I want those shoes

The urge to curse…

Every time, every single time I find myself in peace with all the things I dislike about my current status, something happens –as tiny as could be- that troubles my peace!

Today I was cleaning up my yahoo account since it has more junk than actual emails, when I stumbled on three emails from the notorious jerk I am still married to on paper. Two of which are of job offers her thinks I might be interested in! seriously! Reading one of those descriptions I had a strong urge to reply with one crude and extremely inappropriate email. This person has such an amazing ability to awaken all the anger of which I thought I have let go!

The last email was a real piece of work though! It was with the subject “Happy Birthday to ME” and dated a day after his birthday. I overlooked a single detail, our wedding date was one day before his birthday, and it was a stupid sentimental thing I once thought of when we were in love, now it just disgusts me at the entire month! Anyway, el zareef el khafeef was wishing me a “saba7eya mubarka” and whining over the fact that “his kids” and I did not wake him up on his birthday with a call!! I can’t even seem to find the proper words to describe him anymore!!!!

And of course, just like the typical pseudo-good-doer he is, he had to end his email with a precious piece of advice: “please attend to amending Beem’s name in the birth certificate before he joins school to avoid further complications when military service if of an issue”. It’s a silly thing, and all the lawyers we have both consulted, in addition to those who work in the relevant official offices mocked him for his ridiculous paranoid thoughts. Thing is, my name is missing a “Mohamed” right before my family name in its written form in my son’s birth certificate, basically because the same “Mohamed” was missing in our marriage certificate; however, it’s present in my new ID. Big freakin’ deal!!!

I couldn’t help but get angry over his condescending tone, over his pretense –or perhaps belief- that injustice has been bestowed on him, over his silly joke, over his hidden –or not so hidden- implications that it’s ok for him to not be a part of his children’s life! The last one irritates me the most because I know I am totally ok with it, only I think they, my kids deserve much better than being discarded, even if by a piece of crap like him. Oh God, I’d wish they’d hate him, but I know how consuming hate can be… I just wish they’d grow up to be indifferent of him, and I hope it would bring him more pain than he could possibly overcome.

I find it ugly and hateful of me to wish him such misfortunes, but he left no kindness in my heart as far as he’s concerned. I do not wish him well, and I hate that I don’t have it in me to do so, but I am accepting it because I think it’s the only way to be ok with here and now.

The jigsaw puzzle inside my head…

I’m confused; nothing is making sense, nothing! It’s driving me crazy because I always try to make sense out of everything, to a rather unhealthy extent I suppose.

Every time I sit and try to organize my thoughts or make sense out of the mess in my head is like I had opened a box of an old jigsaw puzzle, the ones with 500 pieces plus. A box I open from time to time, but before I start working on putting each piece into its place, I got overwhelmed with the number of the pieces and their small size.

I know each piece has its own unique place, I am certain; but I am not sure if I have all the pieces. It’s like with every time I had opened that box, I seem to have lost a piece, which means that the big picture, if ever completed, will be missing pieces.

The possibility of finishing that puzzle to find pieces missing scares me; because at this point, I have no idea if those missing pieces are forever lost, or just misplaced in my clutter of a life. Are they important pieces that cannot be replaced and must be found? Or could they be of average or even no importance and could be replaced with vague pieces that only seem to fit in the same void? Or must they remain un-replaced; be it as a reminder of things we lose, a lesson that I should be more careful, or that some things are meant to be lost?

Will I ever sit and finish that puzzle? Will the big picture, if ever completed, look anything like the one I have in the back of my mind? Or has my mind messed with those pieces and altered them in ways that would critically change that big picture? Do I even still have that big picture in the back of my mind like I think, or have I lost it and I am still unaware?

Like I said, I’m confused.

to losing…

Around a couple of months ago, I started feeling like I was losing something. The concept felt rather confusing because I was convinced that the “loss” was not even mine to lose! I was not sure why it was being lost, and I was not even sure if I really wanted it to begin with! And even now, I don't have such answers.

Elizabeth Bishop’s “One Art” kept coming to mind and haunting me. I had strong urges to just post the poem on my blog as an acknowledgement of my “loss”, only a little voice in me kept arguing that there was no real loss, and that if there really was any, it has not yet been lost! Thanks to my short attention span and my wide range of commitments, I ended up forgetting about the whole thing.

In rare moments, I thought of that “loss” and it kinda made me blue because I never really understood why I even considered it much of a loss. Anyways, earlier this month, while talking to a friend, I realized that whatever my “loss” was, I was ok with the term and more importantly, I was ok with the fact that it was no longer there. I found myself accepting and moving on, and it felt good.

Today, something very small and insignificant happened that reminded me of all that. As minor as it was, it was a sign that accepting and moving on were the right things to do and that losing things is not always that bad, even if it feels that way at some point. And in that spirit, I decided to post the poem from my new perspective.

