On Love

I still remember the first time I fell in love.

It was a gloomy Monday morning and I was but eleven years of age. I was feeling a little under the weather, and after pleading with my mother to let me stay home, insisting that I had a fever that would surely kill me if she sent me to school, and even after she put the back of her hand to my forehead and raised an eyebrow at me in amusement, she granted me a "flop" day and I was allowed to stay home. I snuggled under the sheets in my parent's huge bed and watched the morning cartoons. But after they ended, I started feeling bored, and it was still early in the day. I shall read then, I thought to myself. Seeing as I was still very young, my book collection did not expand beyond The Boxcar Children Mysteries, which I was very fond of, and the Goosebumps series, which I had already read enough times to know the text by heart. I resorted to moping around the house, searching for my school bag to start my school reading, which was to be from Frances Hodgson Burnett's The Secret Garden. I took the book back to my parent's room and crawled back into my cave of blankets and comforters.

At first, I only looked at the cover. I was quite sure who ever had made the cover had a big box of 64 count Crayola crayons sitting on his desk, and he chose Sea Green for the cover. Ah, Sea Green! One of the prettiest crayons in the box, but it could not be used anywhere! I remembered how I would hold the crayon in my left hand, sometimes for so long that the paper had started getting damp from my sweaty palms, and I waited for the right time to use the pretty Sea Green color, but the time never came. One could not, after all, color the sky or the grass or the forest Sea Green!

But this! This must be what Sea Green was made for; the cover of The Secret Garden. I cracked open my new book and began reading it, and I immediately fell in love. I fell in love with the writing style I was not accustomed to, I fell in love with the setting that I had never heard about (I even remember pulling out a picture Dictionary to look up the word 'moor', for we did not have a computer at the time, nor did we know about Google). I was so engrossed in the story line, and I felt that I knew the characters intimately, almost like I was reading an old story about a friend I had lost touch with.

I finished the novel in one sitting, and I read it again with the class in assigned readings, at a pace of one or two chapters a night.

I experienced love-at-first-sight that very summer. I was at the library one afternoon, strolling the young adult sections, when I spotted another green book and remembered my first love, The Secret Garden. This book, however, was as thick as my wrist, but I pulled it off the shelf and looked at the cover anyway. It was titled Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I stared at the cover some more, letting my eyes take in the expression of the dark-haired speckled boy, and ended up checking the book out. I poured over its pages for hours, and I took it with me to school the next day and continued reading it after I ate my lunch. I remember it being slightly confusing, but it was wonderful. It was about dragons, and witches and wizards, and magic; it was everything my active eleven-year-old imagination craved.

We left for Egypt the following year, and I longed for a library. We had two school-reading novels for the entire year, and I finished both of them rather quickly. I remember one of them, The Prisoner of Zelda, fondly, for I had read that one three times and thought it was quite clever. Then one day a Pakistani girl in my class who was also from the U.S. (as were many of my classmates) told me she'd trade me one of her books for the book in my hand (I was sitting on the school bus reading one of my favorite Boxcar Children books). I agreed, and the next day she gave me a book, Sweet Valley Junior High: Twin Switch. I looked at the cover and remembered The Secret Garden and Harry Potter and how "normal" the cover of the book in my hand was in comparison. But beggars can't be choosers, and I was hungry for a read.

The book was so unsatisfying, nothing like the ones I had read, but when my Pakistani friend offered to trade more of her books for mine, I agreed nonetheless. And so it came to be that my beloved Boxcar Children Mysteries and Bailey School Kids and Nancy Drew and my two Joey Pigza books were replaced with Sweet Valley Junior High and Sweet Valley High School books.

My Pakistani friend, on the other hand, told me day in and day out how much she loved my books, and she would often sit with me during lunch for the sole purpose of discussing a particular character, an interpretation of a certain scene, or just bonding over our books. I remember asking her if she had ever read The Secret Garden, and she said she hadn't, and did I have it? "No," I lied. I did have the book, but it was the only book I was not willing to part with; I couldn't, I wouldn't, trade my first love for a book about a beautiful blonde teenage girl who has a crush on an equally beautiful teenage boy. I asked her about Harry Potter, and she was familiar with the name. I told her about the one book that I read, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, and she frowned. "Why are you reading them out of order?" she asked, and that was when I found out about the series.

Eight grade found me back in the States, and this time, I started taking my literature text book home. I was introduced to Greek Mythology, and I checked out Adele Geras's golden-covered Troy. It was the first book to make me cry.

Later on, I read The Case of the Speckled Band in my ninth grade literature text book and I fell in love with Sherlock Holmes. He was my role model, as were The Boxcar Children and Nancy Drew. I read an excerpt of Charles Dicken's Great Expectations the same year, and I went on to reading the entire novel, followed by his A Christmas Carol.

And that's when my love for the classics blossomed. I read into Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, Mary Shelley, Mark Twain, Lewis Carroll, Daniel Defoe, oh the list goes on and on!

I've been in different types of love, but quite honestly, I can say that the love I have for books is my favorite type of love.

Do It For The Lulz

You know what should be on your next to-do list?

This.

Let's say I'm sitting in a boring class with a friend, let's call her Sarah, and we're having a conversation with a girl sitting in front of us, who is sitting sideways in her chair. Since I am an uberly cool person, anyone that hangs out with me is also an uberly cool person by default. The girl realizes this, and she wants in on the coolness. That's right. She wants to be friendssss.

Ponytail Girl [to me]: So, what's your name?

Me: Nehal.

Ponytail Girl [to Sarah]: And yours?

This is when I'd lean over and whisper in Sarah's ear, just loud enough for the Ponytail Girl to hear, "Sarah. Tell her your name is Sarah."

