On hope…

“Hope is a dangerous thing; hope can drive a man insane” Red (Morgan Freeman), The Shawshank Redemption

I believe hope is a good thing; it helps us get by in our darkest hours. Nonetheless, I can see how the above quote can make sense; you see, of all the things that can have a negative impact on a man’s life, hope can top them all because hope in its essence is a good thing. It justifies making decisions perhaps we shouldn’t be making, or believing in things that have previously gotten us disappointed.

They say stupidity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results; sometimes hope is our motivation to do the same thing one more time thinking the result would be more favorable this time, making us more vulnerable to disappointment. Hope is the honey that hides the taste of poison but fails to hide its lethal effect, disappointment and regret.

I am a person who lives by hope. Hope for a better day, hope for better things coming my way. I find my own ways of holding on to whatever hope there is no matter how crappy things seem to be; it’s somewhat my bliss, or perhaps my curse!

I’m afraid I am knowingly taking my own sip of what could be poisoned honey just because I don’t want to allow my doubts and my previous disappointments to get the best of me. I don’t want to give up on my hope and wonder “what if?”... I tell myself it’s ok to have hope even if it turns out to be false, because at least I am quite aware of the possible disappointment, and somewhat ready for it if it takes place.

Does disappointment count when we anticipate it? Does it hurt as much when we know it’s more likely to happen?

Is it stupid to have a hope that had previously led to a disappointment? Or is it simply hopeful?

I guess I should find out on my own even if I end up feeling like an idiot afterwards.

RANTS

Despite that I am in a good mood, I have been piling up some rants about current events; internationally, locally, and of course personally. I planned to keep them for myself but Rasha hates how quiet my blog has been lately, so there…


- Barak Obama. mabrouk 3ala amreeca, I really mean it, but for the Arab world, ETWEKSO. All talk shows had nothing to discuss but that; analyzing the crap out the whole thing, hell even my x gave me his sick analysis through email! News flash people, the man does not owe you a thing, he owes whatever it is that he owes to the American people. Yes, America’s regimes do affect the world, I understand, but for the love of God and all that’s holy, stop analyzing something you can never experience, let alone achieve; you better work on things that you can actually do something about! Government officials and political specialists, analayze khebetko el te2eela or try do something about it instead of talking about things you have no first-hand knowledge of!!! And for the rest of the Arab world who just talk, 3ala fekra, da elly gayebko wara; el kalam wel faty el mas7oob be 3adam el entag… so, to sum it up ETWEKSO!!!

- I’ve been getting all sorts of enlightening suggestions through email about improvement of education since that poor child died (God bless him and his family), but again, seriously, why do we do nothing but making unrealistic suggestions. Most of those who can’t keep their pie holes shut have nothing to do with education and have no power to change things!!! I’m sorry for being a cynical bitch but unless there is something you can do, or unless someone asks you your opinions, keep them to yourself; it’s extremely frustrating to hear over and over and yet over again how crappy education is and knowing all the same that there isn’t much one can do about it.

- Noha Rushdy. I don’t get the controversy, I don’t! If she has been harassed, then I completely respect what she did and how she stood up for her rights, it’s really as simple as that. Her ethnic origin, whatever it is, should not be of any importance, and fellow Egyptians, Noha Rushdy is not how the el 3adow el sohyoony gets us, again, please ETWEKSO!!!!

- The court ruling regarding exporting Natural Gas to Israel. Do you seriously believe that ruling will be enforced?! Makansh da ba2a 7alna, this is not a transparent country with transparent politics and economics, and I really hate talking about those things because 1- I don’t know enough to say something meaningful, and 2- there is nothing I can do to change any of it. It just pisses me to see people cheering for an illusion.

- That statistics report about the Egyptian society and its notorious results. I find it extremely unprofessional that the specialists working on that report have failed to take into consideration something like Hofstede’s five cultural dimensions (which was taught in freshman year at college) when comparing awareness and satisfaction results of the Egyptians to those of other countries!!! It’s no secret theory and anyone who works in that field should be aware of it, mesh 3ashan kont ta3leem agnaby!!! And while I’m at it, how come no studies were done/regarded to understand the collective Egyptian culture before making any statistical report on the Status of Egyptians, and I mean the average mesel7y who walks the streets elly beykhaf mel 7asad we beydary 3ala sham3eto 3ashan tewala3 feeh we fe ahloh!!!

- The doctors in KSA. I’m appalled and it makes me angry every time I think about it. I know Egypt is rotten in so many ways, I know every country in the world is rotten in its own way, but the one thing that makes Saudi Arabia more obnoxious is that they inflict social and legal injustice using the name of religion which is just *insert sheteema*. I say social and legal injustice because I have serious doubts the same court ruling would have taken place had the doctors been of Class A nationalities or God forbid Saudi royalty. People who make such horrible things and hide behind religion disgust me. And I don’t give the least care if the are religious scholars because I still doubt their fairness and objectivity.

- My x sent me yesterday (the 18th) a text on my cell wishing me a happy 8 years and 6 months anniversary. Why does this person like to remind me of my lost years?!


