Not exactly random… as incoherent as it may seem!

In the movies, the scene about the moment where events had escalated to its peak would keep haunting the character over and over making them clench and close their eyes in dismay.

It’s not like that. I mean, the moment, that moment haunts me all right, but it only takes a while until I am over the state of shock, or you know, sort of used to it.

Then, in my calmer moods, I get the mysterious feeling of discomfort that can only be explained by flashes of less significant moments haunting me. The kind of moments that would look completely neutral and harmless if you take them out of context; however, if you see the context and consider my character, they would make a whole lot sense on why I feel that way, at least to me!

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The subtle yet very disturbing moments would be like how I hate climbing the stairs, how I keep trying to look away, how I can never find those words, or how I just hate driving home, in my car alone with my own thoughts… how in all those moments I feel lonely and all sorts of other things...

One of the strong moments was when I closed my eyes hoping that I’d see clearly, just like that girl; and in the clarity of the moment, all I saw was that little girl who used to close her eyes hoping people wouldn’t be able to see her just like she couldn’t see them with her eyes closed. A tear fell, and I had no words to explain why, I honestly don’t know!

*deep breath in, and out*

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“just say what’s on your mind, don’t try to find the right words”
“I can’t! forget about the right words, I can’t find any!”
“I’m trying to help you open up”
“I don’t open up easily”
“exactly…”
“I can’t, I just don’t know how”

I may babble a lot, but I never really do open up. I really didn’t believe it when it was told to me a million times before, but it’s a pattern that everyone seems to identify while I live in my own denial!

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The moments come back one more time, and I find myself trying to explain my own actions to myself; it's really hard to bullshit a bullshitter!

Most of it boils down to one thing – I am discovering the very things other people take for granted on daily basis! It’s not good because they keep taking their toll on me as I keep overanalyzing in my endless attempts to understand.

How do people take those things for granted? And is it a good thing or a bad thing that they still come to me as surprise?

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I’ve got most of it figured out, why I can’t seem to be able to open up. It comes down to two main reasons; one, I still think that what’s inside me is not to be spoken, rather to be felt and understood without me having to find words that would describe it. Two, the one person to whom I have opened up the most has majorly let me down.

Did I ever really open up? I must have at least thought I did! Actually, at this point I realize I never really loved him, I just thought I did; of course now I am not even sure I believe in that L word much!

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If love is a variable, an ever changing one, and if marriages don’t exactly work the way we think they do, then what the hell is the point of all this? Why do we get attracted to that person, or enjoy being with the other, if it all ends up down the drain eventually?

I don’t see myself opening up enough to anyone to either fall in love or get married. I’ve tried both and failed miserably. I open up to friends so easily; not exactly with every single little thing, but at least I do open up easier that I do any other way.

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Oh oh oh, another piece to the puzzle, I mistook my pseudo opening up for love, and accordingly got married, which makes even more sense why I wouldn’t let my guard down that way again, lest I get confused and lose my way again.

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“she has to open up and let her guard down, and allow me to love her” that phrase just makes me laugh, sort of bitterly, but it’s a laugh nonetheless! It makes me feel safe that she will never be me.

It also makes me safe not knowing how exactly he’d have to be, it feel safe how no one feels like him, I’ll freak the day someone feels right!

Ok, like Sandra Bullock cast a spell in Practical Magic so that she’d never fall in love and get her heart broken, I’ll cast mine – he will be able to know and understand those things I never manage to say; he will be the only one who’d know how to take away all the subtle discomfort I constantly feel.

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“how did you get to be so cynical?”
“I’ve been alive for a while now”
“well, I’ve been alive a little bit longer than you have, but I don’t seem to be that cynical! it would drive me crazy!”
“you’re saying that my cynicism drives you crazy?”
“no, I am just trying to understand”
“I guess it just suits me”
“well then, cynical doesn’t suit me all the way; I really have no idea what suits me best, but I know I can’t get that committed to cynicism”

I hate admitting it, I sort of miss him (he who can read my mind like no other), but I don’t want him to ever find me because I know he can’t promise me the happily-ever-after I so sadly still believe in under those layers of my pseudo cynicism. I can’t have him tell me the L word and make me believe in its power again when I know none of it would ever last.

Why can’t cynicism work for me too?!

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Time to get some restless sleep.

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 theory and in practice…

As a child, I remember being called “noisy”, “restless”, and “smart-mouth”; I distinctively remember fragments of incidents where people asked me to “pipe down” or “be quiet”, or the infamous “shhhhh”. Yet, I don’t recall being hated for it; I was the apple of my late nana’s eye, my uncle spoilt me rotten, actually all three from mama’s side, not to even mention my youngest two aunts!! I was the grandchild for mama’s side, except for my late grandfather, we disliked each other! As for baba’s side, I distinctively remember how kind my late grandpa was; I can fairly say I loved him. The rest of baba’s side is on the usual good and sometimes not so goodd terms, which is normal given that we live in two different cities.

Probably something changed along the way when I was a teenager. I became more observing and less noisy for I didn’t have any significant mishaps at school that would require my parents showing in for any explanation. I was the kid no one noticed really, but I had an opinion about everyone I’ve encountered. When I tell people that I was rather shy at school, they roll their eyes as they say something like “ya moftareya, you, shy?!” And it never feels like compliment by the way!!

I remember whenever we travelled abroad during those times, my dad would push me out of the car (by yelling at me) to walk to the convenience store in the gas station and ask for directions, 2al eh “khaleeky garee2a”. Of course, until now, I am still sure that it was about the whole men-don’t-ask-for-directions thing. Bottom line, my dad always insisted that I should be roughened up, mostly because “al ne3ma tazool” and secretly because he did not have boys and I was his first born.

I never realized I took so much after him until a prof atcollege who happened to have have graduated from the same college as my dad said “fe3lan, man shabah abah...”! Turns out that my dad was a real trouble maker –like I was in college-, the kind who stands up for what he thought was right and never backed down until he got what he thought was his, except that I did better than he did academically!

Everyone I know who happens to know my father says that I take too much after him, I must have mentioned that quite a few times. Even the things, I don’t take after him are pretty much influenced by him; a few people told me I am that strong because of the way he raised me and I am that tough on myself because I don’t want him to be tough on me. Possibly true.

In summary, I am strong, opinionated, stubborn, proud, kindhearted, responsible, ethically and morally aware, hot blooded, emotional and passionate, capable of using logic, socially smart because I am what he made me. In theory it is like the perfect result for an equation that took 28 years to balance.

In practice, it means NOTHING.

I am strong, but I have deadly weaknesses. Actually, my strengths and weaknesses are very hard to separate; I am deadly stubborn for my own good, but it is how I manage to stand up and not fall, I am borderline masochist in a rhetorical sense because I am too proud to be caught in fault by other, so my conscience (the big bully) takes it all out on me and no one else!!

