Trouble in mind…*

Trouble in mind, I'm blue...

Too much of that in my poor head; thoughts that battle with me one after the other, they mingle and tangle until I’m too tired to take any of them or figure them apart one at a time!

Trouble in mind, that's true
I have almost lost my mind,
Ain't never had so much
Trouble in my life before

In a futile attempt I try to trace everything back to where it began, hoping that by doing so I’d be able to understand, and perhaps find much needed solutions. Unfortunately, it’s too far behind; so I just take the lead from the here and now.

I am a 28-year old single mom who is basically judged by her own family whether they admit to it or not. Until now, my parents try to dodge being asked about my marital status and when they’re left with no choice but admitting it, they say it in a low tone of voice and while looking away! Instead of being referred to as the rebel and the trouble maker like before, I am rather the failure or the shameful disappointment, although they acknowledge and explain that it was the best thing to do!

My motherhood is questioned each and every day, not just by me, but by those who should know better about my needs and know nothing about motherhood! I mean, my dad’s job was to provide, I’m grateful he did more than that and shaped us in a way my mom would have never been able to… but I provide too, and I try to find the patience and the energy to shape my boys, problem is, I am still not exactly shaped myself!!! Ma, I… well… I see mothers in a lot of other women her age, but in her; I saw it in my late nana (Allah yer7amha), I saw it in S (Allah yer7amha), I see it in so many of my tants who perhaps think I am an ungrateful daughter because she complains all the time and because I get hurt silently and let my pride handle it by walking away. My sisters know nothing of responsibilities and living up to them; they want to chase their own butterflies, but they just don’t get that I was denied chasing mine. I am not envious, but they don’t get to tell me I should spend more time being a mother, because may be I need the previous butterfly-chasing experience to be a mom, and until they're better mothers themselves, they should just stop with the insulting advice and implications.

I did marry too young. I thought marrying someone for love would be the best way to escape all the control and suffocation at home and have a lifelong companion with whom I could just live my youth before I settle and build the family. It never happened, not for long enough anyways, because unlike me, he wanted to live up to whatever this society dictated, and well, we react differently, and his reaction sucked big time. Unfortunately, it gravely affected my life and changed it beyond any attempts to undo the change!

I wish I could just explain that forcing me to grow up will not make me a grown up, at least not as gracefully as I would like! But hey, everyone knows much better about that, even those who never even tried on my shoes! The arrogance! Why do I have it in me to listen to those who choose to block their ears to my explanations?!

I still can’t believe I’m 28! I still feel like 19 most of the time; my dreams since then never exactly came to reality; not that I want the same dreams, but I lack the fulfillment of having changed my mind because I chose to, rather than adjusted to the changes that took over my life.

I have the remains of a teenage-anger and the need to go all over the place and make things happen. I have a dreamer who’s constantly being told it’s too late to dream and it’s time to check in with reality and do as requested. The free spirited rebel refuses those words but it’s tied down and has nothing to show but anger and resentment.

Trouble in mind, I'm blue
But I won't be blue always…

But then, the optimist in me keeps repeating that all can be done; all can be achieved given time and patience.

I so want to believe it because otherwise, I will just lose… lose all the losses I have already lost over and over again!

'Cause the sun's gonna shine
In my backdoor some day.

In the midst of all my thoughts, I realize that tears are overflowing from my eyes like they haven’t in a long time. I touch my eyes and my face in the dark, and I pat my own cheeks as I whisper “it will be ok, it will be ok… no, it won’t be ok… but you will be ok, you will be ok”

Well it's trouble, oh trouble,
Trouble on my worried mind…
When you see me laughin',
I'm laughin' just to keep from cryin'

I keep telling myself “you’ll be ok, you’ll be ok”

'Cause the sun's gonna shine
In my backdoor some day.

* Song Tribute: Trouble in Mind by the amazing Nina Simone; I couldn’t find the version I have with all the lyrics on utube, but this is the one with the best piano by Nina, do check it out; it’s inspiring!

Music IS good for the soul, at least my soul…

I can’t say it took away all the feelings from yesterday and sent them to oblivion; they’re still inside waiting for a bluer day to haunt me, but until then…

This will ease my soul a bit…

I found it when I learned that it’s the original Portugese version of Shu Bkhaf, to which I’ve been nostalgic since yesterday…

Thank God for music, and THANK GOD it still works for me!!!

A dream-induced nostalgia!

Days ago, I had a dream, a strange one…

I was in the art therapy studio, knowing that Dr. M had passed away, I don’t exactly remember if there were other people, but I was very close to the wall that had his self portraits and none of them was there!

I kept touching the bare walls as I fought to hold back my tears… I wanted to cry so badly…

I woke up feeling extremely down and depressed…

The same day I visited an old friend from my previous job at her home… she had a big portrait of our late boss S, the one I loved and respected.

I kept staring at the old photo with her skin revealing that it was taken when she was younger than when I’ve known her… and I forced the words to come to my mouth “Allah yer7amek ya S” then I paused and said “wa7shany awy!”

Today, I was in downtown running a government related errand. While waiting for the driver to pick me up, I decided to walk around; I was in my sneakers and the weather was nice. I kept walking from one random street to the other until I stopped to read the name of the street - “شارع شمبليون”… I stopped, looked across the street to the far extension on its other side and realized that I was a few blocks away from the Art Therapy Center. I stood there for a while as if I was lost, my eyes had tears and my heart felt heavy, then I said “Allah yer7amak ya Dr. M” and got on the sidewalk and continued walking towards Tahrir Square.

Other than that, I had a good day. Alhamdulilah.

I was off to bed, and I suddenly remembered all that and had the strong urge to write about it, so there!

The Visit – an interesting take on humans, justice and revenge…

This is more of a movie review with my own reflections on it. I strongly recommend the movie, but I doubt it will be easily found given that it’s a 1960’s production, so you can just read the review and my reflections for easier access!

I watched that movie on TV with my father years ago; I am not even sure how old I was then, all I remember is that my dad was impressed by its production (French, Italian, German co-production) and cast (Anthony Quinn & Ingrid Bergman), and I, I was impressed by the plot, which I found out later it was adapted from a German play. I researched the play, but I found a few critical differences that make me prefer the movie more for the philosophical meaning behind it. The main theme might seem to be revenge (I did mention that I had such awe for the concept of revenge in this post, but to me, it was about a lot more.

I am not exactly sure what made me want to see the movie again. I’ve been nostalgic to decades where I never lived for quite a while, and in that strange sense of nostalgia, I googled the web until I found the torrent and downloaded the movie (it took me 2 weeks to finally have it on my laptop!). I was afraid that I’d find the movie rather dull and cliché after watching it years after I first did. I am glad I was still taken my every word and every gesture.

I will try to be short yet accurate about the details, at least the ones that got to me, but I make no such promises because the movie is too intense for me to shorten it, and well, let’s face it, I have an entire blog that shows how talkative I am!

Oh and you can skip the whole thing and go straight to the part after the second set of dashes (-----), it will probably be the bottom line that would spare you my nonstop babbling.

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It starts in a small town in central Europe called Guellen (German for manure), a town that was once wealthy on account of its mine, factory and culture, but facing a serious economic crisis and on the verge of bankruptcy. Everyone in town is in anticipation of the arrival of Klara (Ingrid Bergman), a town girl who left 20 years ago and returned as a wealthy woman to whom they referred Madam Zachanassian. On his way to the train station, the Mayor stops at the town wholesale store owned by Serge Miller (Anthony Quinn) to accompany him. He asks Miller’s wife to stay in the background given that Karla and Serge were romantically involved in the past.