Kefaya keda, I think that was too much ranting and I think I ended up doing what I just mentioned above that I dislike; giving my unneeded and unasked opinions about things I can’t change. Well, in my defense, I would have kept my opinions to myself had people around me refrained from providing me with theirs.

The upside of being sick…

I’ve been putting on some weight since Ramadan, not the significantly noticeable kind for others, but rather the kind that makes me feel guilty every time I am indulging a food craving. My work pants were getting a little bit tighter and a couple of my tops kinda felt tighter as well, God bless my boss for not saying a word about me going to work in jeans and dressed like a hobo!

Knowing me, going on a strict diet wouldn’t change much because I know my weight changes radically in short periods of time depending mostly on my mood, I was just hoping it wouldn’t keep going until I’m fat. Anyways, in a futile attempt to eat healthy I ate Greek salad, which didn’t really do me any good, not just because I ate around 3 slices of pizza later that day, but also because the salad was definitely contaminated (everyone ate from the pizza and thank God no one got sick).

Two days later, I think I have managed to lose all the extra weight I had put on in two whole months!! Of course I’ve also managed to drain all my body fluids in every way possible, of course I still feel dizzy and woozy, and still get urges to throw up, not to mention the embarrassing bathroom visits, of course my hair looks and feels damaged especially that I have not combed it since Saturday night, and of course my eyes look totally different… but hey, I lost weight! Who knew salad could have that miraculous effect!

This is my first day at work this week, and I think I will leave at noon once I make sure I won’t be needed. I can’t stand up for more than three minutes, and my colleagues keep commenting on how much weight I must have lost, which somehow makes me smile, shallow I know! I took my antibiotic, and I have right next to me a cup of tea (I hate tea) and some weird biscuit my boss gave me because “I must eat something”. Upon tasting the biscuit, it does not taste bad at all, wow, I still have it in me to taste food! However, I do not see salad-eating in my near future although I am a big salad lover, and neither do I see apples (I still taste my vomit after my first apple-eating attempt)

Oh, and a friend of mine and I were once contemplating becoming bulimic to lose weight… honey, don’t; all the throwing up is definitely not worth it.

Looks like it won’t end soon…

Another silly text message from him and his timing couldn’t be worse; a couple of hours after I posted the previous post and watched a disturbing movie.

He’s basically telling me he had just visited a friend of his who got married months ago and just had a baby. He was saying how his friend, whom he failed to mention his name –which makes me assume I don’t even know the guy- was sending his greetings to the wife, me. He was describing how his friend was telling his own family how my x is such a “moltazem w gad w mo7taram”! if I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s making it up, but I know how very few of the people he calls friends know him enough to know he’s none of the three, because moltaza w gad w mo7taram is certainly not what got us here.

I wonder what he told his “friend” when asked a simple question like “weladak 3amleen eh?”, I mean obviously he did not reveal that he’s separated and has not seen his kids for a year now, since Beem barely said a few words and since Mocha was a newborn!! Has he no shame whatsoever! He’s congratulating a “friend” for being a father while pretending he’s one himself! People’s pretenses never fail to shock and appall me; his pretenses have a bigger effect.

It makes me angry when part of the truth hits me; that he mainly wants me back to maintain the image of the successful young man who has it all; the presentable wife, the adorable kids, and the career! As if I’m his silly watch or the expensive shades, like this is my worth, or my kids’ for that matter. His shallowness feels humiliating because I have more self worth than that, a self worth that I have come to realize once I stepped away and realized he was the reason I lost my faith in me, as well as in everything else. Ironic.

I can only hope it hits him one day when he does not find himself surrounded by people who feed his sick ego, when he can look in the mirror and see past those pretenses, that between him and himself he would know how he lost the wife and the kids and to what. Knowing him, I know he’d always find things to say to make him the good guy so that his image wouldn’t judge him. Nonetheless, I always hope that one day he would fail and somehow see himself for what he really is. A failure, as a husband and as a father.

It hurt…

I am not sure where this came from, but as I was driving home with both of my kids in the backseat when this conversation took place….