I am opinionated, but I can lose my focus sometimes because of my kindheartedness, not to mention my stubbornness and my ridiculous pride.

I am forced by myself (and my obligations) to act responsible 80% of the time, which is really hard because I am a 28 year old who still refuses to see anything but a 4 year-old in her mirror image.

As for my so called sense of logic, it’s a joke when faced by my blind passion when I am emotional about something. Don’t I have my dad’s passion after all? I can cry when I am talking about someone I love, or imagine what it’s like for someone to lose a loved one! Isn't death one of the most logical things! I have my dad's crippled-emotions syndrome; until today, I don't know how to just lay in father's arms and cry when I am in distress.

And my ethics and morals, they are challenged on daily basis living in this world and having to deal with things I was never subjected to. things I never thought existed!! Turns out, I only have those ethics and morals because I only lived in my dad’s bubble where it was so darn easy to practice them!!

And socially smart is the biggest joke. It goes down the drain the moment I step out of that bubble; I am constantly stuggling in my head trying to figure out people based on their reactions and lies and pretenses, as much as they’re probably baffled by my honesty and unexplained friendliness or rudeness, not to mention my ever changing moods.

I am a big mess that my father made, and I love him to pieces for it, and I am rather grateful on my good days.

But today, I feel like I was asked to change all that, for him to have more peace of mind because he worries and he would hate for me to get hurt again because of the nasty world we live in, the nasty world he never told me existed or prepared me for!

I love my daddy. I generally love my messy self most of the time. I would change some of who I am for my dad or for the people I sincerely care for, but I would never change for a society for which I have no respect.

I know, not exactly wise, but who said I had one ounce of wisdom in me.

The only reason I could possibly (and very remotely) care about what people think of me is because now I know how badly it affects my dad when people say anything less than how amazing and great I am!!

It makes me want to cry when I think of how disappointed he might be at me because of an insensitive word when I know that deep down he is actually proud! It breaks my heart to even think of all the things he would feel when he is reminded that I am not that perfect. The thought of upsetting him horrifies because I know I'd want nothing but my own death the moment he leaves this world even if I leave my boys behind (like a 4 year old, I pray each day that his day never comes).

That’s why I keep crying like a baby when I remember how he asked me to act more like a divorcee and mind what people may think of me. He said it while affirming that he knows I do no wrong. He said it admitting what he never exactly acknowledged before “da mogtama3 qazer”. But daddy, you never told me how rotten this society is and you left me to find that out on my own in the most scarring ways, and I know I have a lot to yet learn that I wish I wouldn’t .

I don’t know how to practice all I know is right in theory, yet keep my head held high when I worry about you daddy holding yours high if you worry that much about the scum of our society! We Kaman ana lessa ma3amaltesh 7aga astahel 3aleeha kol da!

On death, compassion, and things better left unsaid…

This post might make me seem heartless and cruel. Speaking about death usually makes me sound heartless and cruel, but it could have to do with my upbringing and how somehow I learned in the process that death is something we don’t talk about, it is something we should rather learn to deal with and accept, eventually. I understand it is only true as far as I am concerned and that it does not apply to other people.

Some relatively long time ago, when my nana died (Allah yer7amha), I didn’t cry because I thought it was better for her to pass away rather than live an non-dignifying life with the paralysis that left her unable to move or speak or even recognize any of us at some point. She was a strong woman who deserved to die with her pride and dignity intact, or so I believed.

Around a year after her death, my uncle (who had just turned rather a bit more religious) was talking to me about someone’s death, I don’t remember who exactly, but I remember saying that a short death is much better than a prolonged one. My uncle argued that the prolonged death is sometimes better for the person because it’s a way for them to repent and pray for Allah swt, as well as it is for those around them to earn thawab for taking care of them. He said I was blinded by my pride and life-related calculations, while the bigger picture is about humility, thawab and takfeer zonoob!

That was when I mourned my late nana (Allah yer7amha). That was when I kept praying that the suffering before her death was counted for more thawab and that all her zonoob were repented already. That was when I found myself wishing she had more humiliation in life for the sake of a better eternity. Oh well.

Still until now, death baffles me. it shocks me beyond my ability to cry and it paralyses my tongue from saying the right prayers for the people I know are dear to my heart.

Uncle A died around three years ago, I cried from the shock even though I knew he was terribly sick. I cried his loss; that such a good person was taken from such a horrible life leaving it one good person less, until I went to his wake. Seeing how strong his family was holding up, seeing how peaceful things were where he had once been, it made the peace seep through my soul. And later, I had a very good dream of him, a dream that meant a lot as my mom told me later. May he rest in peace.

Last month when Dr. Magdi died, I was shaken so hard. It was probably the shock of losing him so suddenly and unexpectedly, especially at a time when I relied on him to feel better about all that was going wrong in my life. I cried so hard -to my own surprise- over someone whom I barely knew, yet had such a positive impact on my life. I didn’t want to stop crying over him because it was the only way I could hold on to his memory; until I realized that I had special memories of him to hold on to, things I needed to remember for my own well being. And so I let him go with my prayers.

Two days ago when S passed away, it was another anticipated tragedy. She was badly sick and I knew she was dying after 5 years of fighting cancer that kept re-attacking more viciously one time after the other. I tried to use my previously learned lesson about death to not collapse or cry, I tried to find the right prayers for her, but I just couldn’t. Tears just fell silently without any control when I pictured her walking around us like she always did, right there while I was at her wake. I kept murmuring “Allah yer7amha” and I kept thinking of how amazing she was, and it made me smile even through the tears. Her strength will be missed, but her beautiful spirit will always be there in my head reminding me of all the things she used to tell me.

It could be that I lost a few good people whom I mourn on daily basis as little things in life remind me of them or when their memory just lingers in my heart. But hearing about the president’s grandson dying didn’t get to me at first. It may make me seem heartless like I mentioned, but when you had just lost an idol to death, hearing that someone you simply do not like had lost someone dear to him doesn’t touch you, you find your angry self (at death, life and all the people in it) murmuring “so what, people lose loved ones every day and they hurt and ache and their lives are forever scarred that way”.

No, I didn’t instantly feel any sympathy because in my head that man never had any sympathy for the pain people go through on daily basis; pain I can almost taste when I deal with people until I forget about it once I go by with my own daily concerns. Not to mention the agony and fear caused by the injustice and abuse that you hear of happening to othe people and thank God on daily basis that it is not yet your turn to be that kind of victim and fear the day when you will be.

Until I saw the photo, a family photo one of my FB friends posted with the little kid, the father, the uncle, and the grandparents. It completely changed how my heart felt and I instantly found myself aching. I couldn’t see people I didn’t know or care for; I saw my own son, and my parents surrounding him with their happy faces and I felt my heart clenching had it been my boy who was taken.

And that is compassion, the kind of compassion you feel without any control, the kind of compassion that makes you human, it makes you able to sympathize with people for whom you would normally feel no sympathy. The kind of compassion that makes you feel for people for their own loss rather than refrain from feeling because you’re judging them for their actions that you condone.

