Childhood friendships

Everyone stresses on how wonderful it is to have friends you've known since you were kids. Not friends that were just there when you were kids. Nope. Friends who you grow up with. Friends who know who was your first crush. When you had your braces. What your favorite cartoon was. The first movie you ever went to. The first time you went out with a boy. They relate when you tell them about a certain teacher. Or a certain book that you were reading back then. They relate to your horrible fashion sense as a teen. And the time you had your hair cut horribly and had to wear bandanas for a whole term. They were there when your parents got divorced. Or when your grandmother died. They know your wardrobe by heart. In fact, because you've been swapping clothes for so long you can't remember what was yours and what was theirs anymore. At some point you all bought the same trainers. Or wore friendship charms that you've split between the two of you. You even made friendship bracelets for each other. They know all your family. And you know theirs. You've travelled together so many times you can't count anymore. The mommies know each other. And the daddies go fishing together. Sometimes you even go out with other members of their family, the cousins or sisters. You have so many pictures together. Heck, you even have a video that shows you right before you started plucking your eyebrows. You recorded a tape together, giggling and gossiping about, some boy, or singing a cheesy Mostafa Amar track. You have no problems hugging each other. You always have something to talk about. And when you don't, the silence isn't awkward. There are too many memories you can't remember which event happened at which summer, or which incident happened with which teacher.

Somewhere back then, I missed having that kind of friend.

I Dream...

Of waking up one day to the sound of someone bringing in shay bi laban for me.

Of owning my own apartment, furnished with things I brought from all over the world.

Of painting again.

Of building a giant sand castle, decorated with sea shells, not alone, but with a lot of friends.

Of helping all the homeless children who roam the Egyptian streets.

Of having a little girl to finger paint with.

Of going on a road trip.

Of making my own clothes.

Of writing and illustrating a children's book, and getting it published.

Of inspiring someone to become a better person.

Of learning how to fight back.

Of having an English Tea Party in my back garden.

Of Belly dancing like a pro.

Any Post is Better than No Post

.... So I decided to just put my fingers on my keyboard and write whatever my fingers start typing.

I'm trying to practice something my fabulous primary school English Teacher taught us to do. She called it "Free Writing." That's when you just sit and write whatever comes to your mind. She says it's good practice to encourage the flow of words, and all writers should constantly practice doing so to keep the flow going. Kind of like when you need to work out to stay in shape. You need to work out your creative writing part of your brain to keep it in shape. Makes sense?

I wish I had something to write about. So far nothing has been inspiring to me for the past fews days. I started looking for inspiration in little things. My days have been seriously boring. I don't do much. Mostly hanging around the place. Reading articles online. Observing the cats. Studying the state my skin is in, after being seriously sun burnt last weekend and having difficulty moving about and lying on my back, my skin is almost recovered. The dead, burnt skin has fallen off now, revealing beautiful brand new baby skin. I have discovered that the skin indeed is a beautiful organ. I try to massage olive oil all the time to help with the healing. If it wasn't for the entertainment I have been getting from my skin while it was peeling, I seriously wouldn't have had anything better to do.

I'm craving a double scoop of home made, vanilla ice cream with deep fried bananas and caramel sauce. Maybe some crunchy caramelized almonds on top.

Signs from Allah

Marina is the center of attraction at the north coast. Egyptians from all over make sure to visit at least once a year. Preferably during the months of July and August. When the activities are at their peaks, the restaurants are crowded, the beaches are lined up with hot babes and the beer is always in stock.

I haven't visited Marina in 13 years, for reasons that I chose not to share here. I was very excited about seeing what Marina was like now. I remembered the jet ski rides, the asaleyya (honeycomb sweets) , the packed restaurants and the seemingly endless blue sea. When my sister told me we would go to Marina, I couldn't fall asleep. Just like when I was a child, waiting for Eid morning. The excitement and anticipation kept me up all night, and when it was time, I jumped out of bed, packed my bag and was ready to go in thirty minutes.

I was extremely happy. After all, I was going to Marina. I was going to see the people, hangouts, lifestyle and beaches of Marina. Marina..Marina..Marina. A term that I have heard a lot of times, never really knew what to imagine. I was so clueless I asked my sister, "What should I bring?"