Beem: mommy…
Me: na3am ya beem
Beem: (pointing at a Toyota) heya el 3arabeya de eeh?
Me: esmaha ToYoTa ya beem
Beem: heya beta3et meen?
Me: beta3et uncle elly saye2ha…
Beem: ana 3ayez arkabha
Me: mmm, bas e7na mane3rafsh uncle da a beem (thinking to myself, he’s almost got into all the car brands we bump into except Toyota, how perceptive!)
Beem: ana 3ayez arkabha ma3 pappy
Me: (WHAT!!!) bet2ool eh ya beem?
Beem: 3ayez arkab Toyota ma3 pappa! Pappa Ahmed, howa bey7ebeny wana ba7ebo we harkab ma3ah…
Me: (WHAT WHAT WHAT!!!! Think of something, QUICKLY!) bas bas ya beem pappa masmoosh ahmad!
Beem: la2 pappa esmo ahmed, ana 3ayez pappy ahmad…
Me: ya 7abeeby walahy masmoosh ahmad! Pappa esmo (my x’s name, obviously not ahmad), mesh enta esmak (his full name)… yeb2a pappy esmo (my x’s name)…
Beem: howa 3ando 3arabeya eh
Me: mesh 3arfa ya beem… tab enta mesh beterkab ma3aya fe 3arabeety, we beterkab ma3 geddo fe 3arabeeto we ma3 agga fe 3arabeetha we goody fe 3arabeetha, enta zehe2t wala eh!!
Beem: ana harkab ma3 Geddo 3arabeya Toyota
Me: (relieved he stopped referring to his dad) ok, hanshoof el mawdoo3 da ma3 geddo
Beem: (coming closer to me while driving, within my reach to hug my right arm) ana ba7ebek awy ya mommy…
Me: ana ba7ebak aktar….


OUCH!!! Who the hell is “pappy ahmad”??! I couldn’t see the road clearly and I started feeling like I was about to bump into the sidewalk with the dizziness i felt!



Later right before having lunch at home…


Me: yalla ya beem ta3ala 3ashan takol ma3aya
Beem: ana ha2akel nafsy
Me: tab ma 2a2akelak ana 3ashan matwasakhsh nafsak
Beem: bas ana kebeer
Me: tayeb ok, hat2akel nafsak bas el kebeer mesh yewa2a3 3ala nafsoh
Beem: ana hakbar tany lessa?
Me: (smiling) ah taba3an, hatekbar lessa in sha2 Allah
Beem: we hageeb 3arabeya Toyota kebeeeeraaaa
Me: (smiling even more) in sha2 Allah
Beem: we hakhaly geddo yerkab ma3aya feeha
Me: (on the verge of tears, and my voice choking) enta gameel awy ya beem, yala ba2a ta3ala kol
Beem: malek ya mommy?
Me: (running in his direction, and making a funny tone) ana hagy aklak 3ashan mesh takol akly
Beem: la2 ana hakol el akl kolo…


And we ate!


How does this kid come up with all those thoughts and ideas and puts them in words? And what’s with the Toyota obsession??!!

More importantly, what do I tell him when he starts focusing more on the fact that he’s missing a father? It hurt like hell when he said “ana 3ayez pappy ahmad” and “howa bey7ebeny”! he’s missing a love he never even received from my idiot of an x. moments like these make me resent my x much much more than I already do. I can only quote my own dad “A7MAQ”!!

Only my x could make the US presidency elections about US!!

And I thought my blog would be the only Obama-free blog! How delusional of me?! I can always count on my x to find ways to link us to international politics; I mean hello, he’s the same guy who managed to compare our situation to the Palestine Israel conflict!

This is what I found in my mailbox…

“

Dear (my name),
Obama won the elections,,,that means even Americans can
accept a black president ,,,,which always was subject to never ever
status ,,,that means always there is a possibility of change to
better....if we want ,,,,rabena m3aky we yehdeky isa.....
End of day evil
goes away .....slmely 3la el awlad el gomal el wehos el kbeera
, we ya rayet lw 3ndek sewar gedid lehom teb3teha by mail with
thanks....
rabena m3aky isa

”

Seven words: You give political awareness a bad name!

A person of habit… I am certainly not!

Yesterday before I dosed off a thought haunted me. I was secretly admiring my sister for maintaining her dental care while I tend to skip it when I’m too lazy to get out of bed! I mean between my sister and me, she’s definitely the lazy one, but not when it comes to remembering she had not brushed her teeth before going to bed. So, I decided to find at least one single thing I do on daily basis for more than three weeks in a row. NONE!!! Oh except for my Pepsi addiction, not my most glorious moment finding that out now, but I can reverse that for the sake of the argument!

I am not sure if it a good thing that I am not a person of habit generally speaking, because sometimes a few habits are good for us, like my sister’s good habit. It hit me that I have been hiding behind the motto “… the more I know about something, the less I wanna know about it”*! That arrogant statement has managed to enhance my short attention span and made it a valid excuse to let go of things (and sometimes people) too soon, not that I have any regrets (as arrogant as it sounds).

That was when the Art Therapist’s words echoed in my head “You’re lost, find you. Find something you’re passionate about, and do it, you’ll feel different”. Right now, I have no idea what it could possibly be, and I am not even that eager finding out because I have a strong conviction that I will end up bored in such a short time. I know it’s not passion that I lack; maintaining it is rather the trick.

My wall of shame has a variety of things I attempted to learn which I never followed through! It’s such an accomplishment that I have managed to maintain a blog for over a year now! Actually, I think I’m losing that passion too; I keep writing things and erasing them, I no longer like the sound of my words. The only reason I am still holding on to this blog is because it’s the only mirror I have to my thoughts that I’m afraid I’d get even more lost without it.


* A quote said by Winona Ryder in “How to Make an American Quilt”. The quote is not necessarily accurate, but I related it to it the moment I heard it YEARS ago.