But like death, compassion is not something you should talk about, at least not in my book. You don’t walk around parading those human feeling you have just like you don’t walk around parading the tears you cried over a loved one lost to death. You say those things with a low tone of voice because they are supposed to come from the heart and they are not supposed to be for show; they lose their meaning that way.

So watching the Amr Adeeb segment on u-tube, the one with him urging the people to support the grieving family and reminding them of all the good that family did and make it sound like the people owed them that compassion, it made me angry. Sorry, but he was more like beating compassion out of them. Compassion is not something you feel because you’re asked to, and you never feel it out of gratitude, especially if gratitude is barely due!

To me, it sounded like nothing short of a cheap attempt to suck up by using a painful tragedy; if not, then it was just plain rude and insensitive, to all people including the president and his family; because if I were them, I wouldn’t like someone to beg others to feel sorry for my loss and support me.

I was not going to comment about that, or the tragedy of losing a grandchild for that matter out of my respect to the tragedy itself, and out of my own belief that such things are rather private.

Until I was provoked by reading an email a guy on the cultural group I’m in sent as a letter to the mourning grandfather. That letter reeked with pretense and lacks substance, and who the hell is that person and who died an made him in charge for him to say “Mr. President, I address you today not on behalf of the people but on behalf of myself, not as a citizen but as a human being…”! Speak for yourself man, and don’t trivialize other people’s feelings by implying that your words are good enough for them, especially when those words are not even proof-read!

Sometimes “el baqa2 l’Ellah” and “enna l’Ellah wa enna elayhi rage3oon” is much more eloquent than big phrases that give compassion a bad name.

A Taste of Fear…

Disclaimer: This post is grim; however, it is not about being depressed or down, it is simply me trying to find/make up reasons for the unexplainable gut feelings I have!

Due to recent events, I am shaken. I am not the same me who was there three weeks ago. I realize it is temporary, I hope it is temporary!

It started with some things the x said and did, which until now I am fully aware are only half true, only I do not know/care which half is true. Yes, he gets to me in so many ways and that fact messes me up. I tell myself it’s because we share kids and because like it or not, he was the first man in my life and I married him for love so the shock can have the effect of tides; it washes off only to revisit, may be I should be prepared for that rather than fight it.

Earlier this month, I had two panic attacks, or whatever close enough to that! I only read about panic attacks long time ago and I always thought I am very unlikely to have any given how I handle my fears. All I know is that some Sunday ago, as I was scribbling to get ready for my Art Therapy session later that day, I rushed into the meetings room and started crying! I was so afraid, I felt an obscure fear inside that I couldn’t explain; I called Rasha in the midst of my tears, until I could finally pull myself back together and go back to my desk to ask my boss for an early leave.

Later that day I went to Dr. Magdi’s (may he rest in peace), and for the first time in a long time I felt close to crying in front of strangers; you see, I have shy-tear-ducts syndrome or something! Anyway, it took Dr. Magdi around three hours to make me a bit calmer enough to smile; he suggested solutions and he reassured me that I am on the right side of things and I should not doubt that. That was the last day I met him, and for some reason I completely miss his presence; you know, the idea of knowing he’d be there if I need some more reassurance along the way. It’s such a harsh thing to lose that feeling.

Even later the same day, after being confronted by how uneasy the suggested solutions were, I collapsed into another episode of panic and tears. I was too afraid to cry in my dark room all alone; I curled in bed and called H. She did everything she could to soothe me, she even said she could come take me out only I told her it was too late and I was too tired to get dressed anyway. I was babbling so many incoherent sentences about the things I’ve been told all through the week, by my mom, by the x, by the people I know, and finally by Dr. Magdi. I say it again, H did a great job to put me back together, she reminded me all over again that it shall all work itself out if for nothing, only because I never intend harm. Thank you H dear!

I pushed my way through that week only to be provoked further by the x; that guy couldn’t be anymore creative when it comes to pissing me off, and he has such a strong leverage, my babies! I am not sure if it’s that motherly of me to say it, but I’ll do anyway; I couldn’t stand being around my kids those days. I love them too much all the time, but being around them those other days felt suffocating. Ironically how every time I feel that way one of them falls sick! It kills me inside and serves as such a painful reminder of how much I hurt when they suffer!

To end the week from hell, after I had an attempt to shake off the bad mood with Rasha, I went home to know about Dr. Magdi’s death. I’ve never cried that much so instantly over death; death usually takes me too much time to process and react! It could be that I had just received help from that man earlier that week; it could be that he died in a sudden car accident, not due to an illness with an expected death. All I know is that I’ve never realized the profound meaning of “إثر حادث اليم” until I read it in his obituary! I found it really disturbing because the other day as I was driving I was thinking how Dr. Magdi was a God-send and how I could always turn to him for mental reassurance and peace, and there was that dark thought of him dying that I instantly shunned away, only the thought became a reality too suddenly for me to process.

I woke up the morning after feeling like I just had a long painful nightmare and that perhaps things won’t be that bad. After all, the x had stopped harassing me when he called me during my episode of crying over Dr. Magdi and he behaved in a “sensitive” way to an extent. Moreover, my mom stopped harassing me when she called me at work to find me still sobbing over the same matter! I never heard my mom saying “ya 7abibty enty 7assasa awy, we ana ma3rafsh Dr. Magdi bas ana 3arfa ad eh konty betesteraya7y lama terga3y men 3andoh” I never even told her my whereabouts when I was there because I didn’t want to deal with “therapy eh we habal eh”!

I guess I cried for as long as I did because I wanted to hold on to his memory for as long as I could by holding on to my tears over losing him. I am fully and regrettably aware that given time, his place in my mind will keep shrinking until it is rarely and randomly recalled; that's the way our souls handle loss, by forgetting. I just didn't want to surrender to forgetting him so soon, or ever for that matter.

I went to Dr. Magdi’s wake the next day with a friend. My tears had already dried and I was back to my rather cold and indifferent self. I sat next to a girl who asked me if I was a student of his, I said I wasn’t and that I went to his center; she nodded and said that so did she! It was amazing how a lot of familiar faces whom I’ve seen at that center were there! That man did touch so many lives; I wish him all the peace there is!

I sat there thankful that I was neither my friend who drove me there nor Dr. Magdi’s assistant! Those two knew him much better than I did and had to deal with more issues and grief than I could possibly endure, at least not at my current state! I almost began to find tears rolling on my cheeks as I realized I was there at the church bidding that man my last goodbye! That was when my friend approached me and said we better leave now. I felt my whole body aching as we walked to where my sis was waiting to drive me home.

Three days now after the wake, I still feel the same on daily basis; I feel strange unexplainable fear in my guts! I shiver occasionally out of both fear and cold, only I am not afraid and neither am I cold! I sit with people and laugh too loud and hard about things that wouldn’t normally even make me smile! I am trying to fight the blues that are creeping into me by singing happy happy tones.

