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.