Marriages Gone Wrong

Having witnessed at point-blank range varying levels of stupidity when it comes to getting married, I am compelled to write a blogpost, to console myself above anything else. I have learnt, among other unfortunate things during my twenty-something years that people are capable of actually ruining their lives and then look back and blame it on everyone except themselves.

Stupid Friend 1 got married to someone who had, during their so-called relationship, demeaned her and her family. He happily went on with his life when they broke up, but she kept calling him, and calling him, and begging him to marry her, risking to give many of her legal rights in the process. She went ahead and married him eventually, and for the sake of my sanity I won't try to imagine how there life will be like.

Stupid Friend 2, no REALLY Stupid Friend 2, already noticed during her engagement her beau's shortcomings, so did her dad, but they went on with the marriage anyway, akin to Really Stupid Friend's bizarre behaviour and off-the-handle mood swings. Not surprisingly, her mood swings turned to tornadoes after marriage, and she's now back in her dad's home, with a hapless child in tow.

Despite the different circumstances in which both marriages took place, I can see a similarity between them; a desparate avoidance of social stigma. It is a shame to be unmarried, so I could just throw myself in any pitfall, better than ending up alone. I cannot understand their mindsets. Whatever happened to common sense? How can ruining you life, and bringing into the world an innocent fatherless child be so common? I know, it's always desire. Even where they do not want to admit this, they were just seeking sexual gratification. Of course I am not disparaging this, I am just wondering what they thought they'd be doing for the rest of their lives when sex would no longer be fun.

I have heard someone say this over the radio and I will keep remembering it in case my friends' stupidity becomes contagious. Loneliness is better than bad company. Looking at my friends' choices now, I thank the gracious heavens that I am single. And if no one should prove worthy of my company, I know that I have enough self-confidence and sanity to do everything which marriage and lactation does not allow me.

Aftershock

So my mum just told me "gatek el 2araf" because I refused to see a suitor who lives in UAE. I haven't tried living outside Egypt - but I can't imagine it. I can imagine staying for a few months, bearing disconnection from family, friends and familiar faces, only for a limited while. I am not one to think there is absoultely no hope in this country and that we should leave on the first one-way plane. Of course this may not be the only reason why millions of Egyptians have immigrated in the last fourty years. But many of my male friends have thought about it practically, and found out that by no means can they afford buying an apartment, a shabka (obligatory gold or diamond gift), bedrooms, living rooms etc when they earn say 200$ a month. I can't blame them and no one can, the air in Egypt smells of frustration.
Meanwhile, I am also thinking as unpractically as possible, and I believe that there is no way I can know a person well enough to get married to him through chatting or Facebook. And marriage is not a decision I am planning to be stupid about...it makes you or breaks you. The pressure from mum and dad has been on me ever since I graduated, and I know it will get more unbearble by the day. I am not going to tell mum I'm upset because first she knows it, and second I don't know if I'll be able to contain my anger. But I don't know what to do. I don't know how to handle the pressure in the coming years and at the same time strive to keep my sanity. Doesn't she realise that in this way she could one day push me to make a wrong decision? She prays to God and kneels to him tens of times a day, but still believes that I control who I am going to marry me, and specifically told me not to ruin my own destiny. I am not saying I have picked up proper matches in my life, but I am saying, please, don't make me feel like shit.

I hate seeing suitors with my sister because...

she interferes with what I wear although I specifically told her not to.
she rebukes me coz I can't find my lenses.
she suggests I wash the lenses with eye drops instead of the solution I ran out of.
she tells me to wear the lenses anyway though they hurt my eye and are unclean.
she yells at me for having to wear my eyeglasses instead.
she wouldn't tell me what the hell is wrong or unchic about wearing eyeglasses.
she asks me why the hell I am wearing the red pullover.
she tells me the pullover is old though I make it clear I only got it last year.
she asks me why I haven't worn the grey coat instead.
I feel sorry for myself when I realise that she is far less critical than my mother...

Questions I hate and answers I'd love to give

X: So...what's new? Eih El Gedeed?
Me: Haven't you known! I'm running for president.

X: Ha...mafesh 7aga keda walla keda? (aka Any suitors yet?)
Me: Well...I'm as single as you are :@

X: Malek? (What's wrong?)
Me: Sorry...I just figured out that I will die one day...and that Palestine is still occupied.

Today's Must-Read

احنا وهما

طنط حشرية بتاعتي

كل بنت مصرية لازم يبقى عندها طنط حشرية خاصة بيها، طنط حشرية دي شخصية أسطورية ابتدعتها (أو استوحتها من إحدي المعارف) المدونة غادة عبد العال في مدونة عايزة أتجوز.