I gave my color box to my son because I couldn’t stand looking at it anymore. I won’t be coloring anymore; what’s the point if the one man who made sense of things I subconsciously said with my colors is no longer there! I will have to fight in order to find the right words and hope they will reveal a little bit more than what I am capable to say, yet remain as properly understood as I’d want them to be.

I am afraid of death in so many ways now…

I am afraid of losing the people I care about and it’s too darn painful! I have always managed to pretend like it was not likely to happen or that when it will, it will me like when my late nana died; expected and wished for to end a prolonged pain and agony, but I am aware of how devastated I was over losing her even then.

Now, I look at my dad and I want to hide in his arms and tell him to never leave me, but I am the girl who finds it emotionally hard to run in his arms as he returns from Alex every weekend!

I see my boys playing and I wish that if I am meant to die anytime, better it be soon so that they wouldn’t hurt the way I would if I lose them at any point!

I guess what scares me about death is that it is a fact that can never be dodged or postponed when it’s time; moreover, it will always be sudden and painful no matter how we anticipate it and think we're ready for it!

I always said I wanted to die young because I was afraid of growing old and incapable like my late nana. Until I had kids and then the responsibility overwhelmed me and scared me of death. I remember Dr. Magdi’s look as he said “… but the responsibility is crushing you and driving you crazy, you want to be selfish but you’re too responsible to be…” he couldn’t be more right! Now I am afraid of dying because of what could happen to my boys if I do!

I try to go back to the simple view of things; “قل لن يصيبنا الا ما كتب الله لنا” and remember my dad’s phrase “عمرك و عمر اى حد ما هيكون أحن من ربنا على عباده” I try to hold on to those two phrases and I try to hold on tighter to my faith and pray, but my prayers are irregular and they lack coherence; I murmur words without even hearing myself as I do, and it’s making me feel even more afraid!

I am not accustomed to fear, and I hate it!

Art Therapy Revelations

Those were drawn through three visits to Dr. M (one amazing man!), but I didn’t get to discuss them with him until earlier this week. Although those were not discussed in the same order, I’d rather discuss them in the same order I drew them.

01- A Weekend, around a month ago with baby sis… I was not even in that much distress; I thought it was a skewed drawing of a tulip!

Dr. M.: This reveals too much pain and agony*silence* This looks like *pause*an abortion! *looks at me* Suffering and trauma like one feels due to an abortion! Are you ok? Is it true?

Me: *smiling* la walahy, da I was in a good mood 7atta! That’s a tulip!!!!

02- Same day as 01… I love the moon and the night and it was all I felt like drawing. There are black edges but the paper was too big to fit into the scanner! It was the first one she held after looking at all the other stuff and wondering if they were all drawn by the same person!

Her Suggestion: This says it all, *pointing at the other drawings* it wraps up all those. She has hope, but she’s surrounded by too much darkness; she keeps surrendering

Dr. M: No, it’s fake hope, or a wish for something better and brighter, you painted it white, you didn’t just leave the original white of the paper; you want certain kind of things. Did you start with the white or the black?

Me: White

Dr. M.: *smile* you want too much but it keeps hitting you hard, the darkness until it fades to black; you feel desperate too often after being too optimistic!

Me: *laughing* yeah it starts with white, then te3’ma2, then teswad, eswed eswed eswed!!!

03- Same Day… I was wasting my time; it started out as a butterfly and ended to look this way!

Dr. M: This is so dead! It looks lively and colorful, but it’s too dead, it barely has any life within. It’s only held together by a spiritual bond.

Later during our talk he said: so this is why your “butterfly” is so dead; you seem to have it all, the life a lot of people want, but no one knows your marriage is ending, has been ending for two years now, no one knows about your daily struggle with those you communicate with on daily basis and the responsibility that burden you day and night…

04- Was drawn two weeks ago, I went to get interpretations on the previous ones and I felt like I needed to get a glimpse on what was in my head due to the pressures I knew were coming my way. I needed insights and I needed help…

Her Suggestion: *pointing at the orange circle and lines and their yellow shadow* That’s her, right? She’s trying to find peace but she’s not able to reach for it; mesh wasla lel ard? We elly foo2 de mashakel we 7agat bedaye2ha, attacking?

Dr. M: *nodding*




05- I scribbled it while talking to my friend and waiting for our turn. I got a call from mama and decided to give her hair, something to do to get my anger out!



06- I drew that on the same day I went; I was sitting at the office overwhelmed and I decided to go to the Art Therapy that day, so did my drawings right then to save time…

Her Suggestion: *about #06* that’s her, she only sees half of things, the half that upsets her, she’s too focused on it *pause* or perhaps she wants to take a peak of something*about #07* That’s definitely drawn on a different day…

Dr. M: Definitely! She wants to yell in anger, 3ayza tesrokh *about #05* hena heya confused, shakka fe 7aga we mesh 3arfa heya e, she’s worried and curious and does not trust what she’s being given…

07- I wanted to put it all in one place, the green felt like bad stuff as I drew them, like poisonous weeds! I know I wanted the sun, I drew it first!

Her suggestion: *pointing at the red blob*that’s her; she’s bleeding, she’s in too much pain, she’s silent *pause* she’s in the darkness, but she strongly hopes for the sun and the clear skies*looking at me* your tendency to hope is amazing! I miss that feeling hoping for something and telling myself it will be good the way you keep doing! *pointing at the green* see it will all be good, you know it in your heart…

Dr. M: But the green is superficial it’s on top of brown from the surface; it has no roots*looking at me* the brown is an abandoned place, you in a way, you need care and nourishing but you pretend to have it, only it’s on the surface; the green is not real, it’s not making you happy, walla eh?? El ard el teen de me7taga care we tetzere3?

Me: *laughing nervously* la2, 3agbany be tenha, I am fine without the care, I just need to be left alone, perhaps it would turn green on its own someday!

Her: but it’s a good feeling in general?

Dr. M: actually no *pausing* it’s too much to be put in one page; she’s contantly divived… law baseety lel soora 3ala ba3daha, te7esey ennaha te2eela 3al 2alb, mesh adra tetnafesy *looking at me* malek, eh elly khan2ek awy keda?!!

I almost cried right there!

08- Those were my thoughts as I was scribbling this… “I wish I were talented; I feel like I have a lot to express, but I am not talented enough to get it out the way I would want to” I was provoked and I was angry and I felt desperate. FYI, it was the second one discussed, the first one was the one with the mood (the bright spot with darkness all around)

Her suggestion: *asking me* do you play any instrument? *I shook my head* *she looked at him* She wants to scream, so loudly, in so many ways but she can’t! and there are voices that are driving her crazy and hurting her??

Dr. M: not just scream, she doesn’t want to scream about what’s really upsetting her; it’s indirect *looking at me* how true is that to you?