Upon arrival, I was going crazy exploring with my eyes every detail, every moment, every color and every shape. One thing after another aroused my curiosity and interest. Some things inspired me. Other things made me sad.

Suddenly, I saw signs, that have been placed beside the road, signs that said:

"Remember Allah"

"You Might Meet Him Now"

"He's Always Watching"

"His Door is Always Open"

I don't know who put them there. But I knew the purpose, and I remember that at that time I really did remember Allah, and remembered that he was watching. A lot of other people however didn't. It was obvious from the empty beer cans that were strewn about, right beneath the signs.

That was the end of that moment.

The rest of the day we spent eating, dancing, swimming and laughing. We forgot to remember Him. We didn't bother doing our prayers on time, after all, we WERE traveling.

When we got home, washing up and getting ready to fall asleep, my cousin gets a call on her cell phone that tells her one of her best friends had died. Drowned. In Marina. Right in front of his friends' eyes. No one could help him. Freshly graduated. His father was coming over to Marina to collect the body.

We cried a lot. We prayed a lot. We made doaa for his soul. We also hoped that he had read those signs.

A little story

A little story about a little girl who lived in a little cottage in a little village with her little mom. She had little money so she only bought little food and had little to eat. She was very little. Then one day she was walking down a little road when she came across a little loaf of bread. She dusted the little loaf with her little hands and just as she was about to take a little bite along came a little boy. The little boy was very little. So she gave him the little loaf of bread.

The little girl had a BIG heart.

A Woman's World

Walking with my sister a few days ago. We were having this conversation:

Me: If there were no men in this world, we wouldn't have to wear hijab.

Her: I agree.

(Pause)

Her: How are we going to reproduce?

Me: Asexually.....like amoeba.

Her: Hahahahaha... you mean like you would suddenly start dividing into two while I'm sitting here talking to you?

Me: Yes, and I would say, excuse me... its my reproduction season.


It happened that on the same day we went to a women's only beach. A very popular one at that. The beach had girl stuff all over. Healthy, diet food options. A henna tattoo booth. A hair dresser. A cafe. And lots and lots of pink. It was a women's world.

We were one of the first to arrive. We enjoyed watching the men being shooed out of the water and out the gate. We enjoyed the girly tunes that were playing. We enjoyed the comfort of not being watched by the prying eyes of men.

Little by little, the beach began to crowd. More women and girls were arriving. All ages. All sizes. All ethnicities. All colors. All styles. There were women everywhere. Girls everywhere. Naturally when you find women, you find kids. Children were playing around us. Their laughter muddled by the sound of the waves. There were no arguments or quarrels. Everyone was comfortable with their own skin. No one was worried about men judging them or checking them out. The hijabis were able to freely wear whatever they felt like wearing. The non hijabis were comfortable feeling that there were no men around to cat call or molest them. Younger women lay around the beach tanning. Teenagers were hanging out in groups all over the place. Pregnant women looked fabulous in bikinis. The mothers had the freedom to nurse whenever their babies were hungry.

I was thinking. Life can't get any better than that. Who needs men?

Soon enough. Female conversations started reaching my ears. Talk about diet, cooking, working out, style, cosmetics, fashion, men, pregnancy and marriage was everywhere. Women loved chatting. The beach got noisier by the second.

Then there was the belly dancing competition. Every female who wanted to compete competed. Females watched. Gossiped. Laughed. Cheered. Grooved. Even made fun of men. Or pretended to be men. I was beginning to feel uneasy.

There was too much estrogen around.

Then when we had to leave, carry our heavy bags and umbrellas, I wished for some men to be around.

Hijabi Bridesmaids.

We have never seen hijabi brides maids before that dressed alike... and my sister insisted that we dress alike. I tried to convince her that six hijabis dressed exactly alike walking together would look very freaky. People are already intimidated by hijabis, and too many of them looking alike would surely freak some people out. We decided that we would buy the same color fabric, and each bridesmaid would design her own dress... using the same fabric and same color. That way, we'd be alike.. but still be different :D

The result was fabulous. Not the creepy hijabis we were afraid of being. I think we are the first hijabi bridesmaids ever.