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.

A phone call I needed

There are a few aspects of my divorce and my feelings about it that I never discuss. Some because they are too private, some because they are too painful I have decided to block them and force myself to forget them. It’s easy to understand that some things will forever remain private, and I have my peace with never discussing those matters. As for the painful ones, I think it’s best to burry them where I can no longer remember, even if it means that from time to time they will cause me to have some thoughts that I will never find words to express.

My most reoccurring thought was “what if it was me?” I understand that it takes two to make a ruin out of a marriage, I really do, and in that sense I acknowledge most of the mistakes he accused me of. However, a voice in me always shouted that his reaction, his chain reaction of humiliation, the pain he inflicted was too malicious and it made him the bad guy at the end of the day. My friends and loved ones echoed that voice and repeatedly told me to stop being silly and that no behavior of mine could possibly make anyone behave that way, but my secret wondering always lingered and found ways to haunt me at my weak moments, only I never expressed it half as eloquently as it was said to me yesterday even though I never spoke of my wondering before!

Yesterday, someone put on the unbiased hat and spoke those words to me. Yesterday, for the first time, someone found the words that describe one of my worst and most haunting thoughts; and not just that, but also out of being a good friend advised me so calmly on how I should approach my divorce for once and for all before I ended things.

“Before you proceed with anything, take a moment to think of things from a perspective that I know could be painful for you, but you have to do it for the sake of your kids. I know things have come to a point where you can’t re-love him or cherish a good memory, but you owe your kids that much before you eliminate their chances of having a normal relationship with their father.

Since I’ve got to know you, I have been wondering what could possibly make anyone do all that to you. Perhaps there were things you did, words you said that broke your relationship, after all you were in love, and you married for love. There is always one thing at least that must have broken such a bond, it could be too small and insignificant for others, but it could have had a huge impact on him. I know there are things I would not accept of people, no matter how much I love them, and I think it applies to each one of us.

Next time you talk to him, ask him about the moment he started drifting away from you, ask him what caused it, and ask him about a specific incident with its details. Don’t take answers like 3asabeyetek or esloobek, only accept an answer that includes an a moment, a specific incident that made him pull away, because once he pulled away, all the other things would make sense, at least to him. If he does not give you an answer, then he is the asshole I think he is, and leaving him was definitely the right thing to do, and you should never look back and wonder. However, if he gives you that very specific answer, take the time to think about it without bias, and start weighing everything that happened from that point forward all over again, perhaps then you’d be more willing to give him a chance.

I know it’s not something you would want to do, going back to him, but I also know that you love your children that much. Can you do it?”*

Needless to say I cried hearing all those words –and more- being said to me so plainly and directly, silent tears kept rolling as I curled on that cushion feeling so cold. I pulled it together and controlled my tone of voice as I said “Do you know I ask myself that question every day since it all fell apart? Do you know I never stopped wondering if it were me? You know what, I will do what you suggested, even as I know that 90% chance he will not give that answer! I will do it, not because I would ever consider going back to him, I could never do that. You don’t know how much I love my kids, but I do, yet I would NEVER go back to him. I will only do it for me, to have something to shush those thoughts and stop them from haunting me”

My friend did not leave me in the midst of my tears, my friend talked to me about random things that made me really laugh and made sure I hung up with a smile on my face to wake up with a clear head for a change. Yes, I will do as my friend suggested, but I am sorry, even if it turned out that it was me, I will not go back to him, it is over that way, and I will do everything I can to make sure it ends sooner rather than later.

* Of course my rephrasing of those words is not accurate, and I must have skipped more words, but I guess I covered the general idea.

And there it goes again…

He called today. He called from a number I did not recognized so I answered. I had the same feeling I get whenever he calls; anger, disgust and hate. He’s the same person who makes me feel sick, that I could tell even though his words were different. He wants a civil divorce; he says all my rights and those of my kids’ are granted except for sha2et el 7adana. He said I could consult whomever I want and that it was not a limited time offer like he previously mentioned. He said he wants a clean ending. Call me whatever; I want to believe him… I need to believe him.

His words made me cry. I kept crying as he went on and on over the phone saying the same things he usually says. My friend says he knows me well; I say he never knew me, he just knows how to hurt me, and he’s really good at it. I cried because I saw snippets of my past seven years, I felt them slipping away and I realized my loss when I didn’t feel his. I kept crying, until I could just take no more, so I gathered all my strength to maintain an indifferent tone as I said “khalas, I get your point, I’ll talk to my dad and my lawyer and get back to you”. He said “kol sana wenty wel welad tayebeen wel osra be kheir, salemeely 3al welad le7ad mab2a ashofhom”

I talked to my dad while we were in the car going to his cousin’s for iftar. I told him I needed to go through with that civil divorce he suggested, I told him that we could talk to my lawyer and arrange all the documents that need to be signed in order to make sure he won’t take back any of his promises. My dad was too cynical to buy any of his words, and he was too rigid to let go of the whole apartment thing. He says it’s my right to have that apartment, even though he insists that I do not move out and even though he had already decided I would not step foot in it! He says it’s a matter of right and wrong and that it’s 7a2 adaby!