الخلفية التاريخية لطنط حشرية:
طنط حشرية من نعومة أظافرها بتحلم بالعريس اللي حينجيها من شبح الع**** اللي حيهاجمها طبعاً أول ما تتخرج من الجامعة (أو من المدرسة حسب الظروف) وأول ما جالها العريس اللي في وظيفة حكومية الملتزم دينياً وافقت وكتبوا كتب الكتاب على طول خطوبة إيه وقلة أدب إيه يا راجل؟ وبعدين احنا اللي يدخل عندنا مايخرجش. وأفنت طنط حشرية حياتها في تربية أبنائها الذكور على أساس إن البنت مالهاش غير جوزها وبيتها هما اللي يربوها ثم التنكيد على مراتت أبنائها والاتصال يوم الصباحية للتأكد من فض غشاء البكارة على أكمل وجه ثم الاتصال في اليوم التالي وكل يوم لتسأل: ها...مفيش أخبار؟
أفهم إن واحدة تبقى ملهوفة ومهفوفة إنها تشوف أحفادها، لكن إنها تسأل الناس التانية اتخطبوا ولا لسة وحملوا ولا لسة فده فعلاً أسلوب سخيف، يعني الارتباط والحمل والجواز ده غير إنه نصيب، هو كمان مسئلة شخصية بحتة، يعني إلا إذا كانت جايبة عريس لواحدة مش المفروض إنها تسأل ضحايها بخبث كدهون يعني...
أرجع بقى لطنط حشرية بتاعتي...من ساعة ما عزلنا العمارة وهي حاطة عينها على التلات بنات الحلوات ولازمان وحتماً مصممة تجوزهم على إيديها، مرة جابت عريس لأكبر إخواتي "ريهام" كفاية أقول لكوا إنه كان بيسألها أسئلة من نوعية: وإيه آخر كتاب قريتيه؟؟
:)))))))
إخواتي الاتنين اتجوزوا واترحموا منها (على الأقل من أسئلة الجواز) وبقيت أنا الفريسة الوحيدة المتبقية فلازماننن وحتما طبعا تتابع أخباري وتبحلق في إيديا وتقولي لي إن شاء الله السنة الجاية تبقي في بيتك يا حبيبتي.
أنا من تحت سناني: إن شاء الله يا طنط.
لحد ما بقيت مضطرة أقابلها أنا وماما قدام الأسانسير بعد التراويح، أول مرة ابتسمتلي ابتسامة عريضة وقالت لي مبقاش غيرك بقى.
أنا: وأخويا.
حشرية: لأااا...ده أنا خلاص مابقاش حد عندي.
أنا (سراً): الحمد لله.
حشرية: اتفضلي يا عروسة.
الكلام ده وأنا داخلة الأسانسير، ولابسة جيبة جينز وبلوزة ونضارة، وداخلة مع أمي.
المصيبة إن ماما كانت شايفة إن مختار ابنها (تخبيلوا لسة في ناس بتسمي اسم مختار في جيلنا ده) مناسب ليا لمجرد إنه خريج هندسة. مختار ده من نوع اللي كان بيشوفني يقوم ناطر وشه الناحية التانية ويشوفني ماشية ينزل من الرصيف ويجري لدرجة إني اقتنعت إنه خايف مني لسبب ما، وبعدين فهمت إنه بيغض البصر. مش مهم بقى إن تربيته منغلقة جداً عني ومركزه الاجتماعي مختلف وثقافته مختلفة وغالباً عايز واحدة منقبة أو بتلبس عبايات سودا أو إزدالات ومابتشتغلش وأنا أبعد ما أكون عن المواصفات دي، برضو ماما كانت شايفة إنه مناسب، ده غير إني مش حاخد واحد بيقرف مني كإني نجسة ومابيقولش حتى سلامو عليكوا.
السؤال التالي لطنط حشرية: وريهام حامل؟
ماما: لأ.
حشرية: معلش.
!!!!!!!!
طب بغض النظر عن أي ذوق أو دين، أنا قريت رسائل كتير كانت جاية لبريد الجمعة من سيدات ماحملوش أو ماتجوزوش وأقصى حاجة بتجرحهم هي كلام ونظرات الناس، يعني هما مؤمنين إن كل شيء بأوانه ومش موقفين حياتهم على كده، بس الناس تسيبهم في حالهم، مفيش، لازم الناس كلها تبقى حشرية لما ماتعوزهومش ولما تعوز منهم حاجة تلاقيهم ادولك ضهرهم.
اليوم التاني: اتجمعنا قدام الأسانسير برضو بس المرة دي بابا كان معانا، أنا اتشعبطت فيه وقلت له هاطلع معاك، قال لي اطلعي معاهم وزقني قلت له لأ، ماما حكت لي إنها سألتها تاني ريهام حامل ولا لأ!!!!!
أنا: طب كويس إني ماطلعتش معاكوا.
اليوم التالت: حشرية جات لزقت جنبي مع إن الكوريدور قدام الأسانسير واسع، وكان في واحدة جارتنا كمان واقفة، يعني لزوم التجريس، المهم أول ما دخلنا:
حشرية: إن شاء الله بقى السنة الجاية ماتبقيش معانا.
أنا (بغلاسة): لأ إن شاء الله هبقى معاكوا.
حشرية (وهي خارجة، تقريباً حست إن الكلمة اللي هتقولها حتعرضها لخطر): الله أعلم، يمكن تكوني مخطوبة!!!