Me: *gasping* I was feeling the exact thing, I wish I screamed! And yes, I don’t want those who cause my anger to know how angry I really am but I can’t find an outlet! And I am being subjected to words of other people that get to me more than they should, I know but I can’t help it…

I sat there for three hours!

I don’t know why I’m sharing this!

I realize he didn’t exactly tell me things I didn’t know; but he managed to understand what I did not say and validate it, I needed that.

He showed me that even when I was ok, I actually thought I was; I was just piling it under hope. That’s why I keep relapsing from good moods back to bad ones.

He said something about starting to do something instead of just hoping, doing something to make my life better and more independent so that I can start being myself for a change.

He said I was full of extremes and it was exhausting to be me!

I don’t know why he insisted that I was mentally stable nonetheless!! At that particular point, I would have so much settled for “enty magnoona”!!!

Stupid Passion

Is it possible for someone who doesn’t know their passion in life to get so passionate over the stupidest of things!!

I guess so; I’m a living proof!

Months ago, my therapist told me I needed to find my passion; that I was lost and I needed to find my soul doing something, and that I had to figure it out. It made m look at him desperately asking for a clue but he kept looking at me and said I should find my passion on my own because no one else would know it if I don’t.

I’ve been thinking of all the possible things I could be passionate about. I replayed my life trying to remember the things I liked doing, the things I was good at doing, and there was the shocking truth…

I never really liked anything long enough to be the best at it; it could be because I was afraid I would never be the best, so I gave up at the stage of it being just a hobby to escape any potential failure.

Wait, it gets better…

The things I was actually good at, I kept them at a distance because I didn’t want to wake up one day to discover I got bored and stopped liking them!

How pathetic is that! Yes, my fickleness scares me from getting too close to things or people because I could either disappoint of be disappointed. Like I said, pathetic!

I decided to stop searching; I told myself my passion will catch up with me and find me.

It kinda did a couple of months ago, or so I thought anyway. It was helping people; helping people gave me a feeling of euphoria I enjoyed so very much. For a couple of days I could sleep better, my diet became healthier, and something about me was radiant, people couldn’t help but notice!

The Caller actually sent me text message saying I should do more work on the other blog because I am good at it; it made me post a couple of times before I went to my ridiculous state of hibernation! Yes, I admit it, I don’t know how to make that blog work, and given what happened next (or below), I was not ready for another disappointment!

So here is what happened next, I thought I should help people!! I contacted my shrink whom I knew started an NGO about creating awareness against violence and providing psychiatric help to those who had been traumatized. I told her I was willing to volunteer and take whatever courses and take a parapsychology degree so that I can do it professionally, no medications involved, just compassionate and professional help to those who seek it.

It was such a disappointment! I know my shrink could read this, and I hope she does because I never had the guts to tell her in the face how disappointed I was at the meeting I attended! It was only about raising money for a party that was supposed to help create awareness to the NGO. Mind you that the attendees who should buy the tickets, you know because of whom that specific singer was chosen (wa7ed aslant masme3tesh 3anno abl keda, but I blame my limited awareness of Arab singers), are upper class people who –according to the people in the meeting- only go there to see who got married and who is still man-hunting!! And don’t get me started of what I think about that! Anyway, all the talk was about sponsors and advertising and the tickets prices! No one mentioned the help we were supposed to give, not even for a few minutes on the side!

I know I know, I am too freakin’ utopian and I expect things to be in a certain way. I’ve heard it all before! Every time I remember how disappointed I felt I almost cry! I wanted to help people; I was thinking support groups and nonfinancial gain and there I was looking at people fighting over the best way to bag sponsors! If I wanted to do that, I would have worked in my field of studies, marketing! Oh well!

Don’t get me wrong, I am not an NGO kinda person; if anything I hate belonging to a bigger group where the goals and motives get confused with other things that have nothing to do with the cause! I inherited by dad’s cynicism unlike baby sis who still believes she can still do good even within a corrupt system. My good baby sister.

Today, it hit me. My passion for helping people is only the positive side of how I feel when I see people doing/accepting injustice! I can’t help but feel furious when I hear a story about someone hurting others with no regard to anything but their own interests and I get even madder when I see the victims accept their roles so submissively and endure the abuse and perhaps even invite some more!

I get so angry I wish I could turn into the Goddess of war and rage so that I can rip off the hearts of those who inflict pain! If any of the ancient mythologies were ever true, I would have loved to be Sakhment, Ishtar, Athena or Minerva who ironically also represent good things like health, wisdom and wealth!!

But who am I to mess with anger; all those myths tell how the Goddesses were blinded by their anger and ended up inflicting harm on everyone equally!! I guess I should just stop trying to think like a God and accept that only Allah swt has the key to all and that we’re all in a constant battle testing our strengths and beliefs!

My dad always tells me after bad disputes with my mother that I should stop behaving as if I were an equal and accept my role and live up to it. As right as I believe he is; I just don’t know how to accept my role if it subjects me to be wronged even if by my mother and even if unintentionally!

Deep breath in… aaaand out…

Maybe I should consider yoga like my sis! Oh crap, I don’t want to be around her anymore than I have to; Zen people get on my nerves. It’s beyond me how anyone can see the mess that happens all around and still be calm just makes me wanna hurt them or something, may they’d get as angry!! Yeah, it’s probably envy talking; I am not envious by nature but it seems that anger visits me bringing all its friends lately as a punishment for not letting it in enough, or perhaps locking it in that box! Kick boxing seems more fitting for me!

Anyway, back to the reason I started writing this…

Yes, I have a misplaced passion! Whoever taught me about right and wrong as a child screwed me for life because they didn’t explain that it’s not up to me to make everything right and that the universe does not answer to me, and that even wrong happens for a reason and hard as I might try, I will not always get it, not even often!

I am so darn angry right now I want to cry! That idiot talks about wanting to marry anyone we khalas as if other people’s lives have no regard as long as he gets his needs satisfied! How arrogant!! And the way he says “at least mesh ha3mel 7aga 7aram” makes me wanna kick him where it hurts!!! I keep yelling at myself “don’t argue, don’t argue; he’s aware you’re getting angry and he feeds on it, don’t argue” I would gladly hope he meets his match, the one who teaches him the cruelest of lessons only to balance his own cruelty, but I learned it will not just be about him suffering, more people will suffer, people I care about!

My only defense mechanism helped a bit! God bless heartless sarcasm! I gave him a bitter taste of it and then told him I had to go.

Only I found myself writing this post….

If any of my good friends called me to rant about something so mundane, I’d try to calm them and point out to them how ridiculous it is to get upset about the same thing all over again when they have absolutely no control over any of it! But here I am, unable to get so angry, so passionately angry I could hurt people!!

Darn!