I usually confirm with such ideal notions my dad speaks of, but excuse me, I am too tired to maintain that status. I need closure, I need it more than anyone could guess. I am willing to waive all my rights, I am even willing to consider waiving those of my kids as well to get it. Call me selfish, but I need my closure, I NEED IT. Why can’t I have it when he seems to have already had his. I don’t think I will be waiving a right; that apartment is his, and I know that in a perfect world, it would be my kids’; but it’s not a perfect world, why don’t we all wake up and smell the stench!

It’s called sha2et 7adana. My right to live in it ends when my custody rights end. It’s a temporary right that I don’t even want; it’s not worth me remaining in this mess one minute longer. I cried again as I talked to my dad. This time I cried because I could tell that his sense of right and wrong was keeping him from seeing my desperate need for closure. At the end of the conversation I made him promise that he would at least discuss it with my lawyer and that the conversation would take place in my presence.

I know my x is one hell of a liar, and I know it could be one of his tricks. But like I said, I need to believe that he meant it when he said he wanted a civil divorce; if that makes me an idiot, then I’m guilty as charged… I am an idiot, a tired and a confused idiot who wants out at any cost.

Random Randomness…

I have a head cluttered with thoughts again… so I will put them all here in no specific order; the good and the bad. I will put them for the sake of reference; who knows, may be some day I would talk further about any of them.


I just love R! The other day, I was too sleepy at work and I had to send tons of emails to too many people in which the two common things were 1- that they were all men, and 2- they were all my superiors! So to avoid confusion, I started all mails with “Dear Sir”. Minutes after I sent my mail to R, he responded saying “Thanks! P.S. Inso, my name is R, not Sir!”… It woke me up for a minute or two, put a smile on my face and then I continued being sleepy! I could have replied saying “Dear R, I love you”.

I am my father’s daughter, I just am! Everyday I stumble on a thought that makes me realize I take a lot after my dad even more, despite how people keep saying we have nothing in common looks-wise!! What no one ever noticed before is that even though we do not share the head shape, skin color, eye color or shape, nose (thank goodness), mouth; we do share the same faint dimple on the chin!!! I just saw that resemblance a few days ago and it was like a revelation (I did mention on so many occasions that I am easily amused)!!! Other than that, we share too many things character wise, it scares me yet somehow reassures me in another way! I say it proudly; I am my father’s daughter, with all his annoying flaws, or at least most of them!

I enjoy my kids’ company beyond measures. I know I rant a lot about missing my own space and the little things I can’t seem to do with them being so dependant on me; I guess it goes back to me being restless and easily bored generally. However, truth is, I spend my happiest moments tickling, laughing and playing with them and I feel the safest when Beem hugs me saying “ba7ebik ya mAmmy” or when Mocha holds on to me to feel safe! I hope it will forever feel this way, and I hope I could be the best mother I could be to those two.

I still can’t find it in me to forgive him. I manage to speak of him without calling him names he very much deserves, but I can’t seem to even be willing to forgive him. Every time I think of my status and pray to God for all to end, a part of me wanders away wondering “howa 7asses howa ad eh zalem?! Wala faker eno keda bey7afez 3ala beet howa haddo? Wala faker eny momken fe yoom arda arga3lo?” and I refrain from cursing at him in my prayers and just say “يا رب ارفع ظلمه عني و لا تجعل مني ظالما أو مظلوما”. The worst thing is to feel oppressed and helpless; kelmet zolm is more than just those two. الحمد لله

No matter how more accepting or wiser I get, I will never NEVER understand people’s ability to inflict harm on others. It’s just beyond my ability to understand, let alone accept. This makes me too vulnerable to people’s constant deceit; however, it scares me that the day may come when I learn how to accept it, because in my head it means I would be capable of it at some later stage after which. I think too much!

Whenever I sleep right after prayers, my last prayer is always for my late Nana and to see her in my dreams. I can’t remember when it last happened; however, three nights ago I saw her in a terrible nightmare, it filled my heart with pain and fear instead of peace, and made me no longer wish to see her in my sleep. May peace and serenity find her and keep her company.

My best days at work are when I work REALLY hard. I feel active and my mood and attitude are noticeably better!! I hate boring days where I just stare at my screen and browse away!

Words just fascinate me. I appreciate thoughts, but my appreciation for words is just indescribable; it impresses when thoughts are described in the right words. This is probably why I fall too hard for kind words to the extent that it might take me longer time to see that they could be fake. Not just that, cruel words have such a huge and exaggerated effect on me; they make me dwell too hard for my own good! What can I say, I’m such a sucker for words; may God protect me from those who know how to use them without really meaning them.

Every time, every single time I decide to follow local news 3ashan mab2ash “gahla” 3ala ra2y babaya; I end up realizing that I made one wise decision to live in my own head, detached from this scary scary reality. Everything around saddens me and makes me worry about the future and my kids; I worry that one day they will be in the same place I see people in, and it just disturbs me. It leaves me to my defense mechanism, meet denial and cynicism. So please, stop giving me newspapers to read, sometimes ignorance is a blessing.