مش شيوخ الأزهر الأجلاء يطلعوا لنا فتوى كده يسمحولنا فيها نشتم بعد الفطار؟؟؟ ما أنا مش حفضل أستحمل مناخيرها اللي في بوزي دي كتير، لإني فعلاً اكتشفت إن كظم الغيط صعب جداً.
أنا ممكن أعمل حاجة من الاتنين عشان أتفادى سخافتها، ممكن أرد عليها بمنتهى قلة الذوق عشان أقطمها وأخليها تقول عليا بت جامدة مفيش حد من العرسان اللي عندي يقدر عليها، زي إني أقول لها مثلاً عروسة إيه يا طنط هو أنا قاعدة في الكوشة؟؟ أو إني أهرب في الأسانسير التاني أو أطلع التسع أدوار على رجلي...
شوروا عليا قبل ما أبوظ رمضان السنة دييييييي

How not to get a Man

I would encourage anyone who wants to find a soul mate to follow these three steps:

1. Know thyself. Women who are willing to hide or detach from their real selves in order to bag a man often seem to believe that the right guy will give them a sense of identity and self-confidence. This is backward. Looking for love before developing a strong sense of self is like trying to find the mate of a shoe you've never seen. Next time you're feeling fretfully single, try exploring your own nature: Write down your favorite foods or colors or songs or books or sports. Visit a therapist. Embark on a voyage of self-discovery for its own sake and because it is on that journey that you are likely to bump into the perfect traveling companion.

2. Value thyself. The single women I know are frequently advised, "Stop being so picky," "Have a better attitude," and "Lower your standards," perhaps to the point where they'll date anyone with a penis and a pulse. I believe this is precisely the wrong approach. Why? Consider our statistical friend, the bell curve. The great bulge in the middle represents areas where you are, well, average. This is also the part of you that could easily be mixed and matched with the largest number of potential mates. The skinnier upper end represents your greatest gifts, the areas where you are most talented and extraordinary. The few people who share your most exceptional characteristics are your tribe, the population that is most likely to contain your heart's partner. I suggest that you should be pickier, less accepting and more committed to the "bad attitude" that will make you seek people who are extraordinary in the same way you are. Be courteous to men who don't appeal to you, but for God's sake, don't waste your evenings — let alone your nights — with them. "Oh," conventional rule-keepers might exclaim, "you'll have to spend some nights alone!" Yes, indeed. Your pool of candidates is much smaller at the high-quality end of the bell curve, your chances of having no date on Saturday much larger if you refuse to go out with men who bore or repulse you. But if memory serves, the boredom and/or repulsion of bad dating is much worse than spending a few hours on your own.

3. Engage thyself. The authors of The Rules: Time-Tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right emphasize that in order to get a guy, a woman should always act busy — for instance, when a desirable man calls, it's wise to set a timer to go off a few minutes later, then recite a memorized exit line, such as "Sorry, gotta go. I have a million things to do." Here's my crazy idea: How about actually having a million things to do? How about actually filling your life with interesting activities? If you want to attract a partner, identify what you love to do, and do it—a lot. Involved, busy people really are more attractive, so if you want to get engaged to your soul mate, start by being engaged in activities that fascinate you — especially those that have nothing to do with dating and that make you forget to go love hunting.

From an article by Martha Beck from "O Magazine"

الحلقة المفرغة

الاقتصاد المصري ينهار بسبب الكسل والاعتماد على الغير وتدمير الصناعة المحلية

الشباب مايلاقيش يشتغل ولا يسكن ولا يتعلم صح

يلاقي الجماعات المتطرفة فاتحاله دراعاتها

يتعلم إن أي حد مش مسلم يبقى دمه مستباح

بعد الانضمام للجماعة يعتقل

ويتعذب ويتشتم ويتعلق من رجليه ويغتصب

يخرج من السجن، لو خرج، كاره البلد ومستني أي فرصة للانتقام من النظام

ينفذ عملية عشوائية تانية

السياحة اللي تعتبر من أهم مصادر الدخل لمصر تتضرب

الاقتصاد ينهار

الشباب مايلاقيش شغل

حد لاقي مخرج من الحلقة دي؟

ملحوظة: ده على اعتبار إن اللي نفذ هجوم الأزهر جماعة متطرفة، أصل مش داخل دماغي إنه يبقى حد أجنبي

المرتب زاد 45 جنيه

هييييييييييييييييه

أنا فرحانة فرحانة فرحانة

المرتب زاد 45 جنيه بفضل علاوة مايو المجيدة

أنا ماصدقتش نفسييييييي ومش عارفة أعمل ايه ولا ايه؟

فكروا كده...اقترحوا...شوروا عليا

أتعلم السواقة؟

طب أجيب عدسات جديدة بدل نظري اللى بقى شيش بيش ده

ولا أشتري حاجات للجهاز؟

أجيب كم حلو ينفعني قدام ولا حاجة

لا لأ ده أنا لازم أحوش المبلغ ده لحد ما أتجوز بعد عشر سنين كده

45×12 = 540

540×10 = 5400

مالهم خمس آلاف جنيه زي الفل أبتدي بيهم حياتي؟

أشتري بيهم طقم الحلل وأقلب الرز بإيدي؟

تحيا العلاوة الحكومية

Six Pregnant Women

A few days ago, it suddenly came to my realization that I alone, out of +78 million Egyptians, know of six pregnant women. The imminent enfegar sokkany is not really my concern here...it's the wonder of having a life growing inside of you that captures me. How does a woman feel when she knows she's pregnant? And that, come a few months, she will actually bring a baby into this world? How does it feel to feel it moving, or its heart beating? To see her tummy growing every night...her skin stretching...her health failing...women envying her on the street as she proudly takes slow steps down the road...