The train stops, Karla descends of it and people receive her with awe as she makes a grand gesture to one of the train crew by giving away a thousand dollars for a non-existing widows’ fund that she asks the man to make. It makes the people of Guellen more optimistic of Karla giving them the money they need for the re-rise of their town.

Awaiting her outside the train station, were three fancy cars, a big one to carry her luggage, a sort of sporty on with two men the Sheriff almost recognized he’d seen before, and one with a panther in a cage where she rides with Serge hanging from her arm.

They drive to a secluded hut on the side of the town and they reminisce a night of romance they once had. He seems very responding to the memories she spoke of, yet she seems rather vague. They part to meet at the town dinner arranged for her honor later that night.

After the entire town well known men (the Mayor, The Sheriff, The Pastor, the Town Teacher, the Town Doctor) introduce their wives to Karla, they sit at a table looking at the glamorous woman whom they had once known as a poor little girl. She gives permission to the Mayor to say his word in form of an order and the man rises and talks about her dad the architect, her mom, and how Karla herself was known for her school-smarts and generosity for she once gave an old widow a sack of potatoes.

After people’s applauses, Karla rises and says that her dad was a drunken worker who refused jobs on buildings too high because he knew he’d fall, that she must have been a bad student for being constantly beaten by the Town Teacher, and finally declares that she had stolen that sack of potatoes and gave it to the widow as rent for her own room where she could sleep with Serge, “the barn was romantic, but the bed was far more comfortable” she said, causing everyone to fall in deadly silence that was only broken by Serge’s embarrassed laugh as he affirmed “yes, far more comfortable” and everyone tries to laugh away the awkwardness.

She then promises the township a million dollars in addition to another million to be divided equally on the people of Guellen on one condition. People cheer and praise her name, until she repeats that she has one condition. The people ask. That’s when a man walks in the hall and declares himself as the Town’s former Judge from when Karla left town as she says that her one condition is “Justice”.

The judge explains that there was a paternity law suit filed by Karla to prove that Serge was the father of her unborn child. He introduces two men in black suits (the ones the Sheriff thought looked familiar) who had previously testified back then that they had slept with Karla after Serge had bribed them to taint her name and prove that she was promiscuous, hence deny his paternity. They acknowledge their false testimony, and then Karla says she was forced out town in shame and forced into a life of prostitution after her baby was taken from her, the crowd falls silent. The judge asks her about her demands, to which she answers “I demand Serge Miller to be dead, I want his life”.

The people go loud as they refuse and accuse her of being a murderer. She walks towards the stairs with her head high and stops as she asks them if they are really willing to refuse that much money. They confirm, she smiles and says that she’d wait, and then she leaves the room.

The next day, the Town Men make a meeting including Serge just to show their support to him. On the other hand, people come to his wholesale store to buy his finest of imported goods on credit, always on credit.

The persistent theme is that you can see Karla gazing from her Hotel balcony at Serge’s shop, driving him and his wife mad. It never helps that people’s expenses go higher and higher on credit, making Serge panic as he starts having doubts about them expecting money for his head quite soon.

The Town Teacher visits Karla in her hotel to advise her that her request will never be answered and that the good hearts of the people of Guellen that he had educated for years will never succumb to her sinister agenda. She replies to him in cold blood that those good hearts were of the same people who drove her as a 17 year old pregnant girl out of the town and labeled her as a whore, then she smiles viciously at him as he challenges her with his life that the people will not condemn Serge Miller.

The day after, the Guellen tribune issues an article saying that it is not for capital punishment. Serge rushes to his friend the Mayor and yells at him saying that that article is nothing but an encouragement for people to go after his head, then rushes to the Sheriff’s office and tells him that he’s afraid the people of Guellen would be after him for the money.

At the same time, Karla’s Panther escapes from its cage and the town goes in chaos as the Sheriff gives the good men of the town guns to pursue the panther. She screams from her hotel window that she wants the panther killed without pain, a bullet between the eyes is what she said would kill it instantly. Gun shots everywhere, gunshots seem to be chasing Serge rather than the panther. He goes to his house where his son says that the shots were after him not the panther, and then his wife tells him it’s better that he leaves so not to endanger them.

He goes to Karla and threatens to kill her. They have a long dialogue on how he betrayed her when he refused to marry her after she got pregnant. He tells her that he loved her but that he had to marry his wife for the money and that she didn’t leave him much of a choice but to make a liar and a whore out of her after she sued him. Their conversation is interrupted by continuous shots, they run to the window to find Serge’s wife shooting the panther dead.

The same night, Serge decides to leave town on the one train that leaved Guellen until the next week. His fellow town people harass him and stop him from leaving town. He falls on the floor in desperation as the train leaves town for he realizes that Karla’s plot was finding its way through.

Different scenes with him commenting on how his friends are wearing new clothes and boots freak him out. It doesn’t make it any easier that days and days later big cars come with more and more goods to be bought on credit, cars belonging to Karla. People buy more goods on credit, including his own wife, who buys a new fridge with glass display for their shop and a new dress.

The Town Council gathers again (this time without Serge) to issue a new law, a law stating that crimes of murder, rape, and misleading of justice would be punished by the deathsentence. The only two people who seem to disagree on the implication behind the new law were the Town Teacher and The Town Doctor.

The Teacher and the Town Doctor go to Karla in her Hotel and ask her to spare Serge and propose to her investments in the Town instead. They offer her to buy the mine and the factory and all the Town’s resources for a far less amount of money than she had offered for Serge’s life, and promise her that the mine is good for the money and that they have no idea why it was shut down. That was when Karla bursts in laughter as her lawyer (the former Judge) declares that she is the current owner of all the Town’s resources, and that it was her who practically drove the Town to bankruptcy by shutting all of it down.

During which, the Mayor and the Sheriff pay Serge a visit and inform him that he will be subject to an open trial in front of the Town for his previous crime and ask him if he would accept their verdict. He looks them in the eye and tells them that he would. That was when the Mayor urges the Sheriff to help him present to Serge the idea of ending his own life. Serge stares them down as he says that he would accept the trial as a form of atonement, but he would not spare them having to live with judging and condemning him only for the sake of the money rather than justice.

He goes to the hut that night and finds Karla. She tells him how she knew about her baby girl died. She says in the most profound words of how she had walked with two corpses (hers and her child’s) out of that town and that it was him who had sentenced them to death and it has been her only drive for the past 20 years to make him feel the same way. She looks away as she says that after tomorrow she will have no purpose in life.

The next day, the trial is held where everyone voted against him, even the Town Teacher and the Town Doctor who says “it’s just one vote, what difference would it make if it were for you”. Serge was condemned and sentenced to death. Kalra’s lawyer gives the mayor the two cheques, one for the township and the other to be equally divided amount the people of Guellen.

In the midst of people’s cheering, Karla stands and asks them if there was one, just one person who would beg for Serge’s life even if it meant they would not get the money, no one answers. She looks around as she waits some more for someone to rise from the crowd, only no one does.

She says that they accused her long ago and forced her out of the town, and that now, they condemn and sentence the man they befriended for years to death for her money, that they were all the same, murderers. She screams at them and tells them that she bought Serge’s life for money and that she could have bought it for a lot less if she wanted.

Then, she tells them that she wants Serge to remain alive, because if he died, they would forget their crimes with time. She said she’d rather have him live among them to remind them of their cruelty and immorality day in and day out and to be reminded that his own people, friends and family, not one of them stood in his defense.

She then declares her visit over and fires the Judge and the two witnesses and asks them to stay in Guellen for it is where they belong since she could no longer use them.

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I love the movie. I ached and sympathized with every word Karla said, and neither could I help but feel sorry for Serge when he was prosecuted by everyone for the wrong cause.