To losing…

One Art
By Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

"this only happens to other people"

One of my two best friends has just given birth to the most beautiful baby I have laid eyes on (msA), and I couldn’t possibly be happier that they’re both well and healthy, alhamdulilah. Unfortunately however, I am trapped between happiness and fear, so I thought the only way I would enjoy that happiness is to babble a bit about my fear despite how sick I am of all the whining on my blog.

Those who know me know I am more of an optimist, those who know me well, know about the cynical pessimist who lurks shamefully in the shadows.

The pessimist is fed by worries and fears, by worst case scenarios that jump before my eyes when I hear or see something to my disliking. Luckily, the optimist takes good care of those horrible visions by confirming in a tone as soothing as possible “this only happens to other people”. Even when part of the problem had already started taking its toll on me, I hear my optimist self whispering “it will be ok”, “this too shall pass”, and sometimes when it’s a bit too tough, I get more in touch with my half-abandoned faith and hear phrases like “en ma3 al 3usr yusr” and “everything happens for a reason”

Needless to say, I have daily visions of dark nature that I choose to block for my own well being, most of which have to do with losing a loved one. My self-comforting strategy always worked.The one single time it did not work was when my x’s father died and I started having visions of losing my own father. Back then I was in my 6th month of first pregnancy and “hormonal” was the least to describe me. I used to spend nights crying so hard and praying it would never happen.

The wiser post-pregnancy and labor version of me knows that one day that horrible day will come; my optimist self helps me face that fact using the above strategy in addition to loads of denial.

Lately, a couple of incidents happened (including a huge increase in my father’s sugar level), which affected my defense mechanism. And because I am emotionally crippled (although it barely ever shows on my blog), I hid my worrying from my family and kept telling everyone who’s concerned about my father’s health that it was not alarming given how abusive my father’s eating habits were becoming lately. I kept saying it was ok and that it was nothing a good, well-balanced diet would not take care of.

Only I’m scared to death. Scared to the extent that I wish I could die right now before any of my fears would come true. I asked my dad how it went in my fakest casual tone and I hated his answer. I hate how vague his answer is. I hate that he’s so depressed over being sick that it could negatively affect his health even more. I hate how I can’t sit next to him on the couch and give him a chocolate bite because I am too freakin’ worried. I hate how he has become so silent because I know he’s worried too, even if it was not really that big a thing to worry about; I know my dad worries, I got it from him. I want to yell at him and tell him to cheer up already, that his sugar levels are decreasing and that he will be ok, he must be ok… because those things only happen to other people, to other fathers, not him.

Baba, please cheer up ba2a, balash nakad, 3ashan khater el etneen el mossagal khatar elly beykhalook ted7ak le7ad ma weshak ye7mar we teshra2!

Regardless what my mood is, my kids know how to put a smile on my face :)

Beem fell and banged his head so hard the last day in Ramadan. It was horrible, we were all in tears and we worried it would be something as serious as my infamous head injuries (at the ages of 1 and 13!!) As he was crying he heard me asking my sis to bring some ice, in the midst of his tears he said “la2 mesh 3ayez talg, el wawa ra7et khalaas”




A couple of hours later, he was jumping up and down and he kinda bumped his head, only really minor bumps that do not compare to that big bang, I ended up threatening him “law etkhabat tany, ana ely ha2oom adrabak” I know it’s eftera menny, but it was too much stress!

The same night he came and sat next to me and patted my arm and kissed it saying “mammy, enty konty 3ayaty leeh”
Me: 3ashan bemm 7abeeby et3awar
Beem: 3ashan ana kont ba3ayat
Me: ah
Beem: khalas ana mesh ha3ayat, ana kowayes ahoh
Me (hugging him so hard): ana ba7ebak awy ya bembemaya
Beem: ana ba7ebik ya mammy *kiss*

El walad da ezzay 7enayen keda!


Beem (rushing to me crying): mammy mocha kharbeshny
Me (I could hear mocha crying so loudly): wenta 3amalt feeh eh
Beem (so innocently): 3adeetoh


We were visiting a friend of my father’s since college, she’s practically one of my favorite aunties ever. She had her daughter and her two grandchildren, Mohamed (4 yrs) and Sarah (2 yrs) who are simply adorable; however, Sarah makes me wish I had a baby girl; she is just A.D.O.R.A.B.L.E.