M is tiny and frail. She married really young, and often regretted doing so; "Ana mashya l7ad delwa2ty bl satr," she once remarked, not because of financial issues...but because she was not yet ready to bear the responsibility...

"I'm pregnant," "Congratulations-" I hadn't completed before she continued.."Well, don't be so happy, the obstetrician told me I might have a miscarriage any moment now, and that I have to rest." I felt sorry for the aborted happiness. M seems for a lot of people that she has the world-a great job, great husband, great house, fairytale wedding- so to have a second miscarriage can balance matters...doesn't it? No one's life is perfect, even perfect-looking people have hardships. We just fail to realize that, and find it much easier to envy them instead.

I haven't been able to reach her for a week...Even then, I'm dreading hearing unfavourable news...May the life inside you grow, M!

*****************************

N loved her husband so much. She was frustrated when her parents rejected him at first. However, being the stubborn child she has always been, she had her way and married him, and her parents let go and blessed the marriage.

One night, she called her sister, screaming: "Come get me! I can't bear this anymore! 7asby Allah w ne3ma el wakeel! 7asby Allah w ne3ma el wakeel! I'm fed up! He doesn't care about me any more! I want a divorce! I want a divorce!"

A week later, she spoke of how her husband is an angel who feeds her with his own hands when she gets ill, and of all the virtues her blessed husband possesses. Don't ask. She's a Gemini.

"I will call her Dana," she softly told her brother about the coming baby. That seems like a really sweet name, I didn't object. But then...she started bleeding. She was told to rest for a few days, then undergo some tests to check the foetus' health...

"I saw something like a baby in the toilet," she sadly told me. I froze in horror but quickly told her, "It can't be. Don't worry, everything is going to be fine." Whatever the ailment or mishap, we always tell each other that everything will be okay. What if it doesn't? What if evrythign turns for the worst, as it very often does? Why do we have to lie just to comfort ourselves and comfort others?

"N got a sa2t," I heard mom say...and felt disgusted at the word. Sa2t, like failure. No, it's not sa2t. It's eghad. A miscarriage she will overcome, and she is still young and fertile and will make another one. Yes, inshaAllah she'll make another one.

*****************************

I didn't know she was coming. Hell, I didn't even know her. My own student. So I didn't bother either about how I look or what time I arrive at college. I suddenly found a young man asking: "Dr N?" He had a crying baby and a young, beautiful wife. She seemed older than me, still. She asked me, three days before her exam, what the syllabus was all about. I told her in a nutshell, and noticed that she was neither listening nor aware of the situation...It is straight madness to try to explain a syllabus in ten minutes. I wondered to myself...what was she thinking? She started to sway...and unpinned her Hijab...her husband told me..."She's pregnant, and she sometimes gets dizzy," with a pride he couldn't hide. So, here was a girl who couldn't wait for some two years to get married...and just be through with all her studies before starting a serious relationship...but what do I know? Over there in Banha...maybe she was indirectly pressured...maybe she got too many proposals (C'mon, she's fair) and was fed up and gave herself up to this relatively handsome young man. But how, how, how on earth was she supposed to look after her eastern hubby who would probably not make a cup of tea for himself, look after a baby, look after herself and her unborn child, do the cleaning and the cooking, and study?

***********************************

When I knew that A is pregnant, I exclaimed, "A child bearing a child!" True, A was a naughty girl, she sometimes wore her little sister's clothes to college, just because they look fashionable. She was loud and friendly, she was brave and honest. She had lived most of her life in Qatar and would probably go back as soon as she had finished college. I sometimes found her mysterious, which even made her more attractive. I'm a sucker for mysterious people. A, her hubby, is almost the same. He would make us laugh whenever he opened his mouth, nay, even by looking at him. By fourth year it was clear enough they were in love, but we weren't sure just how lucky they would be. Her mother, a dictator, refused his proposal at first, claiming he's not good enough for her. However, they somehow managed to get engaged, then married a few months later. Now, I can't help laughing and wishing them luck when I think of A, pregnant, overweight and absolutely stunning, reclining in a big armchair, unable to move the two babies inside her alone, so instead lets her husband do most of the housework. Her husband, who used to join us in playing cards at college not too long ago...who will be a father in a few weeks

I love you guys!

******************************

Remember Sally? Well, she's also pregnant now. Yep, miracles do happen! Lol. I think Kimberley's explanation is really satisfactory :D

******************************

Also pregnant is our friend Ingy. I'll probably see her on Tuesday and get spell-bound; she's in the third trimester.

ربنا ينتعكوا بالسلامة يا حبايبي :D

Men, whatever is wrong with you?