Yes, he was the bad guy, he ruined her life in a sense, and he was a coward about it for he could have run away from town if he could, only he couldn’t; he only surrendered to his fate when he was left no other choice. Nonetheless, imagining what it would be like to have everyone turning against you, not because they are moral and seem to disapprove of what you did, but because it lies in their own best interest. To know that those people would have behaved the same even if you did no wrong, and that after years of breaking bread with you, they would spare you that way, it’s more than capital punishment to me.

And Karla, she went out of her way and literally bought a whole town to bring it to its doom so that she would get her revenge. One can say she went beyond ethics and morals herself buying the life of a man and turning his own people against him that way. Yet, if I were her, it would probably be the only thing I’d want myself; only I really doubt circumstances could be in anyone’s favor that way.

The sense of revenge versus justice is so mixed up in this movie, perhaps because it’s so messed up in real life as well. In theory, Karla was the one who was wronged by Serge and the Town, but 20 years later, she managed to do them all wrong and put them by her own painful shoes and acheiving her revenge in the name of justice.

But what I really admired the most was the ending, how she understood people’s tendency to forget their own cruelty and managed to remind them by asking that Serge would live. She wanted him to live every day of his life reliving that trial and how abandoned he was, the same way she was when she left that town. She did not have his blood on her hand, she had it on theirs, and she left him to look them in the eye for as long as he would live. She did not gloat in a false sense of victory; she did not look or seem happy or fulfilled, she was miserable as everyone else if not more.

It was poetic despite its cruelty, but aren’t we –people- cruel that way; we turn against one another when faced by our self interest rather than stand for what’s right or wrong. We lose sense of justice until we turn it into heartless revenge and then we do it all over again simply because we forget.

In retrospect

The movie…

He looked like him. In real life, he doesn’t; just the petite structure and the haircut and the little beard.

He behaved like him. Not exactly, just the humor and the charm and the selfishness, only in real life he showed more kindness that hid the selfishness, kindness that made all his mistakes forgiven.

He reminded me of him when he shaved off that hair. Only in real life, he had bigger brown eyes, and higher cheekbones, the features we share.

I cried because under layers of years that hold anger, contempt and disappointed, I realized that I missed him.

The club…

I needed someone who would charm my boys and play with them like he did with me, I thought of him.

I needed someone who’d throw a punch for me without thinking of consequences, I thought of him.

I needed someone who’d hold me and tell me that it will be ok, and I realized I needed him, not him him, the him I thought he was.

The restaurant…

I finally talked about it, it was too clear in my head that I missed him and I needed him. I knew I did because I was vulnerable. Alhamdulilah, I had a great friend to listen.

I didn’t say how he disappointed me, I don’t think I really remember anymore, but I still don’t forgive him, and I know for a fact that I would never tell him how I miss him or need him if we ever talk again, not that I think we ever will.

Yesterday…

I kept going back to that little girl; I envied and pitied her for all she had…

She had the warm loving arms that she appreciated…

She had safe arms that she missed and idealized…

She had warm, loving, safe and overprotective arms that she resented and couldn’t appreciate…

She didn’t see things clearly. Like the movie, she needed lots of time to figure things out for what they really are, but in her case, a lifetime…

A lifetime where she stopped hanging around the warm loving arms that she loved until they were no longer there to hold her…

A lifetime of mistakenly believing in the safety of the arms she missed to realize that those arms were nothing but a heartbreaking disappointment…

A lifetime of avoiding and rejecting the warm, loving, safe and overprotective arms that she couldn’t bear, now, all she wishes she could do is hide in those arms and cry all those lost years… but she’s afraid… afraid of all the questions, afraid of the tears, afraid of being overwhelmed… but most of all, terrified of losing those arms the moment she surrenders to them…

A lifetime full of stupid mistakes she did because she never turned to those arms...

Yesterday, all I wanted was to run in those arms and cry, but I didn’t want the questions that I couldn’t answer and I didn’t know how to show my vulnerability, so I didn’t… I couldn’t even cry on my own…

Right now…

Tears keep flowing with every word I type! I am not crying, tears just fall out of my eyes hurting my eyes but not easing my soul.

And I still feel unable to find the words that tell any of it, it’s too hard to describe it to begin with…

I miss when my pain could find its way out without me looking for words, and I miss him and how he could have fixed me… I take a glimpse at my little mementos and try to remember his words to guide me, but I feel too confused right now…

I’m trying to learn from all the things that revealed themselves in the past days, trying to figure out how to fix myself so that I would not repeat any of my mistakes.

I don’t want to compile unpleasant experiences and lock them. I don’t want to pretend they never happened and they never affected me until they find the chance to haunt me and mess up my life like tides ruin sand castles… I want my life to be more than sandcastles, and I have no idea how…

Arms that once held me…

I remember arms that held me so tight, arms where I found warmth, love and unconditional love, arms that felt ever tender, arms where I wish I could have stayed forever. I miss those arms, I miss how they smelled and how loved I felt in them, every night before I sleep, I pray I’d have those arms around me in my sleep like they held me long ago…

I remember other arms, arms that felt like home, arms that I missed for so long and lingered for with tears only to be wrapped in them for brief minutes before yet another separation, arms that disappointed me like no other. As genuine as it was then, it lost its meaning now for I didn’t know better. I miss those arms, I wish they lasted, but I would never want them back…

And there were arms I thought were mine, arms I thought would never forsake me, arms where I thought I felt safe and loved, arms I mistakenly thought would protect me, arms that squeezed life out of me. The memory of those arms makes me noxious and sick and I find myself gasping for air when they come to mind…

And there are those arms, arms I know are loving and sincere, arms that I know would keep me safe and protect me from all harm, arms I really need, arms where I long to be, hoping I would be able to cry my heart out without losing my pride. I love those arms, yet I am too scared of surrendering in them; I’m afraid they’d get tired of holding me, and I am more afraid of ever losing them that I force myself to do without them. I wish I could melt in those arms… no, I wish those arms would be there forever even if I never let them hold me, but I need to know that they’re always there…

There are also those little arms, arms that barely wrap around me, yet give me a sense of happiness and joy mixed with traces of sorrow and hurt, arms that fill me with hope and yet fear, fear of the unknown. I love those arms…

And then, there are my arms…

Arms that are only capable of holding those I love so close to my heart, hoping it would be enough to ease away their pain… Arms that want to be warm, safe, protective, and loving… Arms that are terrified of being cruel, hard or disappointing… I think of how much love I need to channel with those arms every time I hold my kids, I need them to know the things I can only say with my arms as I hold them…

After midnight blabbers…

It’s been a while, and I keep having random thoughts in my head that drive me insane, but not long enough for me to write them down. However, tonight I just have an unbearable urge to let them out, or at least some...


This is one of the loud thoughts I have in my head…

Wouldn’t this world be a much better place if each one of us believed that everyone is someone else’s father/mother, son/daughter, brother/sister and/or, husband/wife… as in that each and everyone one of us has a bunch of people in his/her life who think great deal of him/her!!

Yeah, I am starting to understand why exactly most of my friends think I need to be admitted into some facility that “protects” people like me! But really, just take a moment to imagine it; better yet, take a minute to think of someone you dislike as someone else’s special person! (I don’t necessarily mean special special)



This word keeps echoing in my head for no good reason!

Yearning, as in: Longing, aching, nostalgic… I have no idea for what!!



Current Soundtrack…

Charles Aznavour Duos!! I still can’t get over the intensity of his voice in different languages! The way he says each word makes my heart skip beats!!!!

Nina Simone’s The Keeper of the Flame made me tear up when it played randomly in the car; I wasn’t even paying attention to the lyrics, but the music definitely hit a nerve I am unaware of!

I am not sure if the soundtrack stirred the nostalgia and the yearning or if I am vulnerable to the music because of those feeling; either way, they get along fine!!



