment she saw it, and she knew before that moment too. Love at first sight? Nah! It existed, she loved it, that’s it.

At first she couldn’t get a close look, but it distracted her. Oh how it distracted her. What was that guy saying anyway? She couldn’t remember. It was the cold, the medicines, maybe she was even feverish, that’s why it’s so hard to focus… but it’s not hard to focus on it. If only she could get a closer look, if only she could hear it tick, and feel its sleek shape in her hand… Enough! Focus!

That’s it, she’s telling herself it’s the meds. The stupid cold and the stupid meds and all that coffee she had to drink, but she had made up her mind. She wasn’t going to think about it. It’s a now or never moment, she wasn’t always good at those, but this time, this thing, it’s now.

She asked for it, and she got it. It was a surprise to her, a pleasant one, a timeless moment. She held it, twisted it in her hand ever so delicately, she didn’t dare hold it with her left hand, the one that did the work. If she had, she’d never let go. Her heart was beating out of tune, as she examined it. It was all silver, she preferred the silver and navy, but the all silver one, a bit dull from being well used but still maintaining the dignity of one well taken care of, felt like the older brother of the one she preferred; more mature, more intelligent, more genuine. She really did feel mature then in a way, even though she felt like a kid holding one of that family again, but she wasn’t a kid anymore and she was strongly aware of that at that very moment. The moment her eyes fell on those arrows, they went straight through her. Funny how they did that from just a look. Some things are more than they seem, more than they look, more than they do or cost. Some things go straight through the heart.

She didn’t trust herself enough to make it tick, and he didn’t tick it either, probably stunned at her strange behavior. She felt embarrassed, awkward, self-conscious. It was just a pen, or so she told herself. But at that moment her eyes first fell on it, she didn’t know, how could she? She never realized the effect it had on her to see one again, and to see one standing so tall. Was it an archer like her? Well, it was definitely an arrow, and after all, she is the archer, but would the arrow aim true?

It was time for the dream to end, for the moment to pass, for the pen to go back where it belonged. She gave it back. It had made her happy for just a second, even though she made a fool of herself, even though her own blood betrayed her. it was time to go back to her sturdy Staedtler pencil. She wasn’t a pen person after all, and she always had her father’s Cross to soothe her at times like these when a pen, just a pen, can do so much damage. She’d never owned a Parker, and she expects she never would. It would be too special and she would never bear the thought of losing it or misplacing it; it would break her heart to have Parker, but maybe her heart needed breaking, or shooting an arrow through. Cross and Staedtler… for now. The Parker was in safe hands. She hoped the sequel would have a sequel. Cross your fingers, pun intended ;)

Here’s a clue: The Pencil Affair

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Saturday, November 30, 2013

Another Birthday

It’s my birthday again. For some reason I’ve made it a tradition to give you all some fuss over my birthday, but the real reason is I’m writing this for me, to watch myself grow older and wiser and exponentially crazier. This post is about what’s special in the past year, and why I have newly found respect for the next one.
  • I didn’t kill anyone this year, not remotely, at least not to my knowledge, phew.
  • I left the job that was draining the life out of me, and I’ve made some very close calls relating to that but God was merciful to put me in situations where I couldn’t go back on my word, I’m a lucky gal.
  • I did not go to jail!
  • I’m doing my MBA which is a sweet distraction from life. Well, not so sweet, who am I kidding, but if I’m going around in circles in my brain, I might as well do it about something with some value.
  • I’m becoming a nerd, not something to my advantage, but it should be an interesting experience; nerdy with a sense of humor.
  • I don’t have to wake up at 6 am every day and drive/get driven 80 km a day + 70 km more when I go to school (just the 70 now).
  • I went to Europe! For less than a week and stayed in a dismal place.. but I went to Europe!!
  • I have a beautiful baby nephew, may God keep him safe always.
  • I made friends and lost friends and shuffled friends around, but in the end, all is good, all is just right, as it always has been and always will be.
  • I lost my favorite person in the world, the loveliest person in the world. I didn’t dare say goodbye properly and I still don’t dare say goodbye. It hurts to know she is gone but I am grateful to have had her in my life; for every smile and every laugh that she gave me, and still does with wonderful memories. May you rest in peace Tant Omaima.
  • Lessons have been learned, lots of them. They are the lessons that make life worth living.
  • I know for a fact that shrinks are possibly useless!
  • I can still laugh! At some point last year I really thought I couldn’t laugh ever again.
  • I still have no idea what my purpose in life is, I mean seriously how long does it take to find that out?! Do we have to wait for life to end to figure it out or what?!! Funny thing is that I’m still looking, God helps those who help themselves after all.
  • I’m writing again, on and off, more off than on, but hey, I am!
  • My professor asked me in the first class of management if I’m the next Steve Jobs. I think he’d back out on saying that now, but I will pretend that he wouldn’t.
So I guess what I’m trying to say is, I am grateful. Thank You God for giving me a full life with so many lessons. Thank You for giving me reasons to thank You. Thank You for listening to some of the prayers in my heart, and forgiving the not so nice stuff in there too. I am alive. My life may not be so good, but this year I am grateful for not having something to be guilty about, and that’s good enough, that’s more than good. Thank You!