Kefaya keda!

Hanging in there...

I feel too much weight, invisible weight yet its presence is very much felt…
It’s pulling me down, limb by limb…
My feet are too heavy to lift; I can’t seem to walk…
My arms are too saggy to carry themselves, let alone carry things…
My fingers can barely move to type, not even slowly…
Even ideas, they seem to be too heavy to float in my head…
I can move, but my movement seems to be in one direction; downwards…
I just can’t lift myself up anymore…
Like one of those marionettes hanging by its strings, the only thing that keeps it from surrendering to the weight of gravity and falling are those damn strings...
Only my strings are invisible and there's no way to tell how long they will carry me, with all that weight...
Will I be falling soon?
I wish I were a marionette; at least then, I wouldn't be wondering...


* Picture credit goes to Evaluna. Thanks.

My Beem is Three!

I look at older photos I have of him and previous posts I wrote about him and I feel like it was just yesterday when he could barely say a word or two! Now, ma sha2 Allah mesh beyeskot!

Here’s a sample…


Hilarious Beem:

Me: A Avion, 2ool yalla!
Him: mesh ha2ool avion
Me: tab hat2ool B Bateau?
Him: mesh ha2ool bateau
Me: wala C Cadeau???
Him: la2 mesh ha2ool cadeau ba2a!
Me: tab 2ool D Dolphin
Him (finally getting the trick): mesh ha2ool
Me: wala E Étoile!!
Him: ha2ool KOFTA (this is what he says when I start asking him to repeat stuff after me!)
Me: enta KOFTA
(my sis getting in the room)
Me: yalla ya beem warreeha ennak bet2ool avion
Him: avion!
Me: B Bateau…
Him: bateau
Me: C Cadeau
Him (getting all excited): CADEAAAAUUUU
Sis: tab ya3ne eh Cadeau?
Him (bekol telqa2eya we theqa): TAYARAAAAAAAAAAA
Me: LA22AAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Mama: 3amal zay abdel Fattah el Ossary, 7anashon!!


Beem aleel el adab:

Me: battal le3b fel telefezyoon ya beem
Him: la2
Me: haz3al!
Him: ez3ali
Me: ha2ool le geddo 3aleik
Him: 2oleeloh
Me: ha2olo ennak we7esh we bete3mel ghalat!
Him: ha2olo enek enty we7sha we bete3mely ghalat
Me: ha2oom adrabak
Him: hadrabek
*me standing up and walking his way*
*him running to hide at mama’s or baba’s* gaban!!


Sweet Beem:

Him: mammmmyyyyy
Me: na3am!
Him (with the biggest, most adorable smile on his face): ba7ebik
Me (going all AWWWWW): ana Kaman ba7ebak awy awy awy
Him: ana ba7ebik awy awy awy (we lama yeb2a rady 3an mocha) we ba7eb mocha Kaman (we lama yeb2a beynam 3ala nafso) we ba7eboko koloko
Me (holding him so tight): ana ba7ebak aktar

I love this kid!

Like it would ever mean anything to you…

I know I am expected to see you in the upcoming days; be it the court ruling that you see the kids or whatever it is you might try to do to crash into Beem’s birthday, although I know you’re too much of a coward to do the latter.

I don’t want to see you; God knows, your face and everything about you disgust me and fill me with a strong urge to throw up. Nonetheless, I am looking forward to it. I have a few words I would like to tell you face to face and see their effect on you. I want to see that fake hurt look that I know hides more rage than you could possibly convey as I go on saying the words I so carefully choose so that they hit where I know you’d be sore. Yes, I know your wounds the same way you know mine, and because of everything that’s been going on in my life, I have decided to blame you instead of me for a change, even if someday you were my choice.

Except that my friends -my good friends who know how my tone of voice betrays me when I start getting all angry as I speak of what you’ve done, and how my face turns all red and how my body starts shaking like I’m having a seizure- tell me it will only make me vulnerable to whatever you might have to say in reply. They tell me my words will not get through to your sick twisted mind and that you might actually mistake all the above for care or unresolved feelings.

So here it goes…

Since the night you sat me down and tried to brainwash me into thinking that it was all me, that I’ve been such a horrible horrible wife who have driven you into a dirty affair, since that night I’ve been constantly judging myself. All through that past year, fragments of our life together keep flashing in my head whenever I see quite simple things that happen through regular ordinary days, like couples fighting, like me standing in a crowd upright because there is no shoulder to lean on, or someone of those who know about it telling me that I am definitely too good for you. I would remember our small fights, and even our big ones and I would remember that even when I gave my worst reactions, the ones I would take back, I never offended you as a husband. Even when my tone of voice got too high for your inflated macho ego, even when I gave opinions that sounded more like orders to your insecure self, even when I kept crying and looking the other way as you said your lame sorry’s… I never disrespected you. My sisters and my mother implied on so many occasions that perhaps I might have, but between you and me, you know better. You know I stood by your side literally though thick and thin; I won’t name the incidents because it’s not like me, but you know each and everyone of them, not out of gratitude, but out of your hidden inferiority.