The daily annoyances…

The infamous X… the annoying colleague at work who wouldn’t let me ignore him… and the governmental officials that make me want to forget about them being someone else’s special and kill them or wish them horrible deaths, especially that freakin’ officer with the dirty looks, I wish that one turns blind!!

I should have also mentioned the evil side of me since I am wishing all the above all the shit they made me go through during the past few days!



My little blessings

My cute little monsters of kids; I can’t get over how sweet and kind Beem is, and how hilarious and cute my Mocha is, pretty much makes up for how nagging Beem can be and how crazy and aggressive Mocha is!!

The little extra bonus at work and the medical insurance refund (yeah I kinda need the money)

My dad’s little surprise that I hope would come to term without any disappointment (God, I know I am asking for way too much!!)

The few laughs I had with Rasha yesterday and today, aside from the nakad movie that had the poor thing sobbing!



The things I KNOW I should do...

Show God my gratitude, as in do my prayers on time we balash estehbal… Clean up the damn room… save money… spend more time with the boys and enjoy them… watch out… finalize all pendings at work on daily basis or whatever closest ( I hate loose ends at work and I’ve been leaving a lot behind!)… catch up with a lot of my friends…

There must be a lot more but I am too tired now; I think I’ll call it a night…



Hoping and praying for a good weekend pour moi and for all of you out there… be well.

A reoccurring dream…

A long day at the pool with my boys, followed by post pool exhaustion and an unusual earache!

I walked somewhere, and I saw him; his kind face and his peaceful aura…

“But you’re dead!!” I thought…

He smiled and said nothing…

“How come you’re dead, and yet I keep seeing you alive and well… like you’re always there, like your death was a bad dream!” I kept wondering…

He smiled even more and told me in his calmest tone of voice “I never really left, I will always be here, and you’ll always know where to find me”

I walked towards him to touch his hand, and before I knew it, I felt my Mocha climbing next to me in bed and laying in my arm…

I woke up to see the nanny putting Beem in bed and mumbled something to her before I hugged Mocha.

I closed my eyes again…

Then I opened them wide; I had just realized that it was a dream!

I don’t know if it’s the first time I have it, or if I had already done a couple of times, but it felt so familiar!

I felt peace… They say it's a good sign to dream of dead ones looking so good!

And I said a prayer for him.

Theme: Randomness

For those who actually enjoy my incoherence…


Seven years ago, my late nana (Allah yer7amha) died on the same day. I say a little prayer for her with every time I wrote today’s date on a piece of paper or every time I come to think of today’s date. Neina, Allah yer7amek, wa7shany awy.


I woke up today in the itching mood of Vaya Con Dios, specifically I Don’t Want to Know. I was shocked to find that my music file at work did not include any of their songs so I downloaded the whole discography only to listen to my favorites. Until the download was complete I listened to Hanine’s version of Fareed’s Ya Zahratan Fe Khayaly. Those words speak for me like no other.


He keeps calling. Apparently he’s really bummed about everything in his life and he’s under the strong impression that I’m the only one he got! I am not happy with that but I am not able to hurt him because apparently his grandma is in such a bad shape and I am not cruel enough to hit someone so beaten up about life already. I keep telling myself that once on his feet, he’ll soon hurt me twice as hard; it’s what he does and I’d be stupid to think that a short moment of remorse can change who he is. I am starting to think of a smart way to set him straight; give him my dad’s strict conditions of having me back (and OH they are dead STRICT), but I feel ethically challenged since I have no intention to live up to my end of the bargain if he lives up to his. Why am I so ethical? I blame my dad.


I have so many plans I should mark in my calendar of people with whom I want to meet and catch up. My boss from my old work for next Thursday, and my friend from the same place for next Saturday, and I’m sure there are things I am forgetting! Oh, I must call H and see her, it’s been a while; still there is something I’m missing!


I don’t know what it is with you, but every time I try to be just nice or I don’t know more me, I find myself blurting out nothing but sarcasm! Ok, I know it’s a defense mechanism, but I thought I was over that with you; only it gets even harder to control. I hate it because this is not how I want to act around you and I hate it because I’m afraid you’re attributing it to the wrong reasons. May be it’s best to keep that distance.


I want a quiet evening in a night landscape with nothing but the moon and the stars in the velvet sky and perhaps some good music. I don’t want people and I am not sure about the company yet. The really sad part is even if I was granted that ambience; my restless nature would have me bored in less than 30 minutes. I’m pathetic!


I also wanna take the kids out and have fun, but they’re too crazy and chaotic and I am too tired to handle them without having a nerve blown out or something.

On the very same note though, yesterday I held both of them as I sat on the couch in the living room (I barely ever get out of my room), and I read them those three little books my sis wrote. My Beem just loves that character and I keep using it to make him do things (evil), but it was him who made me think of it when he said “mommy ana 3ayez aghsel senany zay boxa”


I’m overspending these days. The scary part is that I am a bit low on cash and using my credit card. I know I will have to deal with the consequences but I feel too stressed to start caring.


My mom seems to want me out of the house at any expense. She deliberately gives out instructions of the most disgusting food to be cooked. My parents were in Alexandria for the weekend and they returned late last night; still, Kaware3 was yesterday’s dish! EWWW I mean seriously EWWWWW, it ruined my apetite to walk in the kitchen and see that cooking!! I ended up eating salad from Pizza Hut followed by a muffin from Costa with my dearest The Caller. I want good food ba2a, and I hate home delivery, so they either start cooking real food or let me go dine out without calling me to yell!


I’ve been sitting on my desk all day juggling tasks. During the past four hours I’ve wanted to go boil some water and dump the noodles in it and have a snack to stop my stomach from growling, but something keeps coming up! I’m going home in less than 15 minutes now. Ooh, I’m so hungry that I actually feel sick; nonetheless, I keep getting cravings of Feta cheese & tomato or tuna & corn. It’s only good because I can totally settle for either if they all there was at home were yesterday’s kaware3.


Ok, I should go home now. Good day everyone.

Like music to my ears…

Some songs have a familiar friendly tune, with music so intriguing and inviting and always making me smile…

I play that music day and night; I just can't get enough of its effect on me…

I hum, I mumble, I sing and I dance… I just can't resist music when it’s so comforting and soothing and not too loud, can anyone resist harmony?

As the song plays over and over again, I know every tune, every moment of silence, and I learn when and how to sing the lyrics; however, it sometimes gets a bit harder when I sing along and skip a breath or a word to catch up with the music…

When I’m on my own, singing the song without the music, I pause to make sure I’m singing it right; it makes me pay more attention to its words, their meanings, and their significance… Sometimes I don’t like the words much; they’re too shallow or perhaps I just can’t relate... Aparently the friendly music was hiding a lot more behind it...

Then, when the same song plays, I think twice before singing along… No, I don’t want to say words I don’t feel; they lost a meaning they never really had; I was only singing along because I was charmed by the music, but now, the meaninglessness takes away the charm from the tune I once liked making

The music becomes an unpleasant reminder... When the song plays, I just skip forward to a familiar tune that I still like, or a new song with a new meaning that perhaps would make me smile…

Sometimes I never let that song play again, sometimes I just smile and let it play in the background without paying any attention, and sometimes I just smile and sing along, for old times’ sake… but never like before…

And you… you’re like that music to my ears…

Heartbreaking Nostalgia - The English Patient

I've watched this movie with friends in its year of production, which means I was fifteen! My friends hated the movie and back then I was still the kind of girl who would be too embarrassed to stand out in such crowd and say "I love this movie".


I love this movie - I love the cinematography, Gabriel Yared's music, the plot and how it develops and how it leaves you at the end of the movie, and most of all the performance of Ralph Fiennes, Kristin Scott Thomas, Juliette Binoche, and Willem Dafoe.