Where is my art therapist when I need him! I can’t see him before next Sunday!!! And I can’t even just draw it out because my mom is spying on me, thinking she can look at the shit I draw and figure me out, or even worse make up silly remarks about me trying to be a painter! Either that or I am developing a severe case of paranoia!

Note to self: “people can be really sick and twisted, including you! So stop whining, get over the shock and accept that there is nothing you can do to change it; you can barely change yourself! Etweksy!”

What do you know, another incoherent rant!

Why doesn't revenge taste so sweet?

Did I ever mention that I find vengeance to be one of the most interesting notions? It is; it’s such a drive that has its very own strong momentum and it can just drag for years and years, and like it or not it’s behind a lot of good plots be it in reality or fiction.

Is it a co-incidence that most of my favorite movies revolve around the consuming idea of vengeance. When I first read A Tale of Two Cities, as appalled as I was by Madame De Farge’s unforgiving pursuit of Charles Darnay and his family, deep down, I couldn’t help but sympathize for the amount of injustice she’s been subjected to which completely changed her into what she’s become. You must react to that kind of hurt and feel for it even if it turns into something so cruel.

When I read The Count of Monte Cristo, I was satisfied with Edmond’s revenge and it was as if I was getting my own. Yes, I believe in payback and it in its healing power just as I believe in the destruction it could cause to all parties.

I could go on and on about vengeance and how I think it could be legitimate, as well as when I think it went to an uncontrollable extreme, but I’m not sure I’d come up with something any more brilliant than all the things that’s been previously written. Just take my word for it, revenge is a very strong thing and it’s anything simple or marginal; it’s also the thought that came to mind as I started writing this.

Where do I begin, I’m sure a lot of those who read this know where it started, or at least are familiar enough. Nonetheless, I find it hard to write this coherently because if I do it will be too long for me to write and it might get more personal than I can afford, so it will just be bits and pieces, and I’ll leave it to your imagination to fill in the details.

I once told him I’d break him to pieces if he’d ever hurt me that way again. I looked him right in the eyes saying I’d destroy him and he’d see a side of me neither of us knew existed. I guess he knew me better then because he never believed; he hurt me anyway! When the time came for me to use everything I could possibly know against him, I just couldn’t. I am not saying I am a better person here, I am not; because I spent enough time thinking of how I could harm him, and there came times when I was very close to doing it, I just didn’t know if I had it in me to live with myself and whatever consequences there were to come.

Some time long after I got over my shock and my agony, I stumbled into a movie, Something’s Gotta Give. At the end, when Jack Nicholson goes all the way to Paris to win Diane Keaton back, only he finds her there with Keanu Reeves (EWWWW). There is that moment where they’re singing her happy birthday and she’s laughing so happily in Keanu’s arms (EWWWW again), and you can see the way Nicholson looking at her an you can almost hear him thinking “that should have been me holding her”. That was when I decided that the only revenge I could get without being a horrible person was to see that very same look on his face. I wanted him to see me living happily, enjoying the life he can no longer share with me.

I forced myself to move on and be stronger just to have that moment. I glorified the feeling I’d get and used it as a motive to get myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again. I can’t deny that I have a relationship phobia or that I have so little faith in love. I can’t deny that in the process of moving on, I almost stumbled and fell, and that I still look back and wonder what the hell happened back there. I always end up shaking my head and saying it didn’t matter; I was never ready and it was never meant to be. Little by little, it started to be less about my revenge moment and more about just getting by day after the other.

Now, that we’re on talking basis again, I see him quite often. He very occasionally hints that he still wants me back and that I’m better off with him than with anybody to the extent that I find it insulting because WOW, if I’m better off with him then I’m really bound to misery! Seeing him, talking to him and having to communicate with him amicably for the boys’ sake, I realized I’m actually capable of being a bigger person, something I never thought I could do! It’s not that I am not that forgiving or that I am vindictive by nature; it’s just because I distinctively remember how hurt I was and how the idea of revenge helped me get back on my feet, or close enough.

Yesterday, I took a leap of growing up. I agreed (without much argument) to have the kids visit his grandma before her surgery. I did that knowing there will be all sorts of people I dislike there. I wasn’t that pleasant except to the one person in his family that’s been decent to me, and the sick person to whom I couldn’t really afford beingharsh, given her age and her health status despite how much I dislike her. I could clearly see how embarrassed he was when his kids didn’t know his own immediate family and were too intimidated to let go of my hands, I actually felt sorry for him and kneeled on my knees as I tried to soothe the boys and tell them to go say hi to people I don’t even like. I don’t know, I really surprise myself at times.

Today, I had that moment I had almost forgotten that I once wanted! I just did a while ago. It wasn’t face to face, and I didn’t have a Keanu to hold me (THANK GOD), only I didn’t think it brought as much comfort as I once thought it would.

He apologized, he acknowledged his faults and he said I was never the bad person he worked so hard to make it sound like.

He said he was lonely and with all that money could buy him, he couldn’t find someone who loved him the way he knew I once did.

He said he was miserable, and it was eating him up that he can no longer see that love in my eyes, and that the best he could hope for was indifference.

He said he found some of my last journals from before I left, and that he read how I gradually lost hope in him, and he couldn’t believe he had become that person he himself detested as he read on.

I wanted to stop him because it sounded too sincere and I didn’t want him to put himself out there when I knew I was going to reject him at the end of his speech. Only he wouldn’t let me, he said his apology was due and it was hard enough for him to apologize so I should just let him.

Why didn’t I feel the warmth and fuzziness I promised myself all those two years? Why did I not smile contently that he’s sorry and suffering? Why did I not find solace in his misery and regret?

I have two theories; it’s either because I have more damage than him only it wasn’t my own doing like it is in his case, or because I have taken my time healing on my own, I no longer need any revenge from him. I don’t think it’s either, at least not exclusively.

Either way, his apology didn’t bring that much of a victory I long anticipated! In the contrary, it brought confusion because as he spoke of good things we once shared, I found my mind drifting to the horrible things that happened and took all the good away. He spoke of memories that were no longer so vivid and it confused me even more to be caught between resentment and sympathy for the same person.

I really wish we could write the words “The End” now, and that we can manage to be good to each other outside the marriage just for the sake of the kids. He still says it’s too hard for him to let me go, but I would like to think he would after all is clear enough to him. He thinks I might change my mind given time, but he doesn’t get that the more time I spend with him, the more I realize we were not a good match like I once thought and that there is nothing in the world that would make me repeat the mistake of choosing to be with him.

At the end of the day, I am glad and grateful I am not in his shoes and I do not have his burdens or his guilt. I realize that it is a blessing that I am not enjoying my revenge because it means that there is something in me he couldn’t change. Did that make any sense?

On Going Local...

Whenever people talked to me about boycotting certain products because of their political or religious affiliations, I always rolled my eyes and said with my most defying tone “give me decent alternatives and I will boycott all the way”! No one could ever give me alternative brands for my list of products, and I think I can pretty much dare whoever feels like it.