Lucid Dreams

I never took it seriously until I accidentally came across a book called "The World of Lucid Dreaming." I was looking for some ebooks to download and this was one of them. The title caught my eye. I don't know where I learnt that a lucid dream is a dream where you realize that you're dreaming. I didn't know that lucid dreams were taken seriously. I didn't know that there was a book that discussed them. I downloaded it and started reading it. Was a fascinating book. I learned that there are certain things you can do to make lucid dreams happen.

Fortunately for me, I already had experience with such dreams. I have always been in touch with my creative side. The result was that I often had pretty creative dreams. Some where just so unusual they surprised me. After reading most of the book, I began to understand that a lot of things can be accomplished inside a dream.

You can meet people you always wanted to meet in your dream, celebrities, political figures, dead people.. you name it. After a lot of practice, I decided that I would use the next lucid dream as a chance to try and meet prophet Muhammed (pbuh). The result was that in the dream, he was supposedly behind a door. When I opened a door I found a man telling me "It doesn't work that way." I woke up feeling very surprised. How did the man in the dream know what I was trying to do?

Lucid dreams also work really well when you're having a nightmare. You can turn the nightmare into a dream. A few days ago I was dreaming that a bunch of monsters were running after me. No matter how much time I spent running from them they were always on my trail. I suddenly decided to check if I was dreaming. That I personally do by initiating flight. If I start flying, then I know I'm dreaming. So I did start flying and flew away from the nightmare into a more appealing place.

Choosing what you want to do with your dream is always the tricky part. I often decide to become some heroic character, or heart throb, or get romantic with any unidentified dream guy that I could come across in the "dream set." I often find myself heading to the beach in a lime green two piece, swimming, tanning and having the time of my life.

The downside however, is that I did get somewhat addicted to them for a while. Being able to live a part of life that you cannot live in reality, and being able to accomplish that so easily, always left me in a state of euphoria when I got up. I always get up feeling. "Wow, that was fun."

I'm not addicted anymore. I don't focus on having lucid dreams anymore. I do however enjoy them to the fullest when I do start having one.

They make my day.

My Satan

My Satan knows me better than I know myself. Knows which buttons to push to get me doing what he wants me to do. What would seem like a perfectly innocent thing my Satan would know how to turn into a good sinful act. If my Satan decides that I'm not going to do what he's asking me to do, he would just pretend to stop waswasa when in fact he is making waswasa someplace else.

My Satan doesn't like it when I make a commitment to Allah. He insists on making me skip my Quran readings, not by telling me directly.. no. That would be too obvious. He would tell me to sit and watch some good religious program on TV, then urge me to flip during the commercials to find a movie that I like. Absentmindedly, I just sit and watch. I don't have to read Quran today. Maybe tomorrow. After all, I DID watch that religious program a few hours ago.

My Satan insists that I stay angry all the time. Insists that I haunt down every tiny unsatisfactory detail in my life and dwell upon it. My Satan likes me to stay sorry for myself. My Satan likes me to be depressed and weak.

My Satan knows my biggest fetna of all time and insists on bringing temptations my way. Fully paid vacations to exotic places that other Satans would be partying at. Not just one offer. Many offers. I am turning down yet another offer. Tomorrow I was supposed to be out with friends doing something that Satan would approve of. I turned it down. Now Satan is telling me that I have no friends and that I have to go tomorrow if I want to stay socially and emotionally healthy. Should I listen to him?

My Satan loves it when I argue with my mom. Hates it when I make her breakfast or rub her foot. He loves it when I waste my time watching endless soaps. Hates it when I listen to Quran while jogging. Once he made my mp3 player run out on battery life.

What does your Satan do?

The Egyptian Perception of Open-mindedness

I have been wanting to blog about this for so long but I never managed to organize my thoughts in my head in a way that would be bloggable. But since not too many people read my blog anyway and I'm more blogging for my self than for the entertainment of others. I have decided that I would just go ahead and blog about this thing that has been urging me to blog it for a very long time.