Apparently, my Beem seemed to get along with Sarah a lot more than her brother, and he was very friendly and nice and brotherly to her it made me go awww. At some point while they were all playing, Mohamed decided it was time to show off his boy-ish side and started hitting Sarah…

Sarah: maaaammmmyyy
My friend: Mohamed, matedrabsh Sarah, 3eeb
Beem (standing between Sarah and her bro): ta3aly ya Sarah waraya, matkhafeesh, (talking to Mohamed in a serious tone while pointing his index finger) matedrabsh Sarah keda tany, keda nooo, enta teb2a we7esh
Mohamed (rushing to his mom and on the verge of tears): mama bey2ool eny we7esh!
Me: awwww, la ya Mohamed, howa bas khayef Sarah tet3awar, mesh tez3al mennoh, howa bardu bey7ebbak, Beem, ta3ala 2ool le Mohamed mesh yez3al
Beem (walking slowly, and checking if Mohamed was crying for real, then deciding to pat him on the arm while smiling): matez3lsh ya Mohamed



Mocha’s vocabulary:
Mammma: ana
Nanna: my mom
Babbba: my dad
Dadda: the maid
Boo: when he wants to drink
MMUMMM: obviously when he wants food, NOW… and also when he sees food!
Denndennn: when referring to horses and donkeys, he actually means deregen deregen and sometimes he’d come and pretend to ride my tummy while I’m asleep!
2ottaa: cat, and also any other animal really
Baabyy: babies, infants, and children
Bom: balloons and balls
Beeb beeb: cars
Hawhaw: when I tell him it’s not a cat, it’s a dog!
Batta: referring to Donald Duck!
Wawa: when he’s in pain or when he wants to get some extra attention!




H’s family owns a talking parrot that says too many sentences more eloquently that both of my kids and that actually sounds like H’s younger brother!! We were visiting last week and my kids were stunned to see a talking bird! Beem had fun feeding kookoo bananas and Mocha wanted to touch it so bad but they were scaring Kookoo and we were afraid it would bite them out of panicking.

H: 2ool salamo 3aleiko ya kookoo
Kookoo: (nothing)
Beem: kookoo
Mocha: 2otta???
Me (laughing): la ya mocha, da mesh 2otta, da kookoo
Kookoo: kookooo
Mocha: 2otta
Kookoo: kookoo
Mocha: tattaa
Kookoo: kookoo
Mocha: TATTA
Me: H, mocha mesh beye3raf ye2ool el kaf fa mesameeh tatta
H: we aldagh fel waw Kaman!
Me: bayen!

Later when it was time to leave and we were saying our goodbye’s, out of the blue, Kookoo decided to say "salamo 3aleiko"!

The funny part is that yesterday H called saying that kookoo is saying tatta the same way mocha was!!


Yesterday in Beem’s nursery party, his teacher totally made him sing all the songs and say the alphabet with a word for each letter; otherwise there would have been no cake!! The look on his face as he complied was more of a death threat; I think she had it coming, she should have stopped after bon anniverssaire! During the singing however, he noticed that he did not have an empty plate in front of him, so he interrupted as he got up and grabbed one.

Later when we were singing right before we blow the candles, he kept blowing it during the singing and he thought it was funny that his teacher kept lighting it, or he simply enjoyed annoying her!


Later at the home party, I got him those candles that keep burning again even after you blow them, he had some fun time trying to blow them while we were singing him “happy birthday”. I think the cake had some saliva according to my cousin due to my “torture”!


As my cousin was leaving yesterday, we were all telling Beem to say bye and thank him for the gift (a toy gun with sniper light, thank you very much!), only Beem was too busy playing with H and her sister, so he kinda blew him off, that was when my cousin said “khalas, ana hakhod el mosadas beta3y”
Beem: khodo
A: hatoh, howa fein
Beem (rushing to get it): 7ader
A (stunned): …
Beem: ya daddooo, howa fein
Baba (laughing so hard): ahoh, adeeh le A?
Beem: la2 hatoh (and he gave it to my cousin without saying a word, then ran to his seat hiding the balls he was playing with) bas mesh hatakhod el kewar, ana khabethom!
A: tayeb! Ana haddy el mosadas le Mocha

I was laughing too hard to follow what happened next!


I had more in mind, but I can’t seem to remember any right now! More will follow when I do :)

Lady Justice is blind universally, but in Egypt, 3andaha takhallof!

After my last post, I had decided to stop ranting about my divorce that I actually told a friend of mine that next time I’d mention my x was going to be when I get a divorce.

I even planned on blogging about several things; like my Beem’s birthday party, which we had today… or the cute little developments I’ve been observing about my two pieces of cuteness (radya 3anhom awy el yoomein dool).

Sadly, I took back my word after being provoked by the Egyptian judicial system, which makes me feel like the law and its practice were made to ensure further oppression on the oppressed, Allah ye7ra2ek ya balad (which I don’t think is that farfetched given the rate of establishments catching fire lately!)

I found out that there was an appeal session for my divorce case. Apparently, my father stopped telling me because he sensed how irritated I get because of all the anticipation; therefore, he just told me the update after my lawyer informed him thereof. Of course none of my x’s representation showed, so it was postponed for further notification… until FEBRUARY!!! FEBRE-freakin’-UARY!!!