My father and my baby sister boycotted for a couple of years (my dad still does to his best knowledge since he has no idea the kinds of products ma gets into the house). My sister ended up changing her mind because she thought it was futile since she was the only one in her big circle of family and friends who took the matter that seriously. My father still says that I have no principles “ma3andeesh mabda2”, truth is, I have my own set of principles, only they do not serve any of the well respected causes; they serve my own benefit.

Yes, I said it, I am selfish and I have every right to be.

So this post could either be a logical way of tackling the whole Going Local campaign*, or could simply be my own way of rationalizing not being able to completely support it. Either way, please take the time to read this through without prejudice.

First of all, I am not a 3o2det el khawaga kinda person; I am however a quality freak kinda person yet I don’t like overpaying for whatever I get. This could be very hard to prove (the not 3o2det khawaga part) since most of my stuff are not made in Egypt, but I think I will make my point clear as I go, or at least try.

Please take the time to observe the Egyptian market, and then take more time to observe the Egyptian brand names more closely. I know I have!

The Egyptian quality has no standards whatsoever. International franchises have issues with maintaining quality control over our Egyptian production. Compare any Egyptian made product of an international brand to that made in a Gulf country for example, you might feel the urge to cry! Moreover, go check all the "stock" stores, you'll find tags of international brands with the phrase "made in egypt"; in case you never wondered, those were attempts of those brands to produce in Egypt for cheap labor only the quality of the products were too bad to leave the Egyptian lands! That being said, you can imagine what it must be like with Egyptian brands that undergo less strict supervision!

In textiles, if the fabric has any sorts of stripes or patterns (God forbid), it’s almost impossible to follow that stripe or pattern from the front through the back with the side sewing (I am not sure of the technical name). Not to mention how recklessly buttons are "not" fixed, or how some sewing just un-sews for no reason whatsoever! And please, do not get me started on how un-standardized the sizes are; you can easily find a Medium item of clothing twice as big as the next Medium one, OR you can be a size 12 (US) and find your Egyptian brand pants to be size 48!!!!

As for shoes, although shoemakers all over the world (at least the hip and fashionable ones) hate feet, Egyptian shoemakers hate both feet and fashion! Poor leather, extremely poor “glue” or whatever it is they use to keep the shoe together! And the whole structure of the average pair of shoes looks just abusive, not to mention how shoemakers go to extremes to make a pair of shoes look tacky and cheap!

When it comes to food, we all go by buying Egyptian fruits and vegetables, and truth be told, they taste a lot better than those I’ve tasted elsewhere! But let’s talk about the manufactured foods, the whole biscuit and chocolate industry comes to mind, bringing along too much shame; yes yes, I know it’s good enough for its price, but can you see how Cadbury and Galaxy decreased their prices once they started producing locally, which of course will take us back to how different the products of both brands are when compared to their equals made in KSA for example!

I read on one of the comments on a blog that Salé Sucré has competitive chocolate delicacies, but it does not compete with the price of a locally made Galaxy Bar; I would go for Salé Sucré any time of the day, I would go for quality over price any time of the day, but that would not be competition; for me it would be a matter of preference, but it would be abuse for people who simply can’t afford decent quality and feel obliged deal with Corona’s sad and sorry excuse for chocolate just to support local brands!!

Now, that brings me to the other factor, price. I am not millionaire; in fact, I spend much more than I make and I maintain a certain living standard with my father’s help whom I know also maintains a higher living standard than his real income, like most of the upper middle class that seems to be diminishing. So I hate paying more, even though a lot of my friends say that I get ripped off on daily basis buying the things I buy.

The Egyptian products don’t give me any sort of satisfaction not just because of the quality issues discussed above, but also because the ones with quality that live up to my relatively high bar seem to overcharge for it! Yeah yeah, quality should cost more, I agree, but no one said a locally made brand should cost as much as an imported one. That would only tempt the average Egyptian consumer to buy an international brand, and then I wouldn’t blame them; if my country men are screwing my wallet for the quality they SHOULD provide, then screw them, I’m giving my money to the international brand.

I know it sounds selfish being said that way, but come on, any customer is entitled to serve their best interest, they taught us that in our first economics class! Which reminds me, competition is there for a reason; to best serve the consumer. International competition should teach local brand owners to live up to the same quality standards and yet offer their brands for a competitive price especially that they do not need to take into consideration factors like customs, shipping charges, currency value, that’s why international brands cost less than its price in Egypt when you buy them from their country even with the exchange rate and the ridiculous value of the Egyptian pound.

So if we decide to overlook all the above and go local, what would that do to our economy, aside from all the other political and religious reasons people keep throwing around? Would that mean that we endure the abuse done by owners of Egyptian brands who either overlook quality** or overcharge? Would that be our surrendering to the way things are? What would happen if everyone goes local and international competition diminishes to a minimum that would make Egyptian branding a scary monopoly? (speaking of monopolies, can't you see how monopolized brands terrorize a couple of sectors in our market?!!)

Before answering all those questions, please bear in mind that the distribution of wealth in Egypt is majorly screwed; successful business owners are not necessarily successful because they are the fittest or the best (with all due apology to the actual fit and good ones here). Moreover, keep into consideration that the Egyptian market is not as transparent as it should be and that some of the “Egyptian brands” are no longer owned by Egyptian owners (Chipsy comes to mind), which makes me think of how non-existing the consumers' rights are, but I can't get to that now!

I know the economies do not change between day and night, and I know that the core of the idea is really good, but I couldn’t help but wonder about all the other implications and all the potential consequences of such change taking place; is that the change we want?

So yes, the idea of going local is pretty, but only as pretty as utopia I’m afraid and let’s face it, the way things are run in Egypt is anything BUT utopia!

Finally, I realize I only ranted without giving any alternatives. I hate doing that, but I'm afraid there is nothing for me to do that would change the way most of things are; my little part is to go local when I all my terms are met and to demand the level of quality I think I deserve when I can. I wish there was more for me to do, who knows, perhaps this will be read by someone who can do more!

* The idea is originally Juka's whom I've been following for almost a year now but without any contribution!
** I first read Will's lines on Global Voices of Egypt (don't have the link for that article now) and it I was glad someone spoke of it; it's the same as my point of view but it's only fair to give Will as much credit for it since he said it somewhere before I got to write that post.

Disclaimer: My above post does not by any mean deny the existence of good Egyptian products for affordable price; there are of course some. I couldn't help but think of that when I took off my shoes to find my Egyptian-made socks. Point is, there must be other good products out there, God help us all find them and may He help their owners maintain the quality and price!

It's such a complicated society!

I don’t know if it’s our human nature or our society, but I find our tendency to complicate all matters very disturbing. I know it might sound a bit ironic and contradicting coming from someone like me who over thinks everything, especially with how long this post is expected to drag!

So here is where this is coming from…

I went out with my x last weekend, along with the kids; like a hallmark happy family and shit.