Oh, and Happy Birthday to me!

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Friday, October 25, 2013

The Doll Factory

Disclaimer: This post is written by a very angry person

The past decade showed how women in music are all headed towards symbolizing women as objects; as good as their hair, clothes, and makeup, and should only be happy when they, as objects, are in demand by the consumer; a.k.a the common man. Two or three years later, the movies started portraying the common man as a wolf in sheep’s clothes; if the girl becomes an interesting enough commodity, then the consumer wants to steal instead of buy, use and abuse instead of create a solid and healthy partnership through love and marriage, and how their lives are all eventually ruined.
The songs sell because girls want to be beautiful, attractive, and sexy. Of course, stream this enough through the media and any girl going through puberty will learn that being smart is a big no-no (don’t the mothers tell them that as well), being sexy is good, but publicly slutty is a no-no, you can be slutty if you can hide it, because the guys like the secrecy, and that being yourself is.. wait, yourself? You want to be a real human being? No sweetie, you got it wrong, no one wants you for who you are, you are not an individual, you are a doll in a very big dollhouse called the world, you should know your place.
The movies sell too. They sell to guys because they talk about all that is taboo; sex and drugs, how you would ruin your life if you decide to marry the girl you like, and how it would be much easier to just play around with a girl who is easy enough. You’d be a sleazebag but no one can hurt you and no one really cares. They sell to girls because they sound like the lessons from the more experienced women of the world (aren’t they all directed by Inas El-Deghedy?) on how a girl should be sexy, but not easy, and that naïve girls get the boot almost always, because even if they are book smart, the wolves out there would get them, it’s eventual. A girl has to be “2arashana” and “sousa” to live a good life and sell to the right consumer; the man who has money and a job and would treat her like a princess; which basically means buy her lots of stuff because love is for losers.
We’ve come to live with that, Sexy girls and soppy love stories and movies about the big bad wolf. But the trend is changing, and apparently not for the better. It seems that all those movies did pay off in the end, girls are not easy anymore, at least they know how to hide it and if they don’t, who cares anyway, this is society now and we are a part of it. It is becoming more OK on a societal level that girls aren’t faking Hijab, mainly because of a stupid politically rebellious idea in the sense of school children teasing each other, but that doesn’t mean that girls should get too comfortable, oh no! You thought it’s time to be yourself sweetie? No, no that’s not going to happen, it just looks like you have more freedom. The new trend which was always there really but always subtle, is going public; society is coming out of the closet. We want Stepford wives, and you should be happy with that. You know of course that you shouldn’t have an opinion, we’ve been pushing that in your head ever since school and it’s been going on for decades, this is just trying to sell it. A girl is still a commodity, but we want to sell a Stepford wife now, not a slut, that doesn’t sell anymore.
The sluts of society are now talk show hosts; just look at them, they work late (imagine how they get home at dawn every day), they want you to think, they talk about hard political topics, they aren’t feminine, and most of them are either single or divorced. See where smart gets you? Here is the alternative, here is what sells. A girl should always act naïve and stupid, it’s so cute. You should always have hearts and teddy bears around, come on make it easy on the dude, if he decides to get you something, you have to like it. Got that down? Good! Now that you’ve attracted the right guy, you have to be obedient, yes you heard me, obedient! And stay naïve, if he senses that you’re smart or knowledgeable, he’ll be turned off and leave, and then you’ll be a spinster and not even a talk show host. Next, you have to dress the way he likes. No, it doesn’t matter if he liked the way you dressed before, remember, you’re a doll. Kids dress their dolls all the time, so you have to look the way he likes. Now, about those friends of yours, they’re bad influence, they’ll turn you against him most probably and open your sweet kitten eyes on how badly he’s been treating you, so you better not listen to them. Tell you what, let him pick your friends for you; probably his family members or the girlfriends/wives of his friends, and then let him always compare you to them to show you how badly you’re treating him and how they are way more obedient than you. Remember your place, you are there to please your man, do everything he says, even think the way he likes, this is part of your role as society’s doll; to be shaped the way the customer likes.
Now don’t forget, be happy! If you complain you’ll be a typical Egyptian depressing woman. Finally, when you get dumped because you’re too boring for him and you don’t know anything about anything, take it with dignity, even with pride. You mustn’t embarrass him or make a scene. One last thing, when you do get dumped, you’ll be used goods and no one will want you again, and you’ll still be a spinster, who doesn’t have a talk show and isn’t even smart.
We hope you’ve enjoyed your stay at the doll factory. Please come again!