I could go on and on about this movie, and perhaps I'd do in the comments area, but for now, I will leave you with quotes.


P.S. If you have not watched this movie, please disregard this post because it has a spoiler or two. OH, and go watch this movie for God's sake!





Hana: [crying, her face a frozen mask] I must be a curse. Anybody who loves me, anybody who gets close to me... or I must be cursed. Which is it?



Katharine Clifton: Will we be alright?
Almásy: Yes. Yes, absolutely.
Katharine Clifton: "Yes" is a comfort. "Absolutely" is not.



Katharine Clifton: [dancing] Why did you follow me yesterday?
Almásy: Excuse me?
Katharine Clifton: After the market, you followed me to the hotel.
Almásy: I was concerned. As I said, women in that part of Cairo, a European women, I felt obliged to.
Katharine Clifton: [beat] You felt obliged to.
Almásy: As the wife of one of our party.
Katharine Clifton: [sardonically] So why follow me? Escort me, by all means. Following me is predatory, isn't it?

Almásy: I once traveled with a guide who was taking me to Faya. He didn't speak for nine hours. At the end of it he pointed to the horizon and said, "Faya!" That was a good day.

---

Katharine Clifton: I'm impressed you can sew.
Almásy: Good.
Katharine Clifton: You sew very badly.
Almásy: Well, you don't sew at all.
Katharine Clifton: A woman should never learn to sew, and if she can she shouldn't admit to it.

---

Almásy: When were you most happy?
Katharine Clifton: Now.
Almásy: When were you least happy?
Katharine Clifton: Now.

---

Almásy: What do you love?
Katharine Clifton: What do I love?
Almásy: Say everything.
Katharine Clifton: Water, with fish in it. Hedgehogs, I love hedgehogs. Marmite. Baths, but not with other people! Islands. I could go on all day.
Almásy: Go on all day.
Katharine Clifton: Your handwriting.
Almásy: And what else?
Katharine Clifton: A husband.
Almásy: What do you hate most?
Katharine Clifton: A lie. What do you hate most?
Almásy: Ownership. Being owned. What you leave here you should forget me.

Katharine Clifton: This - what is this?
Almásy: It's a folk song.
Katharine Clifton: Arabic.
Almásy: No, no. It's Hungarian. My daijka sang it to me when I was a child growing up in Budapest.
Katharine Clifton: It's beautiful. What's it about?
Almásy: Szerelam means love. And the story, well, there's this Hungarian count. He's a wanderer. He's a fool. And for years he's on some kind of a quest for... who knows what. And then one day, he falls under the spell of a mysterious English woman. A harpy, who beats him, and hits him, he becomes her slave, and he sews her clothes, and worships... [Katharine starts hitting him]
Almásy: Stop it! Stop it! You're always beating me!
Katharine Clifton: Bastard! You bastard, I believed you! You should be my slave.

Hana: There's a man downstairs. He brought us eggs. He might stay.
Almásy: Why? Can he lay eggs?
Hana: He's Canadian.
Almásy: Why are people so happy when they collide with someone from the same place? What happened in Montreal when you passed a man in the street? Did you invite him to live with you?

---

Hana: I'm not in love with him. I'm in love with ghosts... And so is he, he's in love with ghosts


Almásy: Betrayals in war are childlike compared with our betrayals during peace. New lovers are nervous and tender, but smash everything. For the heart is an organ of fire.

---

Almásy: I just wanted you to know: I'm not missing you yet.
Katharine Clifton: You will.

---

Katharine Clifton: Do you think you are the only one who feels anything?



Katharine Clifton: Why did you hate me?
Almásy: What?
Katharine Clifton: Don't you know you drove everybody mad?
Almásy: Don't talk
Katharine Clifton: You speak so many bloody languages, and you never want to talk.
Almásy (They stagger on. He suddenly notices a stain of gold at her neck. It's saffron, leaking from a silver THIMBLE which hangs from a black ribbon): (overwhelmed) You're wearing the thimble.
Katharine Clifton: Of course, you idiot. I always wear it; I've always worn it; I've always loved you.

---

Katharine Clifton: Do you promise? I wouldn't want to die here. I wouldn't want to die in the desert. I've always had a rather elaborate funeral in mind, with particular hymns. Very English. And I know exactly where I want to be buried. In our garden. Where I grew up. With a view of the sea. So promise me you'll come back for me.
Almásy: I promise, I'll come back for you. I promise, I'll never leave you.

Almásy: Every night I cut out my heart. But in the morning it was full again.

---

Almásy: So yes. She died because of me. Because I loved her. Because I had the wrong name.

---

Katharine Clifton: My darling. I'm waiting for you. How long is the day in the dark? Or a week? The fire is gone, and I'm horribly cold. I really should drag myself outside but then there'd be the sun. I'm afraid I waste the light on the paintings, not writing these words. We die. We die rich with lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we've entered and swum up like rivers. Fears we've hidden in - like this wretched cave. I want all this marked on my body. Where the real countries are. Not boundaries drawn on mapswith the names of powerful men. I know you'll come carry me out to the Palace of Winds. That's what I've wanted: to walk in such a place with you. With friends, on an earth without maps. The lamp has gone out and I'm writing in the darkness.

AND FINALLY,
the Trailer...

I still care!

I was told on the phone that you’re in town. I was told in an ironic tone -that I did not notice at first- to call and check on you. As much as I remember how angry and disappointed I was at you when you were last here, I found a tear rolling my cheek as I asked for your number in a shaken voice.

I still care! Is it because we have the same blood? Or is because you were my idol for too long? Or is it because you’re the closest thing I ever had to a brother; as a matter of fact, you were always my brother figure! So is it because I need a brother right now? I don’t know. All I know is that I miss you, regardless of how angry and disappointed I might still be. I never lie to myself about those things.

I just don’t know what I would say if I get a number and dial it and hear your voice! I don’t know how I will sound. I don’t know if I will tell you “wa7ashteny awy” with my sincere childish tone, or I will just go with “3amel eh” with my cold and distant tone; either way, I know that I miss you.

I don’t know if I will go out and meet you. If I do, will I burry myself in your arms like I always did, or will I just shake hands and watch your eyes accusing me of being cruel and unforgiving like you did last time as you said that you never thought I would give up on you?

I did give up on you, I admit it. I got you off that pedestal so suddenly, and perhaps for all the wrong reasons. But the moment you got down to be on the same grounds I was, I saw all your flaws and all the pain you caused to those who loved you before those who didn’t even bother. That was when the beautiful image I had of you got stained and ugly. It shook my faith in all the people I loved, because one day you were my favorite one of all.

I still care! Even when I see you now for who you really are; a selfish child who still thinks it’s “cool” to lie, in the body of an immature middle aged man, making a mess and causing pain, and crying because no one cares about you anymore. A person who accuses every one of things that are only half true because the other half is what you did! But I care; I still do, only I am not sure if I can show it, or if it would make much of a difference. This is why I gave up on you; I realized caring would not make a difference. I am sorry... If it means anything, I miss you, and I still care.

I wish I could go back to the days when I used to run around the house with you chasing me and finally carrying me so high until I started screaming out of both, fear and joy. I wish I could go back to the time when I used to sneak into your room despite all the warnings to wake you up so that you’d spend time with me. I wish you could meet my kids and relive those days in a few hours, but I am afraid this will not happen, and it breaks my heart… because I still care.

To My Oblivia

Around two years ago, I started an older version of this blog, that I named Organized Chaos. It was basically an outlet where I could babble about the joys of motherhood and also rant about how people keep giving me non-applicable advice, namely my in-laws.