So this is how it was like…

Surroundings:

Thursday Evening – After I got off work, I picked the kids up from their nursery and met him at Carrefour Maadi, where the kids knocked themselves out in the kids playing area after getting more than their fair share of toys!

Friday – He picked us up from my parents’ after prayers and we spent the day at the club where the boys behaved like they’ve never seen sand in their entire lives!

The impact on the kids:

My Beem was glowing with happiness being around his daddy. He was so proud of the little toys he got and kept saying “babaya gabhomly”, he kept going on and on about how he loves his “baba M”. He behaved his best to impress his daddy and he told him “ana ba7ebak ya baba M” all of a sudden as they were sitting next to one another (of course the x had a bag full of toys next to him, but my Beem is unconditionally sweet when he feels like it nonetheless).

The next day at the club, Beem was happy showing off his scooter-riding skills. Surprisingly, my very cautious and rather easily scared Beem jumped from what would normally be a scary height to impress his daddy after his daddy taught him how to climb those monkey bars. I almost screamed myself; luckily the sand made his fall less painful than it would have been otherwise, and my Beem landed on his feet rather than his knees. *me so proud*

Mocha was rather calm and peaceful. It was his first time to interact with his dad. We’ve been separated less than a month after he was born and he refers to my father as “baba”. So I kept referring to my x as “baba” so that Mocha would pick up on it. He didn’t talk to him at all, but whenever I asked him to give something to baba, he obeyed smilingly.

The impact on me:

Strangely enough, I didn’t burn with jealousy when my son said he loved his daddy; in fact, I was proud that all the negative feelings I have for his dad did not get through, I was glad he didn’t pick on it. Alhamdulilah.

I cannot deny I felt some peace watching my sons having fun and running around happily. I sensed Beem’s sense of security every time he called for his dad, and I secretly kept hoping his father would live up to the father’s role in my sons’ life and that he would bond and make up for them for the past two years.

Generally, it was not straining for me. I was neutral; I was not angry or resentful, neither was I all sunshine and rainbow. I remained silent most of the ride and I barely had much to say unless it was about the kids; otherwise, whenever he tried to start small talk or befriend me, I pretended not to hear him and justified it by being tired and sleepy. My way of politely telling him that I didn’t want to talk.

I think he noticed how I quietly looked away whenever he tried to make eye contact. I think he also noticed I looked the other way whenever any of the past events were mentioned one way or the other; either by passing by a place that holds too many bad memories, or by him mistakenly mentioning something that has the wrong connotation. I still felt sick having to remember any of it.

I didn’t like how he kept asking if I was happy. I didn’t like how he tried to overdo the whole gentleman act either. Nonetheless, I did appreciate how we didn't have any physical contact and how he didn’t try to find excuses to make any. At least until he waited outside the door then held on to my hand for a while after the handshake was over. I never liked it when guys did that; it’s cheesy. I looked him in the eye as I pulled my hand a bit aggressively. I hope he got the message.

NOW

My mom is getting her hopes up that’s we’d be back. My sisters seem to have their own suspicions of his intentions and wondering how his next screw up would be like, I kinda have my own concerns as well. My father is avoiding the whole topic.

What’s upsetting me is that whenever I tell any of my friends what happened, I sound like I am defending the reason behind it and I feel like I have to clarify that NO I do not want back.

It’s really that simple; I agreed to let him meet with the boys because he has the right, getting a ruling from the court will only take time and it’s better for my kids' benefit that I do it amicably as long as I am not compromising any of my rights or security. It seemed to be a good idea given its effect on my boys.

Now, will I be considering a way back? HELL NO! He crushed me and my ability to trust in the whole notion of love. I am not devastated or heartbroken like I once thought I’d be, but my faith in love and marriage has forever been compromised.

As for him, I can’t look at him; I don’t even like looking at him. I don’t find anything he says interesting; in fact, most of the things he said the other day were extremely shallow and I would have normally grilled him with my ruthless sarcasm if I knew he could take it. So if I can’t look at him and I don’t find him interesting, not to mention the whole trust and respect issues I have clearly and repeatedly expressed on that blog, it is OVER.

According to the Egyptian norms, I am a crazy crazy woman.

I have been repeatedly told that I am making a big fuss out of something all men do and that any good wife belongs to her husband’s home. “Go home” they say, “you’ve already shown him your strength and made it clear that he cannot mistreat you and get away with it”. In addition to that, the man is a catch according to the lame Egyptian standards; he’s tall enough for me to never be his height no matter how high my heels are, he’s athletic, he has a career, drives a pricy car, and “shareeny”!!!!! Ya far7ety!!!!!!

Like all has been forgotten!!

Well I remember it all…

I remember how I first stumbled on each of his affairs…

I remember how my heart almost stopped the first time, I remember how hard I cried and I remember how abusive the confrontation was…

I remember that in the midst of all that I agreed to move out of the one home I ever belonged, so that his life would be easier and mine harder just to “be there for him” and “prove my love”…

I remember how my health kept deteriorating and how I kept going through one surgical procedure after the other, not to mention that my first c-section was due to severely high blood pressure which he caused in so many ways!

I remember how I made a huge fool out of myself forcing myself to believe his lies so that I can continue living with him only to stumble on more disturbing proofs of his lies…

I remember how my life turned to hell because I couldn’t trust him, and how humiliating it felt going through his messages and analyzing his words to find lies!

I remember how he finally stopped hiding his tracks and decided to do it all in the open and hide it by making me doubt my own sanity!

I remember wanting to die…

I remember the hospital fights, the worst postpartums, and the stitches that wouldn’t hold because of my constant sobbing!

I remember I almost caved in to all the pressures, and almost went back to him, more than once…

I remember each and every time I collapsed because I couldn’t…

I remember how angry he got because he couldn’t believe I rejected him after he “came clean”…

I remember the lies he said about me, lie after lie…

I remember how he said he no longer had kids, that they were dead to him, my kids…

I remember the ugliness that followed with his family showing their true color…

I remember my desperate cries and prayers and I remember very clearly the physical pain I went through in the process…

I remember how I managed to stand on my own two feet again, mostly with my father’s direct and indirect help and sometimes with my mom's and sisters', not to mention my friends…

I remember a lot of things that can make me angry all over again!! What people do not get is that the reason why I no longer get that angry is NOT because I am willing to go back; it’s because I realized I am too strong for him to break me and that I have nothing to fear of him.

I see how I bounced back, and I am proud of myself for it. I realize my losses and the damages he caused and I am ok with them. I have moved on, and knowing that, I can handle seeing him every day if I have to, as long as I am no longer his wife and I do not have to answer to him when it comes to my life.

It’s that simple, but people keep making their own assumptions about my feelings according to the expected behavior of women in my society, and the more I try to explain it, the more complicated it gets!! Look at how long that post have got when I tried explaining something so simple!!!

Sorry about that!

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 :)