All through that time, whenever people from which I am distant tell me “… but there must have been good days”, I nod and murmur “of course there was…” only I no longer remember those. I know they must have existed but, I am sorry the things you’ve done, the horrible pain I somehow still feel under thick layers of pretense that I have recovered, make it impossible for me to focus on one good memory. The few times I could actually do that, tears came rushing from my eyes, because I couldn’t remember the specific moment, I just remembered it felt warm and felt like home, and then I remembered none of it was real… how could it have possibly been real? If it were, you would have left me before you had it in you to hurt me that way. And another thought haunts me… what if it was real? The thought that it could have actually been real will forever haunt me and scare me from ever feeling that way again. Thanks to you, my heart is crippled and my faith in romantic relationships is entirely shaken for you have forever tainted my perception of love and marriage, I resent you for that.

I tried; God knows I tried to tell my self that perhaps you’re a good person, and that all this is a result of a mad chain reaction of anger, stubbornness, and people getting in the middle. I tried so hard to tell myself that there’s a good person in there who would respond to my sincere pleads to end things in a civil way, but obviously that person is another figment of my disturbed imagination, just like the whole persona of you for which I have once fallen.

You’re not a good person; you have no morals or ethics or conscience. انت معندكش حتى كرامة و لا نخوة و لا أي حاجة من اللي بيوصفوا بيها أخلاق الرجالة. No man, no true man would do that to his wife no matter how horrible she was. No man would abandon a wife he has repeatedly abused, humiliated and badmouthed to people, and then refuse to let her go, but rather leave her that way in an… an unmarried/undivorced status. No man would find honor or manhood in such behavior. You and your likes give men such bad bad name. This is the exact thought that comes to mind every single time I am filling an application where I have to identify my marital status.

I would say you give fathers a bad name too, but I wouldn’t call you a father to begin with. You call and send text to tell me you would like to participate in whatever birthday arrangement I plan for Beem, seriously???? We ya tara hatsharek be eh, be ta3atofak, since we’re in Ramadan?!!! Is that supposed to make any sense? That you want to be a part of a birthday plan when you don’t even know what your sons look like now, that you would not recognize them if they pass you by in the street?!! You want me to buy that you would chip in a party and buy a gift that would dazzle a 3 year-old when you never bothered to support him or his brother financially for over a year now!!! And don’t even dare mentioning the lame a** alimony that wouldn’t cover one eighth of one kid’s expenses. And don’t say I sent clothes, you know the crap you sent and for whatever its worth, I sent it back, perhaps you need the money you would return them for, because I know my kids don’t need them. I thank God a million times they don’t need your gifts or your money, and I hope they never ever need them or you for that matter.

I wanted to tell you, I had to tell you that I spend a lot of time reliving the past year day by day. And in every moment I see phantoms of us reliving painful moments of hate, I realize it’s never really been me, and that it’s been you, all you. I am not denying my own share of mistakes, I admit them, and I won’t even justify them by saying they were unintended because I have sincerely apologized when I thought an apology was due, I paid my dues, one after another. My biggest mistakes however remain; choosing you, believing you, enduring you, doubting my instincts, shunning my doubts, and giving you the other cheek even when I did it knowing you’d slap me even harder… you’ve shown me the weakest version of me, and my biggest mistake was that I let you.

I’ve been thinking it through and through, trying to know where I went wrong and learn from my mistakes, but I somehow realized that it’s impossible to learn from those mistakes. I would not know which mistakes not to repeat in an argument with a loved one or a spouse because I am not sure I can ever give my heart or my name in marriage to anyone once I break free from your chains. My fear of choosing wrong or being blinded by love would forever stop me from being in a situation where I might repeat any of those mistakes.

So if that’s why you don’t want to let me go, to make sure I won’t move on and give my love to whoever would deserve and appreciate it, rest assured. Trust me, the wounds and the scars are way too much for anyone to understand, let alone heal.

How does that make you feel? How does it feel to know that you have destroyed something in me? Makes you feel good, honorable, more of a man??? I know your sick delusional ego would make it feel that way to you, and I will try to have my peace with that for I know that whoever reads those words, even if it were you reading them on the web not knowing that they are meant for you, whoever will read them will be disgusted at you and see you for the disgrace to humanity that you are.

I tried to find it in me to forgive you because it’s Ramadan and it's time for maghfera. I tried to practice forgiving, but I found myself wishing you none of it for you have done nothing to deserve it and I think that even forgiveness has to be earned.

(I know… so much for the whole Ramadan spirit I was trying to get into! That’s why anger IS a deadly sin.)

It baffles me…

It baffles me that I keep saying things and contradicting them; how I give up on things yet still hold on to whatever it is that ties me to them. It gets twice as confusing because I barely know what I want to start with.