I had problems then, but I was trying to talk myself out of dealing with them, facing them, or even feeling them. In that blog, I talked about my inability to forgive; about how tired I was from waiting for good things to happen; about how I felt my life was not going anyway like I planned; all in abstract manner, or at least that was what I thought!

A fellow blogger once told me she liked how I talked so openly about whatever crossed my mind and how she liked the way I made fun of everything. She had no idea I had that many issues, so I just told her I hid behind my alias and said the things I felt comfortable saying.

I remember I tried to let my anger and frustration out by talking about my marriage; I started a series of posts called “Diaries of an Angry Pregnant Woman”. I talked about my childhood and the years before I met him; I just couldn’t talk about him back then… probably because I was still trying to talk myself into staying in the marriage. I couldn’t just get it out in the open that I was badly hurt by him and somehow continue living with him.

I think shortly after I killed that project, I deleted my blog; I don’t remember why exactly, but I guess I was tired of not being able to channel any of my turmoil at that time. It was exactly a year ago when I deleted it. If memory serves, I deleted after I posted about my late nana; I think that was the closest I have come to talking about my personal pain.

Then I started an older version of this blog that lasted three whole months after I gave birth to my mocha. I named it My Oblivia to leave all the thoughts that haunted in my own oblivion, where I could just have them out of my real life, into the blogsphere; a place where they wouldn’t find their way back to haunt me, while on the other hand I could find them if I was ever ready to deal with them.

I deleted it because he asked me if I had a blog and that he wanted its address if I did. I lied about having a blog, and deleted it after we hung up because I hated having to lie the way he always lied to my face. This is how I punished myself for not being able to tell him the truth!!
After deleting the blog, my thoughts remained in my head depriving me of sleep and peace. I felt nostalgic to my little place that seemed to be more than just an oblivion, but a place I could somehow clear my mind… nostalgia and oblivion; two of my favorite words, two words that somehow contradict, yet made more sense together in my head.

It was where I spilled all my tears when he was playing all his sick games and emotionally manipulating me until I was drained. It was where I spent the first few hours of my 26th birthday shortly after he told me every possible hurtful word he could think of. It was the last time I had a death wish. Sad memories I know, but it was the time I finally decided to stop the abuse he subjected me to and return to who I once was; this makes up for how sad the memories are.

My blog was the way I found my way back to ME, at least one of the ways. I figured that if I missed my blog and cared about having it back more than I cared about my x, then I definitely did not need him in my life. This is why two days later, I revived my blog.

By the end of the same month, I came out. The more I wrote about my failure of a marriage, the better I felt, and the more I realized it was ok, and that it wasn’t as terrible as it felt when I kept piling the things I was unable to talk about except with a couple of people who were probably sick and tired of seeing me ache the way I did and unable to tell me to walk out because they were afraid they did not know better. Yeah, my sisters and my two best friends didn’t tell me it was time to walk out until I decided it on my own; I am grateful that way because I know it came from me.

People kept commenting and telling me the nicest and most supportive words, words I thought I would never really hear because my dear father was so afraid of the whole divorce procedure he decided to scare me! It’s ok, I know where he comes from and I know how badly it must hurt to see his big girl failing in what everyone viewed as a big achievement!!

Through my blog, I got to know some quite interesting people who didn’t know who I was, yet somehow knew me through all the things I wrote. It felt good to be heard and understood after years of me speaking to someone who never bothered listening.

I no longer had to hide from anything!! My Oblivia became who I am. The only reason I kept the name is because I wanted to always remember how I got here, and well, I am too lazy to think of something original.

I am not always in my best moods, but I am content and peaceful most of the time, which I think should be better than happy at some point. I know more hardships are meant to come my way one way or another, but I don’t care; not out of carelessness, but because I would like to believe that deep down I have found my strength, my peace, and most importantly my faith to overcome whatever awaits me. For that, I am thankful.

I am thankful for my father for doing the best he could to rise above his fears and prejudices.

I am trying to be thankful for my mother for her compassion that she hides for some reason under thick layers of insults and hurtful accusations.

I am grateful for Maat for waking up early in the morning to listen to my doubts and pat my back as she talked me out of them, although I turned out to be right after all!!!

I am grateful for my Goody for feeling for me that way she always does despite how she always says she’s apathetic. She’s not! She’s the most sympathetic person I have known, and it’s not because I know 7alaleef.

I am thankful for D, for the way she could just listen to me say nothing for almost an hour, and then tell me “I understand”; I miss her and I wish her nothing but the best, God bless her.

I am thankful for H for being with me on the phone saying all the prayers I needed to hear and making me repeat after her until peace found its way back into my heart. I try to show her that I am always here if she ever needs me; however, I don’t think I could ever pay her back.

I am thankful for G for making me laugh so hard when all I wanted was to cry. He’s in my prayers right next to my Nana.

I am thankful for B for always telling me the right words that would make me pause and think of the ways should be done… istikharas are the best :)

I am grateful for N’s beautiful email that helped me realize I wasn’t as radical as I was made to believe by him… N, you have a beautiful soul.

I am grateful for Will E’s Art Therapy recommendation; I never got the chance to see it through, but I got the chance to have a good friend.

There are more people for whom I am more than thankful. Some of them in my real life and some came from My Oblivia, but this was written to thank my blog for getting me out of oblivion to where there is light and hope of better days. Thank you My Oblivia, I wish I could promise I would never desert you, but such promises are silly, I’d rather promise that I will always be thankful.

** Did this just sound like one of those Oscar speeches?!!!!

To my best childhood memory

March 15th marks a sad sad memory in my calendar. It’s the day she passed away, my nana (may she RIP).

I remember that day very clearly starting from the moment my uncle K walked in the apartment, my mom’s loud voice which practically woke me up... walking out of my room, the moment I saw K all collapsed on the couch, I knew it. I posted all about that day in my old blog, in painful details.

What I never said in that post is how angry I was at myself after she died! I never said it because until lately, I had not recognized this anger, probably because I had more stuff to be angry about.


I was angry at myself for not taking enough time to sit with her in the hospital instead of stealing few minutes on my way back home from college to see her… I should have never let my fear of hospitals keep me away from her.

I was angry at myself for not sitting by her side day in and day out begging for her to get well and be there to make me feel as loved as she always did… I should have never let my fear of seeing the strongest person I have ever known collapsing that way cripple me from being by her side.

I was angry at myself for not crying when K held me in his arms saying “khalas, maba2ash feeh neena”… I should have let my tears flow rivers because I knew I would miss her, even when I believed death was her relief from the pain of being so helpless.

I was angry at myself for going to college the next day and doing my presentation, instead of going with every one else to funeral… I should have allowed myself to grief then, instead of telling myself that she will always be there in my heart, not her grave.

I was angry at myself for not crying as hard as I needed until almost a year had passed… I make up for that by crying so hard every time I realize how much I miss her.


Oh my God, every time I think of her, my eyes are filled with tears, I feel that huge lump in my throat, my nose starts running, and I start trembling. Someone told me that our tears over our dead loved ones cause them discomfort. I don’t know that for sure but I make up for my inability to control my tears by praying for her as much as I can and wishing her the best one can get; prayers do help, so I have been told, and so I believe.

Once I start relaxing, I smile and think of her, and start reminiscing… her words… her wits… her slightly tanned skin… her always red cheeks… her beautiful white hair that she used to hide her face with, as an attempt to play with me when I was little… her warm hug that used to make me as safe and protected as I have never felt… her rice pudding… her cooking… how she used to teach me how to roll vine leaves, to work on ka7k el 3eed with that thing… how she’d check if I had washed the glass of water and before filling it up and giving to her… how she’d tell me that rhyming prayer, I seem to fail to remember… all the pet names she used to call me with…and more and more beautiful memories that make my heart feel warm despite the pain of missing her.