When you're twenty four, young, successful, ambitious, respectable and loved by many, you look forward to an engagement enthusiastically. You imagine spring days and hot summers spent with whom you cherish and breathe a sigh of relief that God has given you all that you've asked for.
When three months later your relationship ends because your ex refuses to certify that his apartment, your future home, is his, and instead documents that it's his mother's, you break down. What's wrong if the apartment is his mother's and not his, I wondered? Well, in the future, if your husband dies, your mother-in-law could have the right to throw you and your children out in the streets. If she is wicked of course, and in this jungle, you really have to take precautions of all the roads that diverge infront of you.
But you're just 24, so after the shock is over and after all the tears and sorrows are spent, you sit back and think of the long days ahead, of all the chances that will still present themselves in the future. You just know that you did nothing wrong, that the blame is not on you. That you are still fresh and lively and oh, how many young and presentable men would be interested in you. It can't be the last chance. There are no last chances when you are just twenty four.
The days go by and you are now twenty seven. You have lost hope of ever settling down. You will live and die a medical spinster. It has ended. It is all, all over now. Twenty seven year olds are too old and wasted to marry. Ripe and mouldable twenties and maximum twenty-ones are the cat's meow.
Until a familiar face arrives. A face you wouldn't have even dreamt would think of you. A dreamy, innocent face. A successful neuropsychiatrist, mind you his profession. You blossom again, you keep thinking; is it true, is it even possible, that I have found the love of my life? The love that would linger on behind a loaded and almost unbearable life? At last I will have a child of my own, to raise and pamper and adore and take good care of and die for!
Everything goes smoothly as it should be, a couple of arguments here and there but who doesn't argue? I believe that the lack of arguing is a problem. The lights are turned on, the engagement party is prepared, the few, intimate guests share little chit chats and heart-felt laughs, soft music is played...
'Dah benna m3a-ad...
w law w7na bo3a-ad...
akeed rage3 w law beny w ma beno bla-ad..'
You start preparing for the wedding, you choose the wedding gown and your tailor starts cutting and mixing...you gather bits and pieces of your future household...wrapping it up to protect it from the dust.
But you have arguements from time to time, naturally. You are hurt but you try to 'come on yourself ' because you want this story so much and cannot imagine that it could just end, and that your nights would return darker and heavier. You try, but you fail.
This, in short, is my sister's story. Today she broke off her second engagement. You know when tragedy occurs for a second time, you just suspend your belief for a while. You go through a phase of denial. It can't be true. She isn't going to go through another break-up - oh, no, she won't. But she went through more than just another break-up this past week or so, and the way I see it, for no logical reason. Her fiance had female friends whom he used to go out with and call frequently. When my sister objected telling him how this is unislamic and that she wouldn't accept this kind of relationship in his life, he replied saying...
'So, are you the one who is going to make decisions? Are you the man of the house or what?'
Imagine this! This is how an adult, educated, religious Egyptian guy thinks. This is how he thinks in the 21st century. That being the 'man of the house' means that you make orders, and that your partner or whatever armchair you are married to has to obey silently and that is that.
It doesn't mean that you make your partner feel safe. It doesn't mean that you forgive. It doesn't mean that you tolerate. It doesn't mean that you accept your differences, knowing that she accepts you as well. It doesn't, of course, mean that you enjoy those differences. No. Being 'the man' in a relationship means that I do what I see is right, and not take into consideration my partner's opinion. She is a woman. She lacks religion and mental abilities. It means that I choose to live our life the way I want, because, come on, I am the man. What would she want more than a successful, handsome and religious husband? She should just take it and shut the fuck up.
My sister is no angel. Yes, when she's angry she sometimes hurts me with her words. But as soon as she calms down she runs up to me and hugs me - a hug that wipes out any bitterness in my heart. A hug I never see except in idealistic TV sitcoms.
How come men lost the ability to tolerate? I keep imaging myself in my deathbed, and wonder how people do not imagine themselves in the same position. In my deathbed I wouldn't wish I had lost someone just because he was once rude to me. I was intolerable myself at times. Sure I was. In my deathbed, I would know that this human bond that ties me to all those I know is the most valuable thing I ever had, and ever will in another life. What with the tensions, what with normal everyday issues...they will pass. They will pass and love will live on.
How come people do not realise this fact and just find the easiest solution to abandon one another? HOW COME? Yes, my question is to men though I know there are same-minded ladies out there...but I want men to answer me. Why would you trade loyalty and comfort for sheer arrogance and control? What would happen when you eventually control your partners and turn them to speechless models of patience? Would you be happy then? Is this your way to paradise?
Whatever is wrong with you?

Is this Love?