Ya walad el… 7aram 3aleiko ba2a… fe 7ad fel denya ye2ool keda!!! Four months ya kafara 3ashan e3adet e3lam!! I am left speechless… this is not justice, and if it is, then it’s very much retarded and stupid and… and… I can’t seem to find a decent word to describe it!!

Now it makes sense why he was calling to “reconcile”, and now it makes sense why he took it back! I am expecting his next phone call in February, at least the one to re-discuss the divorce and its terms since he might be demanding to see the kids some time soon.

Today was my son’s birthday parties; one at his nursery, and one at home with a very limited group of friends and family. Today was a good day and I won’t let a stupid court update ruin it, so here ends my rant.

Nonetheless, if anyone stumbles upon this and has an advice on a place I can petition against this stupidity and lack of common sense to a respective authority in hopes of actually acting positively upon something, I’m open to suggestions, even though I can clearly hear the cynic in me screaming so loudly “heya de masr ya 3abla”!

I will brag about my babies some other time I guess, so later!

“esloobek howa el sabab”

He called to complain that my dad told his aunt that my kids will not be seeing his grandma because she’s a liar. He used his fake polite tone and he actually called me “7adretek” as. He claimed that he’s always refrained from offending me or my family. “mashy, ok” I kept thinking to myself, “let him say all he has to say as long as he’s at least pretending to be polite”, I let him go on and on, then came the moment where I had to ask.

I am too proud to ask I have to admit. A lot of those who know me (and not even that well) might have noticed that I usually refrain from asking too many questions; it’s partially because I was taught that it’s rude to be nosey, but mostly because I am too proud to come off as nosey. I was too proud to ask him what went wrong because I did not want him to sense my insecurity, it was too much victory for me to give him. Alas, I came to swallow my pride as I went on…

Me: olt khalas kol elly 3andak?
Him: aiwa, shokran ennek radeety
Me: momken ba2a as2alak so2al?
Him: etfadaly ya (my name)
Me: *hesitating one last time* I know it’s weird to ask right now, but indulge me, what made you first drift away?
Him: *very cautiously trying to figure out where the catch is* what do u mean drift away, mesh fahem el so2al?
Me: ya3ne before I got preg with Beem, we seemed fine, then by the time I was halfway through my pregnancy, you decided to have a girlfriend, I believe that was our fall, you kept lying to hide it and I kept finding out more about your lies, until I lost my trust in you, then you were in an affair during my pregnancy with Mocha, and you know the rest, so what caused it from the very beginning, three years ago?
Him: enty sa2alteeny abl keda zaman…
Me: yes, I remember, and you said it was because I did not cook enough and that the house used to get too messy with me being pregnant and lazy... ana fakra!
Him: we sa3etha ettarya2ty 3alaya we 2olteeely we ya tara heya tabakhetlak wala wadabetlak el beet?
Me: If I asked because I wanted to be rude and sarcastic, I would have said a lot more than that right now, but it’s not why I’m asking, so bear with me, and make it specific, an incident, something in particular that I’ve said or done! And you can also be very brief, I’m driving!
Him: ya (my name) enty esloobek mostafez… mafeesh ay ragel yesta7mel enno ye7es en merato mesh tay2alo kelma…
Me: ana batkalem 3ala abl ma eslooby became an issue!
Him: enty tool 3omrek keda, esloobek dayman ye7ases el wa7ed eno la yo7tamal we enno mommel
Me: (don’t argue, don’t argue, don’t argue… he’s expecting you to argue, he’s even asking for it, DON’T ARGUE!) OK
Him: huh?
Me: ok, thanks for answering my question
Him: ya (my name) ahoh da elly beydaye2, lessa zay manty
Me: I asked you from the beginning to be specific and brief, so don’t expect a long conversation out of this question and answer!!
Him: fe 7ad yetkalem keda?!!
Me: ma3lesh ya (his name), ana eslooby keda, always been apparently!! And since I have not changed all that time, I don’t think I should bother changing now, at least not for you, so thank you very much for answering my question, 3ayez 7aga tanya?
Him: law sama7ty, madam bakalemek, kalemeeny zay ma bakallemek…
Me: here is the thing ya (his name), ana mesh 3ayza akallemak! Momken law sama7t ne2fel!
Him: ok ya (my name) rabena yehdeeky
Me: ameen ya rab
Him: kol sana wenty wel 3eyal be kheir
Me: shokran
Him: esmaha wenta tayeb
Me: whatever!

Just thought I’d write it down for the sake of reference. Let it be known, I am a person with attitude, surprise!!

This is what it came down to, eslooby zeft! I won’t even dignify any of it by explaining or justifying where it came from, I’ll just leave it at that. So this is where it ends, it’s not worth dwelling in it any further.

I’ll go now and sink my bitterness over my wasted years in songs that go with the mood.