Thank you Maat for writing this post about her when I first mentioned on my old blog that I miss her, thanks for dedicating it to me; it inspired me to remember the good things and it reminded me of things I had almost forgotten.

So that’s why March sucks!! That’s why it’s wrong to think Moher’s Day when my own mother figure died 6 days ahead of it!!

And also, my last dream of her was in March 2006, right after my ERCP. It was a scary dream with a golden scorpion (!!!) trying to bite me and my baby sister; she was the one who warned me soon enough to jump and push it away, and the one who told me not to worry as I freaked out…

I miss having her in my dreams; I miss the peace I felt waking up giggling… I hope I would dream of her this month, perhaps I can forgive March then.

My Dear Uncle O…

Every time I think of Uncle O, I feel like writing about him. Only I promised myself I would only write about him when I am in a good mood, because this man’s best quality was putting smiles on people’s faces, and this is how I like to remember him, with a smile.

Uncle O used to work with my dad as his deputy in the last company my dad worked before he started his own business. I didn’t know him back then; I barely went to my dad’s office, which is ironic since I moved in the same street in zamalek a couple of years ago!

Anyways, a couple of years after my dad started his business, he asked Uncle O to join, and he did. I remember very clearly the first time I met him; my mom, my sisters, and I were stopping by my dad’s office to go have dinner together and he was just leaving, and he stopped and greeted us, and told my baby sister he loved looking at her because she looked exactly like his daughter. He said it so casually and like he had known us for ages.

We got to know him on a family level; his wife made friends with my mom, his oldest son was my sister’s age, his daughter was my baby sister’s age, and his youngest boy was the cutest thing ever. Funny thing, his daughter and my sister did look a lot like each other!! I think it was mostly the hair.

I used to stop by my dad’s office every day on my way back from school, and then college, just to say hi and to have my daily dose of delightful Uncle O. back then, my relationship with my dad was borderline hatred since it was the crazy teenage years and well, mom used him as a scary figure; so Uncle O was the one who would tell me how to approach my dad without pushing the wrong buttons and he would always assure me that my dad had nothing against me, as a matter of fact, he was proud of me, only wouldn’t show it because he wouldn’t want to spoil me.

Uncle O was the best! He’s been there through our terrible car accident; he was the first one to arrive at the scene, and seeing him, I knew we would be ok! He was there to drive me to my physics class when no one was available, and we would talk about almost everything during the car ride! He was there when my dad fought with me over the phone for joining Faculty of Arts instead of Business, and talked me into not making the fight bigger when it didn’t even matter to me which line of studies to choose. He was there to teach me how to park my car, and he was there the day I went to take the driving test since my dad had a strict no-wasta-for-driving-license policy.

He was there almost all the times I needed someone to give me good advice. And he had the quality of making people listen. And it wasn’t just me! It was everyone in the company; it was also my sisters, and even mama. She would call him up and ask him to talk some sense into me when I am acting all “crazy”! Everyone just listened to him; he could motivate people with the most encouraging smile ever; people at work would jump through hoops to not disappoint him. Truth be told, he was a better manager than my dad, and that is why my dad trusted him the most. When my dad wrote a will, he made him in charge of the business, and before that, he was one of two who had a power of attorney covering everything to my father’s name.

He left the company when he was offered a better opportunity with a multinational in a different field. He said he hated to leave, but promised he’d always be there. And he kept that promise, and he remained a family friend ever since.

I wanted him to be one of the witnesses when I got married, only my dad said it had to me a blood relative from my side (my father’s brother) and another from the X’s side (his uncle). If it were up to me to insist, it would have definitely been Uncle O from my side; he has always been more of an uncle to me than my real uncle.

Five years ago, Uncle O had a terrible car accident on his way back from El Ein El sokhna. All I really know about the accident was that his head was badly injured and that he was in a comma in the hospital. I went to the hospital the same night with my mom and my x. Of course I couldn’t see him, I sat there in the visitors area trying to remain calm; I don’t do hysteric crying in public anyways, but I broke down and cried the moment I got into my car.

When he woke up, he couldn’t remember a lot of things and some of his motor functions were affected due to the head trauma. He knew his name, he recognized his family and friends; he just didn’t remember details of events, which was ok really, but not to him I guess!

He never really recovered. I don’t know the medical description of his case; all I know is that he was never the same; although he regained most of his motor functions, he had some serious depression caused by the injury, some brain chemicals were disturbed in the process. I wish I knew more, or not.

I visited him a few months after I gave birth to my first baby. I wanted him to see my son, and I wanted to see him because I missed him so very much. He got out, said hi, didn’t even sit down; just held my son so tight and kissed him on the forehead, and gave him back to me wishing the two of us the best, and then just excused himself back to his room.

I barely held the tears as his wife told me he doesn’t even get out of his room to meet his own brothers, and that he only did it because I am so dear to him. I left not wanting to see him again because it broke my heart to see him that way. I am very bad at handling those situations, terrible actually. I am having tears in my eyes as I am remembering that day; I miss him and I wish I could just go and have one of our long hours of talking about almost everything.

Uncle O’s accident shook me pretty hard. I could never grasp that something like that would happen to a great person like him. I know el mo2men mossab, but it has always been beyond me to be ok with bad things happening to good people, to people I love in particular.

Uncle O, I miss you so much, but I always remember you with a smile and wish you the best. I am sorry I no longer visit; it’s just wrong to visit and cry the way I know I would.

A brief walk down memory lane

My college… where I first felt independent, where somehow I realized on my own that people’s opinions didn’t matter, where I made strong friendships with H and K, where I liked spending time with my colleagues but didn’t make friends with most of them!

Where all the people I kept at a distance used to call me “tenka” and “aleeta”, while those I let in knew better! But both agreed that I was the toughest in my group and that I took shit from no one; friends or foes.

Where I fought with H (over the silliest thing ever) and let stupid N and malicious N get in the way. Where I totally ignored her as stupid N took her side and malicious N took mine.

N and her Libra influence on me!! Very few people influence me that way, and I am not so proud I was influenced by her, but I learned a lot; I learned that when you keep crossing that thin line between your morals and ethics and the things you simply rationalize, you no longer see the line.

I am glad H and I talked again, and I am very grateful our friendship became stronger and I am very ashamed she forgave me for having a ‘gazma adeema’ of a brain. Thanks H, you’re the best college gave me really!

My college memories were never something I would hide from! Except because of him! Thanks to him, I’ve been avoiding passing there because it is also where he had his MBA classes and first started dating behind my back. Since I found out, I couldn’t help but tear up every time I pass there, so I simply avoided the whole place and went around it every time there was an errand to run.

Yesterday I passed there… I had to park my car exactly where I used to back in college days! I had to get out and walk in the same streets I once walked as a young girl who thought the world was hers. I didn’t feel like the world wasn’t mine anymore, but for some reason I kept looking down and checking where my feet were!

I had a meeting in the same place I had my katb ketab party! I walked into the same ballroom to see the settings. I didn’t know what my face conveyed really; I simply can’t remember if I smiled or just looked blankly! But as I walked back to my car and passed by where I once picked him up the day I told him the sex of my first baby, I pulled the breaks and allowed that thought to surface: when he had tears in his eyes and kissed my hand, was it because he was happy, or was it because he felt guilty about two timing me?

Then I drove my way shaking off the thought… it doesn’t matter now, does it? It shouldn’t matter; it wouldn’t change a thing really. And so, I played Souad Massi’s Khsara 3aleik and let the streets leading to home soothe me.

I think I just got my college memories back and I can visit them any time I like now without his memory blocking my thinking.

Dear Friend,

My father and your mother were friends since college, and their friendship extended to a family level. We traveled together more than once; we were practically family, and I really really liked your family very much, especially your mom; she will always be the mother I never had.