Dear, dear reader,
He came along to our house with his brother and mother. I had known he is handsome, but when I first saw him, I was quite disappointed: he had this line of moustache – a moustache, in the 21st century! – and his haircut was quite, quite old-fashioned. Not the guy for me, I thought, he looks so naïve, so innocent, kham as we say in Arabic. He did, however, give me a sly smile over his cup of tea. His brother looked promising with his tiny, sparkling black eyes and matching wavy black hair. A good match for my sister. They would probably have pretty babies if this marriage gets done. My sister was thrilled,
'How lovely would it be if you two got together! He's a perfect match for you – talkative and funny.'
Me? Funny?
'No way, Nancy, he has this thin line of moustache like he was a 40s American soldier!'
A few days later.
'You know,' I said, reflecting, 'if he grew a tiny beard it would be just right on him.'
'He's an OFFICER. Officers don't grow beards. Have you ever seen any do so?'
I suddenly realised there was none. But I still imagined him growing a golden beard like his golden hair.
We went over to their house the second time. He was wearing a Lois Jeans. I thought…so you're from Planet Earth and wear brand names like the rest of us. He was always engaged in the conversation. Always attentive, especially when I spoke? Oh, well, people are always attentive when you speak, because it only happens in blue moons.
I didn't want to get married to a naïve guy. I don't know what gave me this impression, but I kept thinking - what does he know of the world? At least I know a little. But what does he know? He looks like a bud that is just opening up and I – I opened up before my due time –
My sister found out his Facebook account. Now, that's something – not that it is something to have a Facebook account but that he logs on to the internet and knows about Facebook and has +50 friends! So, he's not really the Clark Gabel I thought he was, maybe now a Colin Farrell?
And then I saw his profile picture. He was in military outfit, laying back comfortably, his left arm above his head and smiling peacefully at the camera. That was when I was totally obsessed by him – totally. And if you don't know, dear reader, how it is for a girl to be obsessed with someone, there you go;
I began exploring every inch of his profile, every face in his friend list, every comment he ever made on a photo. There are only two girls among his friends. Two pretty girls. One of them is his cousin and she looks sweet in her black veil, fair skin and shiny, hazel eyes.
The day they visited us to settle on who the hell is going to pay for the appliances and furniture, I spent most of the time preparing and serving the drinks. But when I offered him his soft drink, it was the last drink on the tray , so I asked him, 'Would you like me to make you a different one?!!!'
!!!!
So you think you are being FRIENDLY?
He coloured and said, no, thank you without raising his head to meet my eye.i could hear his brother laugh. Oh, damn, I screwed up. But I guess it paid off because the moment I returned to my seat he looked directly at me. So straightforwardly that I had to look somewhere else –
And again when I was preparing the dessert, I caught him – I actually CAUGHT him – peeking! My sweetheart had a bad cold that day…and I woke up the next day with a sore throat!!
Facebook. Facebook. Facebook. I was trying to trace any sign of infidelity when I found this under his Superpoke! Application:
'…hugged private.'
Ouch!
And on my birthday! It can't be made for a male friend – that would be so gay and besides if it was a guy why would he make it private? You hug her on my birthday? What are you – heartless? I even clicked on this private but it only directed me to my homepage. What, he hugged me? Oh, no. I don't know how this application works and I didn't want to have any wilder ideas.
So who is she, really? Where did he meet her? Are they in love? Is she sexy? Does she offer better drinks than I do! And how and where on Earth would he meet her anyway when he has been to a guys-only college? Which is also a 'boarding-college' – In the weekends? A friend of a friend? This cousin? Did he secretly date a girl from the college I went to – a trendy, high-heeled girl from the Faculty of Arts and a handsome, tanned, well-built, innocent-looking young officer from the college just around the corner- the Military Technical College. A classical example.
And, dear reader, I don't know if it's just me who does that or is it the norm. But a girl's imagination is so impulsive – so damn impulsive that the moment, the very moment she sees someone and likes him, she just takes him through all of the closed doors of her mind. He would make a good husband, I thought, gentle, helpful and caring. But didn't you want someone rough- And a good father, loving, naughty and noisy. And it will be just fine because we would have known each other for a while and let our feelings grow naturally, and we would by that time have known their family well. And then he would propose. And everyone would envy us – a match made in heaven, they would say, and I would wear my pearl necklace, wisteria scarf and walk into Costa Coffee with everyone staring at me – here comes his girl at last. She's pretty. Couldn't have suited him better. This, dear reader, is how a girl gets obsessed, possessed.
But then I kept asking myself…why do you just love to torture yourself? Why do you keep tracing his every fucking status, waiting for a sign, waiting for a clue, when he probably doesn't care? At least you don't know yet whether he cares. How come you're thinking of a future with him when you hardly ever spoke to him, and can only remember his face because you spend your nights staring at his picture? Why? Aren't you scared that your own delicate heart be broken? Doesn't it matter to you at all? At all?
We've all had dreams that SHOOK us, whether good or bad ones, and today I was in this sweet slumber when I found him breaking down my walls, coming into our house, playfully tugging at my skirt and telling me that he is sure about his feelings and that they are now ready to propose.
I woke up and had this sick feeling of wanting to go back – to hang on to him – not to let him go – not to let even his image go, slip away so simply –
Tomrrow is Nancy and Muhammad's engagement, and until then I'll miss you – ohh – I'll miss you, Green Beret!

Sincerely,
Wild at Heart
"Is this Love?
That I'm feeling?
Is this the Love…that I've been searching for?
Is this Love?
Or am I dreaming?
This must be Love,
Cause it's really got a hold on me…
A hold on me-"
Whitesnake, Is this Love?