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Wednesday, October 23, 2013

The Purpose of Life

The eternal question, what’s the meaning of life? What’s the purpose of life? Why am I here? Why was I born? Do I matter? Why is the universe so big... etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

42 (just kidding)

The purpose of life is a story.

The only things that matters in life are stories. Aren’t stories divine? To become a story teller is to reach out and grab a piece of that divinity. After all, the book I love so much, the word of God and the message of the belief I hold so dear to me in my heart of hearts is a book of stories, the Quran, and each tiny part of it has a story of its own. Its messenger PBUH is a story teller; not in the sense of his making up stories, but because the story teller is a story on his own through his credibility and his honesty. Oh yes, a story teller is honest, perhaps the only important thing about a story teller, whether he makes up stories or just tells them, is that he is honest because he believes in the words of the story he is telling.

I talk too much, and I blog too much, especially about myself. It’s quite disturbing in fact. I can only imagine you, dear reader, wishing I would write about something else other than me. But maybe if you come back to this humble blog, then you are listening to the story of me. It would be nice to dream that one day my blog would be a book about all my stories, wouldn’t that be nice?

But enough about me…

Imagine your story. Take a minute.

Do you like your story so far? How does it go?

Was born in a thunderstorm 20 something years ago, in the middle of the night or at midday. Meant the world to your parents, went to school and college, played the bad boy every now and then, fell in love so fiercely that you thought your heart would break, felt your soul shatter to a million pieces when your dream didn’t come true.

Your smile lit up the room and your laugh was like chiming bells.

You saw so much, made so many mistakes, travelled inside your soul and out, and realized this and that!

You went through the bitterness of regret and the even worse bitterness of lost hope.

Your friends were everything, or they were nothing, you worked so hard because you believed in something, or just liked to work, or you were a workaholic by heritage.

You had fun and you laughed and you cried. Once you spoke to a person and that person’s eyes lit up because she’d realized something that was so profound, and only you could make her eyes shine like that.

We exist to tell stories, our stories, other people’s stories. We exist because in our laughter and tears, in our losses and disappointments, buried under the debris of our shattered dreams lies a shard of broken glass, that if held to the light in exactly the right way, would reflect the light of the sun. Our stories are the stories of existence and of life. Plain old life. So maybe it’s much simpler than all those crises we go through; identity, existential, oompa loompa?

How would you like your story to end? Take another minute, please :)

I want people, at the end when they read my story, to be sad that I died (isn’t that how stories on earth end?) but not because my ending is tragic –who knows maybe it would be –but because they loved the character. I want them to be happy because I lived a full life, because I tried and failed and maybe succeeded a few times. I want them to be happy because I was good and honest. Honest stories are the best. I don’t want to be the good guy, or the bad guy (gal), I want to be human; good and bad. I want the person who reads my story to love me at times and hate me at times and get angry at me for being so thick, and wish me guidance when I lose my way. I wish my story’s ending would not have any loose ends; I don’t want my readers to hold their breaths and think, “if only she had another hour, she could have done this or that” but that’s not up to me. What is up to me is not to waste my time wishing. Who would want to read a story about a person who sat there wishing and never did anything about it! I am glad I am stuck sometimes though, because that’s always the best part in a story, when the character is stuck and the reader just can’t wait for them to get unstuck; to be sent a miracle or make one of their own. Isn’t that what always happens in stories?

Aren’t we reading each other’s stories now? Maybe mine is wordier because I write too much about myself, but that doesn’t mean that it’s better or fuller or more meaningful. The best thing about stories is how they make you feel. And the best stories are definitely the ones that linger for years in your head; those moments and passages and images and words that hit us when we least expect and make us laugh or cry or be wary…

Or maybe in the frenzy of all those stories, we just realize that life is a story of stories that overlap and intertwine, and that this story will go on and on and on until that day when we see how our stories fare.

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Thursday, October 17, 2013

What became of the Lost Boys

Excerpt from Peter Pan

“Of course all the boys went to school; and most of them got into Class III, but Slighty was put first in class IV and then into Class V. Class I is the top class. Before they had attended school a week they saw what goats they had been not to remain on the island [Neverland]; but it was too late now, and soon they settled down into being as ordinary as you or me or Jenkins minor. It is sad to have to say that the power to fly gradually left them. At first Nana tied their feet to the bedposts so that they should not fly away in the night; and one of their diversions by day was to pretend to fall off buses; but by and by they ceased to tug at their bonds in bed, and found that they hurt themselves when they let go of the bus. In time they could not even fly after their hats. Want of practice, they called it; but what it really meant was that they no longer believed.”

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