As adolescents, you were a bit of my idol; I always thought you were cool, stylish and had a bright presence that I think I faded out in the background every time we were together. Sometimes I envied you for your sense of humor that could win people over no matter how insensitive it could be. After all, you are Libra; Librans have that charm that make them screw up and not even have to apologize… they just smile, and for some reason they are forgiven. God knows I hate all Librans for that!

As I became a teenager, for some reason, I started disliking you! I have a few reasons but they all seem stupid and dull now, so I would rather not discuss them. Nonetheless, I could never be rude or mean to you because you just don’t allow people to be that way to you. Damn Libra!

What happened???? Well, I kinda know!!!

We both fell for the guys of our dreams. We lived the romantic dream to the fullest; we married the guys we loved. Everyone in our circle of family and friends seemed to be happy for us… how little did we all know! Enough dwelling on that, it turns my stomach!

Well, I know how mine turned out to be; a liar and a cheater with a disturbing twist of delusion and insanity! He did change a lot in me when I was with him; thank God I am considerably over the damage he caused. I am quite aware of the scars, but I would like to think my spirit is still in tact.

What on earth did he do to you?? Last time I saw you, you were pale beyond belief; and it’s not because of your deteriorating health condition, which by the way I think has to do with your extremely low morale. You seemed broken in so many ways it made me wanna tell you a lot of things; I just didn’t think we were ever close enough for me to talk, and I was afraid you’d get hurt if those words came from me.

I would never tell you to walk out on your marriage; I know it is not an easy decision, I know! And perhaps he’s tolerable in ways I wouldn’t understand, perhaps he’s a good father to your children, and perhaps he even has his moments with you. I understand he doesn’t have to be the jerk mine turned out to be, and I honestly wish he isn’t, because you deserve happiness girl.

But please, don’t ever let him kill your spirit or make you feel as miserable the way you looked last time. I know some men can diminish your self worth, but I think it’s basically because they have low self worth themselves. When he’s being obnoxious, remember that you never allowed people to treat you that way without even having to show attitude; that was your gift, use it. And don’t let anyone get under your skin… you are funny, young, beautiful, a good mother and have a kind heart… that’s a lot of things people do not have in one package, if he doesn’t appreciate it enough to acknowledge it, then at least you should!

I can’t promise you things will get better, for I don’t know. Here is what I can promise you: you are loved. By every one of us who knows you, your family, my family, your friends, our mutual friends, and myself.

I wish I could call you up and tell you all that, but I am afraid it could make you cry, I am afraid you would feel the way I do when people call me up and say “are you sure you’re ok”. This phrase makes me realize something must be terribly wrong for people to keep asking and then I start feeling “not ok”.

God bless you and your beautiful kids.

Nostalgic quotes… The things people told me… part two

Through college years…

“you do everything way to much; you think too much and you care too much, you have to take it easy a bit before it does some serious damage to your brain”
M… I was barely 17, but I think you figured me out before long before I did, which is strange cause all you ever saw about me was bright sunshine!

“stop thinking; life is more fun when you stop analyzing the things that bother you”
S… I tried! I actually did for a while and it was fun like you said, but you know better… if not analyzing bad things stops them from happening, bad things would have never happened to u… I wish your problems end.

“did you hear what the doctor said I had?? Will you tell me the truth… by the way, I never meant to be mean to you, I really really love you, I just don’t know how to be good to those I love”
O… I specifically didn’t want to know what the doctor said because I would have never been able to lie to you, yet I couldn’t bear to tell you the truth… FYI, I forgave you for making my childhood hell long before that day… now when I think of you, I smile and wish you the best :)

“matso2eesh zay el banat, soo2y 3edel”
K… etnayel, ana basoo2 a7san mennak… ok, you’re a good driver, and you taught me how to stir the wheel like a guy, thanks :D

“you’ll grow up one day to know how much your dad loves and appreciates you; this is his own way of hiding his mushiness, being too strict and tough!”
Uncle O, thank you for telling me that… I didn’t believe it much then, but it made sense later… I wish you were still there, could have used your support… God bless you.

“ed7aky ba2a, mesh kol ma2ool nokta tekbeseeny… ed7aky ladrabek”
F… you did hit me, or at least you almost strangled me with the seatbelt while you tried to tickle me, and you wouldn’t stop until I almost poked your eye… I miss you, you did make me laugh despite the idiotic jokes, and now every time I am told a joke, I think of you and smile :)

“you’re a good friend, you really are”
F… now you know that I wasn’t that much of a good friend to you… I am sorry I let you down, but it was either you or M, and she needed me more!

“one day, when you’re in love, you’ll know why lovers make one another miserable… and you’ll know why it’s hard to just let him go and move on”
M… I always understood why it was hard to let him go, what I never got was why you let yourself fall for him in the first place… but who am I to judge you!

“ok, this one likes you… but I don’t like him much”
N… I married him!! You were right!! But then again, he was right about you!! and by the way, I did live up to my ethics and left him when turned into an obnoxious jerk.

“watch out, he’s the type who would say whatever lies to keep you” followed by “you’re so lucky someone loves you that much that he’d do anything to make you stay”
N… no wonder you had a complicated love life… and seriously, etfadaleeh, you two think a lot like each other!! He’s single now!

“N is right about him you know, despite how crazy and twisted she is… we talked about you and him, and we both came up with the conclusion that you’re too good for him and you can do much better! We Kaman ana mesh 3agebny the way you do everything he says, it’s like it’s a different you… you were never obedient or submissive, but you never argue with him… this is not good, I don’t think he deserves that effort you do to please him… loves you or not, I don’t like him…ok, I’ll shut up now before you stop listening”
D… why on earth did I not listen to you; I think it had to do with you agreeing with N!!! Idiot, idiot, idiot... that’s who I was around him; a complete idiot.

“when I last saw you, I thought you were on the right track, all ready to be a fine young woman… it never occurred to me that you would lose your way!! You deserve better than someone whom his family does not accept you. do you know who your father is? Do you have a clue the respect people have for you just because you’re his daughter, how can you throw that away? Don’t tell me you love him, you will love someone else and then you will change your mind about it, you’re almost 20. Leave him now before it gets more complicated”
M… you have no idea how much I cried that day because of what you said. You almost got through to me! I wish you did, now, I wish I never ever see you or run into you.

Nostalgic quotes… The things people told me… part one

Through childhood and school!

“inty el asl… el ba2y kolohom maygoosh feeky 7aga”
nana, I LOVE YOU and I MISS YOU…

“mat3ayateesh, ana harga3 tany and we hanel3ab zay zaman”
K… you did come back, and we always had fun like the old days… but you never grew up… I might have been 19 years younger, but I outgrew you enough to stop thinking you were fun! Nonetheless, God bless you and your family.

“leh ten2asy kol el nemar de, zeyada 3annek eh elly beygeebo fullmarks?”
Dad… they have one thing I always lacked; wanting to get high scores!! I never cared for grades and I never will!! I used to get pissed when you said those words, especially when followed by "you must be stupid", now I know it was your way to motivate me… FYI, wasn’t motivating at all!!!

“she’s smart, she’s just too quiet to show it”
Math teacher… I was never quiet, I just didn’t like you much to bother impressing you!

“you’re probably the most stubborn person I have ever known!”
D… liar! You’re way more stubborn than I am; you’re only sweeter, so people don’t notice it :)

“yeeey, you finally have a crush, I finally have something to tease you with!”
D… I know you were bummed I never called you after midnight to tell you about my fantasies, but a crush only meant “I think he’s cute, but I’ll never really know”…

“don’t say you won’t fall in love, you’re still 16, you’re too young… when you’re in love you will know what I mean”
S… I HATE you, I hate how right you were.



(To be followed by more parts.)