To be continued…?

I can't get no sex education

We unmarried (and married?) Egyptian youth are wretched ugly ducklings. Under the pretence of religion and customs and traditions and 3eb ( unacceptable) and haram (religiously condemned) nobody gives us any piece of information, let alone right or wrong, on sexual intercourse. Nobody actually teaches us how to have sex...they're afraid we do it before marriage!
And who is supposed to teach us anyway? School and/or our parents. Right? Well...the only part on sexual education is taught in 3rd prep (when we're like 14) and frankly, the only thing I learned was that I have a reproductive system and that guys have penises. Oh and that we grow hair and our hips widen when we hit puberty. Part of the problem was that I was absent in one of the two or three classes it took to teach 'sexual intercourse and the reproductive system' and the teacher refused -rudely- to repeat what I didn't understand. And in the other class I fainted at the end of the classroom and no one noticed. LOL.
But as for the rest of the students...it wasn't just bad luck. This lesson was like any other lesson we had to study at school-it was to be MEMORISED! Just memorise every single word and there...you're done. You passed. You got you fair share of sex education. Congratulations!
Usually,or often, or rarely(I don't know, I began doubting that) Egyptian mothers have a once-in-a-lifetime conversation with their daughters before they get married (a week before the Dokhla? Dokhla is the night of the wedding) . They teach them what to do...what whom the Prohet's name is guarding and preserving aka her future husband would do...etc
Alas, even THAT doesn't always happen! "Al Naama wal Tawoos" or "The Ostrich and the Peacock", an Egyptian movie produced a few years ago, tackled the issue of 'sexual ignorance' openly. When the girl asks her mom about sex before she gets married, her mother is just too ashamed and tells her, "He knows". The thing is, it turned out later that he didn't know.
I realised the weight of the crisis just yesterday. My friends and I gathered in a cafe and we noticed that two of us, let's call them Mona and Sally, were whispering and somehow abandonned the rest of us. We kept teasing them coz we kinda guessed what they were talking about; Mona's getting married by winter and Sally in 11 days' time. Remember the 11 days' time. Ok?
I asked Sally if there was anything she wanted to know...and she answered..."I don't know anything". We were puzzled and asked her hadn't her mother talked with her yet? She hadn't. I just tried to comfort her and told her that sure her mother was intending to talk to her the next couple of days...and that maybe she's shy...so why not start the conversation with her..."Mummy I needed to know a few stuff" kind of lines. All the poor girl knew was licking and sucking-from her work mates.
To avoid disasters, I started explaining to them the four stages of the human sexual response cycle in a rather scientific way. Sally started to nod so I knew she read some book...but Mona kept her eyes wide open and her face was pale. Anything I said about orgasm, erection or the vagina was totally knew to her! I realised I've been speaking in English, so I translated some terms, but language wasn't the problem. It was the first time EVER Mona knew about sex. Those girls didn't know that we've got three holes, and I guess they still don't know which one is used for sex. A hideous thought ripped through my head: what if their husbands didn't know either? Talk about high divorce rates!
I kept thinking...didn't they even get curious some day and logged on to the internet, read some book or asked their mothers? I knew what their mothers would have told them anyway..."mesh wa2toh delwa2ty ya 7abebty...7ab2a a2ollek lamma teegy tetgawezy" "It's not time now dear...I will tell you when you get married" Hopefully before the Dokhla!
After some discussion,debates and laughs in which the rest of our group joined and listened to me intently...Sally dropped the bombshell.

"So what brings about the babies? My water or his?"

"His," I answered quickly, trying not to embarrass or laugh at her whereas in fact I was truly mad at them. Really, really mad at them. And at their mothers. And at mine (but I'm not getting married any time soon so I shouldn't worry now right?) At least I had my share of independent reading on the topic,but Mona and Sally aren't readers...how could they know?! I didn't lash out at them because I realised they are victims of negligence and ignorance.
I hereby declare from this blog that we Egyptian youth can't get no sex education whatsoever and we don't know what to do! The only sex we're getting anywhere in the air is some supposedly hot scenes and innuendos in Egyptian movies, 'medical' magazines and books with eye-catching titles and awfully-drawn pictures.

For God's sake, people, sex education is not innate. It is to be TAUGHT!

عرسان الغفلة

بكره أشوف عرسان

مش عشان مبدأ جواز الصالونات نفسه, أهو طريقة تعارف زى ما اى اتنين بيتعرفوا, مش مفضالاها بس حانعمل ايه

عشان أهلى زى ما تقولوا كده ما بيصدقوا حد كويس (بمعنى انه من عيلة محترمة و معاه فلوس) يتقدم و يقعدوا يقنعونى بيه و دى فرصة ذهبية دى فرصة ماتتعوضش, انتى عايزة تفضلى مرزوعة (ايوة, قالوا مرزوعة) زى اختك الكبيرة لحد ما بقى عندها 27 سنة؟

أصرخ: يعنى هى المفروض توافق على حد مش مرتاحة له؟

يلفوا و يدوروا و مايجاوبوش على سؤالى

يا ترى لو كنت ولد كانوا حايضغطوا عليا كده؟ كل شوية يأكدوا لى أنهم مش جابرينى على حاجة لكن لما ماما تقول للناس انى موافقة أشوف عريس من غير ما تاخد رأيى مش ده يبقى إجبار؟

بجد شىء عجيب. بيحسسونى ان انا المفروض أبوس ايدى وش و ضهر ان حد عبرنى و ازاى و ازاى بقى أقول لأ !!! أبقى كده باتبطر على النعمة!!