I say I don’t want the things everybody else wants, but I can’t find it in me to push them away when they come knocking my door. I tell myself that I can do without, but I secretly miss them as my stubborn self takes over and shuns them away. I do it proudly and I tell myself I know better, but do I, or do I just behave that way out of utter pride and narcissism?

And when it gets hard for me to take, I let my mind play its vicious tricks; I consciously project my fears and insecurities into others’ behaviors, my worst and most fatal defense mechanism. I focus on my flaws and magnify them and tell myself it’s impossible for people to get along with me, I build walls to shield me to hide behind them safely so that I can break down and cry away from people’s sympathy. But why can’t I give in and cry now that I had built my walls? Arn't they thick enough? I am too tired to build them thicker.

Why aren’t things simple? Can’t I just want to be happy and leave it at that? Yeah yeah, happy is relative and so is everything, and knowing me, I’d probably roll my eyes at too many things life offers me in an attempt to give me that so called happiness. Why can’t I stop being so picky about every particular thing?

My good friends tell me I am picky because I should be, because I deserve the best, but I am starting to think they tell me that because they ran out of words to soothe me. May be I should stop being picky, or perhaps just stop expecting anything to come my way and give up on all of it.

Sorry for the morbid mood.

Not so random thought…

hopeful, disillusioned… nostalgic, bitter… optimistic, cynical… smiling, miserable… comfortable, restless… sleepy, insomniac…

in case the last word didn’t give it away, it’s me; all me!

it doesn’t even make sense to me, yet somehow it does!

I am not even sure I can explain… I think I’ve lost it, and I don’t even know what it is really…

To pervy perverson…

For some reason I played it all in my head yesterday as I was dosing off and had I not been too tired to react, I would have gotten completely angry, but I ended up sleeping on that thought and waking up with a headache and an urge to throw up.

Whenever I heard stories of sexual harassment, I always thought “had it been me, I would have given my harasser a piece of my mind.” Truth is I never did! It’s disappointing to find out that I am not everything I’d like to think I am, and it makes me somehow mad at myself for being too shocked at your behavior.

Damn, I was caught off guard; I trusted you, I liked visiting and I enjoyed our chats, even the rather unfavorable ones. I thought you were skilled, well educated, sophisticated, and most importantly good mannered and had ethics; apparently I was badly mistaken and I am mad at myself for that.

I am MUCH younger than your daughter you pervert, I even perceived you as the sweet grandpa I never had!! EWWWW.

How could you –or anyone else for that matter- know of the mess my life currently is and take such advantage of it? It’s low and I find it impossible to understand, let alone accept!

You were told half of the story and you came to offer and adult’s opinion and I thought I made it clear that your advice was appreciated yet invalid. I was nice and sweet, and more importantly grateful for your kind words, little did I know!

Every time I remember our conversations and how all your remarks were dirty hints that I simply didn’t get because I am such a naïve person who still doesn’t get how people could be so twisted and sick. Arrgghhhh.

And it baffles me how you actually know my x and how it didn’t even disturb you that I might call him and that it might –just might- outrage him. Or was it him who made it sound like I was that cheap? I really don’t wanna know, I guess the fact that you know him well should have warned me, but the stupid utopian in me never assumes the worst of people.

I hate you. You disgust me, shame on you and your likes.

And I am angry at myself for not confronting you. For being too shocked to even look you in the eye and give you one of my glares. I keep remembering how I withdrew and how I tried so hard to pretend like I still didn’t catch on to your grossness and walked out promising myself I would never come back.

Now I need a new dentist because my temporary filling is decaying and I am starting to feel pain again, and the pain brings back those obnoxious memories. Uff.

One week after…

Ramadan is taking its toll on me; it’s the first time that I find fasting that disorienting! It could be due to the caffeine deprivation since I have been guilty of some serious caffeine abuse during the past year. No craving, just utter disorientation!

I am too tired, exhausted actually. I sleep more hours that any self proclaimed insomniac should, I am too ashamed of myself, and I am even considering changing my name to sleepy-head.

And I haven’t even gotten all spiritual yet like everyone else seems to be! I am not sure my faith is that much intact that way. It adds to my guilt that I’m having terrible music obsession when everyone else I know is listening and/or reading Quran! It feels wrong somehow!!

Too many thoughts are crowding my head and I am too woozy and drowsy to even think or write them out of my system! Ramadan me3aslag ma3aya awy awy, and I can’t get into the whole Ramadan spirit, I am starting to feel so incompetent and that something is seriously wrong with me!

I do not blame Ramadan, I blame the people who overrate their joy and make it seem obligatory to feel the same way. Well, I don’t feel the spirit of Ramadan, so sue me!! And while I’m at it, I almost never feel that spirit, and neither do I feel that of El Eid! To me, it’s all about the social pretenses one has to go through to make loved ones happy (as well as not so loved ones) and it takes away whatever spiritual sense left in me, assuming I had much aslan!

I would wish you a blessed Ramadan, except that obviously it would sound too cliché coming from me, since you know better :-/