I have recently decided not to judge a book by its cover, or a girl by the length of her skirt, or a man by the car that he drives, or a beggar by the state his shoes are in, or an angry person's outburst in the middle of the infamous Egyptian balady bread queue. I have trained myself to find excuses for all these people. Somewhat it has left me feeling at peace and happy. Forgiveness is indeed a beautiful thing.

Why is there a relation between open-mindedness and forgiveness? Maybe its because when you openly discuss something with someone. You are actually forgiving the other person for having a different opinion.

Okay I still don't know what I'm trying to blog about but I'm just trying here, so give me a break.

I have encountered several Egyptians in my life who claim open-mindedness. They call themselves "Oben" or "Feree." Yet when you try to have a nice conversation with any of them you are bombarded with uptightness. You are not allowed to express your opinion without being accused of something that offends you. I am not talking about topics that generally arouse heated discussions. Although in those topics open mindedness will allow you to better understand the other person's opinion and therefore your own opinion will reach them better.

Egyptians who claim being "oben" will dress openly, act openly and talk openly. But they will never accept what you have to say openly. This saddens me. Because being open minded doesn't just mean accepting another person's opinion. It means accepting different cultures. Accepting different colors of skin. Accepting people with handicaps. Accepting knowledge. Accepting that no one is perfect. Accepting that imperfection is beautiful. Accepting that everyone is different and that this is why the world is such a beautiful place.

I sometimes feel like I want to open my chest wide and let the whole world flood inside me. I want to be able to touch, feel, see, hear, smell everything and anything. Forgiveness is such a beautiful thing.

A very good friend of mine told me about a documentary called "Baraka". I have posted the link for the first part of the documentary. I strongly urge you to take your time to watch all of the parts. The experience is very rewarding for the soul.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtiqrzmuWbw

Big sis is off

Finally got married to the man of her dreams. After a long story of heartbreak and pain. Ten years of fighting to be together and finally they are. May Allah grant them a happy peaceful home. In the end, love does conquer all (One way or another).

This morning I woke up to find my sister wasn't in her room. She wasn't in the living room either. She wasn't arguing in the kitchen about who left the milk carton out. She wasn't talking to one of her friends loudly in the corridor. She was gone. With her clothes, bags, shoes, books, cosmetics, and little things that she always left lying around. All that's left of her is a big empty bed with nothing on it but the wedding dress she wore yesterday. Crumpled up and unnoticed, after being so carefully handled the past few weeks, after being the center of attention for so long. It's purpose was fulfilled. Has no use now.

My mother is in denial. I don't know what to feel. My younger sisters had trouble falling asleep yesterday.

The wedding. Something that she spent months planning was over in just a few hours. Is now a blur. What's left is a bunch of pictures of lots of happy people, and one beautiful very happy bride.

Yes, my sister is off.

A Special Cairo Night

Imagine yourself stuck in traffic, honking cars, people yelling, beggars begging, drivers swearing, tall buildings. Imagine the crazy Cairo driving. The micro buses. The mini buses. The buses. The taxis. The Cairo cabs.

Then imagine yourself suddenly looking up. You don't know what made you look up but you do. Just in time to see a parting in the buildings. Just in time to see a shooting star. Which normally wouldn't be visible because of the city lights. A long tail of white light and before you can say " Look! A shooting star!" You see the flicker at the end of the tail and it's gone. Leaving you with that special feeling shooting stars leave in our hearts. Leaving you with a smile. Back to living your normal life. Back to the streets, lights and people.

Shooting stars always amazed me. Maybe because of the cartoons that I've watched as a kid. Rainbows, ponies and shooting stars. That little girl that travelled through space on a shooting star. The piece of star that landed on Earth and left a crater the shape of a star. The "Tintin and the shooting star" comic book. The shooting stars that our Science teacher told us about in Science class. How she took a match and let it fall to the ground... Just like a shooting star. Her name was Ms. Katrina.

In that split of a second. A lot of feelings flooded through me. I couldn't whisper out any words but "Subhan Allah". I felt special. Allah had made me look up. Allah had made me witness one of his miracles.