ولوشفته و قلت مش موافقة لازم استجواب: ليه؟

مش مرتاحة

مش مرتاحة ليه هو شكله وحش؟

لأ

اخلاقه وحشة؟

لأ

فيه عيب ظاهر؟

لأ

أمال مش مرتاحة ليه؟

مش عارفة, مش مرتاحة و خلاص

انت حرة...خليكى قاعدة كده...بس ماترجعيش تندمى!!!!

أندم على ايه أنا مش فاهمة!!! هما شايفين ان انا المفروض أوافق على أى حد عيلته كويسة و شكله مقبول و امكانياته كويسة والحب بقى ييجى بعد الجواز!!!!

بس أنا يا عالم ماقدرش أعيش كده, ماقدرش أحط دبلة واحد فى ايدى غير لما أكون دايبة ف حبه و ف نفس الوقت مقتنعة بيه, لما اجى أفكر فيه بطريقة عقلانية يعنى

حاجة كمان باكرهها فى الجواز ده إن لازم يبقى فيه ارتباط رسمى فى فترة قصيرة, عشان ماينفعش يفضل داخل خارج من البيت من غير ما نكون مخطوبين كأن حد ماسك بندقية على راسك و بيقوللك : حب فى خلال تلات شهور قبل الخطوبة...و إلا!!!!!

انا نفسى اللى ارتبط بيه ابقى شفته فى موقف عادى بره موضوع الارتباط ده عشان مايبقاش لا أنا ولا هو مرسومين نفسى الموضوع يجى بالتدريج و اخد وقت براحتى نعرف بعض و أحب و أتحب و يعرف جنانى و غضبى و حنيتى...

المهم ان انا لسه ماكملتش اتنين و عشرين سنة, و اكيد كل ما أكبر كل ما ضغوط الجواز حاتزيد...أنا مش عارفة يعنى فى أسوأ الظروف لو ماتجوزتش ايه اللى حايحصل يعنى؟؟

حادخل النار؟

حايفصلونى من الشغل؟

حأعجز بدرى؟

و بعدين أنا مش من نوعية الناس اللى بتعرف تسيب انطباع أول كويس عند الناس...يعنى ممكن أوى لما أشوف حد يبقى الانطباع اللى حياخده مش هو الحقيقى, أنا باتصرف على طبيعتى و تلقائية و صريحة... ولو مشينا على كلام أهلى المفروض ان انا أقرر اذا كنت عايزة الشخص ده بعد قعدتين تلاتة, طب بالذمة ايها القارىء العزيز انت المفروض تعرف ايه عن شخص فى خلال تلات اربع ساعات؟

حاتعرف ايه عنه يخليك تاخد قرار انك توعده بالخطوبة اللى هى وعد الجواز؟

ممكن تكون انت او انتى عندكوا موهبة انك تقدر تعرف شخصية اللى قدامك بسهولة, طب الغلابة اللى زيى يعملوا ايه؟

الموضوع أبسط من البساطة, قسمة و نصيب ربنا كاتبهولى من قبل ما أتخلق لكن أهلى مصممين يعملوها خناقة و يقنعونى ان كل عريس

يتقدم لى فرصة ذهبية و مش حاتتكرر, و انى المفروض أمسك فيه بايديا و سنانى

!!!

عشان كده باقول ان طريقة عرسان الصالونات دى ماتنفعنيش... و نفسى أعمل ثورة فى البيت انى أرفض انى أشوف حد أصلا لكن اؤكد لكوا ان مفيش ثورة من غير ضحايا

ايه رأيكوا يا جدعان؟؟؟؟

"You don't marry someone you can live with. You marry the one you cannot live without."

Back to memories

After the strength I felt and the happiness of the 'achievment'...I'm left with doubts that are just making me fade away. I feel so sick trying to remember where his hand reached? Was it my arm or armpit or or or? I'm not angry at myself this time for being silent cause I wasn't...I just feel sick to my stomach that I have to go through all of the doubts, sleepless nights, nightmares, paranoia, longing to shake myself to tears but stopping because it's not my fault ! Waiting for long months, years, lifetimes ahead to heal and just forgot about all that had happened! Again I still feel his hand on my body and I feel so worthless. I feel like "nothing can extinguish my anger." If I could just erase it all from my memory,but no matter how I try to push it to the back of my head it keeps coming back driving me crazy. I even hate the thought of being touched again by a future husband!
I can go about and smile pretending I can get through this but it's so hard to do it alone. If I talk to someone I'll burst into tears and I don't want to cry for a nothing. But I'm just wondering who's the nothing here...him or me.

n.b. This post refers to the 'sexual harrassment' incident in the post right before it.