Sarah [to Ponytail Girl]: Sarah.

Ponytail Girl: *no longer smiling* I just heard her tell you to say that. So. What's your real name?

Sarah: *a little uncomfortable* My real name is Sarah.

Ponytail Girl: *looks like she's about to cry* Oh.

Sarah: I'm serious!

Ponytail Girl stares at us both, and then turns back around in her seat.

Sarah [to me]: I don't wanna be your friend anymore.

Y'ALL SHOULD TRY THIS ON SOMEONE.

Meya Meya!

Words in italics are listed and defined at the end of the blog post in the order in which they appeared. Yeah. We mad official.

You know you're Egyptian when...

1. Your parents yell at you for making the shay wrong. That's right. There's a wrong way to make shay.
2. If you're a female, and you do bad in school, your parents tell you to just drop out and marry a makwagi. If you're a male, and you do bad in school, your parents tell you to just drop out and become a makwagi.
3. If you have class at 2:30PM, showing up at 3:00PM is considered "on time" and perfectly admissible.
4. Soccer. You worship it.
5. Supporting a non-Egyptian soccer team against an Egyptian one is nothing short of treason.
6. You are either an Ahlawy or Zamalkawy and you have no reservations in expressing your loyalty to which ever team.
7. Winning the African Cup is something 3ady now.
8. Cario-ans think that Alexandrians are "zibala" and Alexandrians think that Cairo-ans are "be2a".
9. If you're not the doctor, or the lawyer suing the doctor, you are a HOBELESS CASE.
10. Unless you're an engineer of course. Yalla, zay ba3do.
11. Your Palestinian, Jordanian, and Syrian friends make fun of you when you say stuff like, "Ezayek? 3amlah eih? Kolo tamam? Tab kwayes."
12. You walk into a room and say, "Hi ya gama3a."
13. When you ask a stupid question, you're told, "La2 ya gahla, bas kefaya keda. 2omi e3mely shay."
14. People are never happy with what you've achieved. When you graduate, people say, "3o2bal el shehada el kebeira", and when you get that, they say, "3o2bal el 3aroosa or 3arees", and when you get that, they say, "3o2bal ma nefra7 be awladkom", and when you get that, they say, "3o2bal ma terfa7o be shahadithum", etc. It's a never ending circle.
15. "Eshtaaaaa" is your equivalent of "sweeeeeet".
16. Ahmed Elsakka is your equivalent of James Bond.
17. Soad Hosny is your equivalent of Marilyn Monroe.
18. Any hot person is referred to as a "mozza". This is a unisex term.
19. If you're a tan female, you say, "El samar nos el gamal", and if you're a white female, you say, "El bayad el gamal kolo." At the end of the day, white female > tan female (even if she's missing a nose).
20. Speed limits are only advisory. No cob, no stob.
21. Out of respect, you call a male who is older than you "3ammo" and a female who is older than you "Tunt".
22. Everyone is a family friend.
23. You assure your non-Arab friends that there is in fact a difference between your dad yelling because he's on the phone and your dad yelling because he's mad.
24. You eat everything with ruz be shi3reya or 3eish balady.
25. Breakfast includes beid be gibna, fool, ta3meya, anything with eggplant, anything with te7eyna, basterma, etc. and of course, shay bilaban!
26. You think its okay to substitute olive oil for vegetable oil in cake batter and say, "Well at least it's healthy!" when it comes out like crap.
27. You must say that anything your mom cooks is "better than the one we tried at that restaurant".
28. Your dad often started stories off by saying, "Ayam Gamal Abdelnasser…"
29. You've been told not to walk around the house barefoot because you'll catch a cold.
30. You catch yourself telling your little cousins not to walk around the house barefoot because they'll catch a cold.
31. You have na3na3 growing in your back yard, along with at least one fruit tree (we have four…).
32. Your mother has an assassin's accuracy when throwing a shib shib.
33. When you cross the street in the middle of oncoming traffic, your fellow Egyptian friend tells you, "Lemmy nafsek! E7na msh fe masr! Balash fadaye7!"
34. You start off a fiqh question with, "Baba, I heard…" and end with, "Howa dah halal wala haram?"
35. During mango season, your mom buys enough boxes of mango to support a small village during an apocalypse.
36. Your brother can belly dance better than you can.
37. You've watched El Limby at least three times.
38. You start your stories with, "Salli 3al naby."
39. You end your stories with, "Bas ya sedy/ siti".
40. If you're male, there's an 87% chance you are almost always surrounded by a cloud of cigarette or sheesha smoke
41. You have at least one item (a key chain, necklace, bracelet, etc.) with your name written on it in Hieroglyphics.
42. You boast that "Egybshans are za best beoble!"
43. Whenever you watch a new Arabic movie with your parents, they have to say, "Eh dah? Howa lessa 3ayesh??" about at least one actor.

Egyptian-to-English Language Dictionary

Shay: (noun) tea.

Makwagi: (noun) a person who irons clothing.

Ahlawy: (noun) a person who supports the Ahly soccer team and frowns upon the Zamalek team and its supporters.

Zamalkawy: (noun) a person who supports the Zamalek soccer team and frowns upon the Ahly team and its supporters.

3ady: (noun) normal; regular.

Zibala: (noun) trash.

Be2a: (noun) literally, "(bad) environment". It means something to the effect of "trash".

Yalla, zay ba3do: (phrase) Whatever, it's all the same.

Ezayek? 3amlah eih? Kolo Tama? Tab Kwayes.: (phrase) Whatsup? How are you? Evrything okay? That's good.

Hi ya gama3a: (phrase) Hi everyone.

La2 ya gahla, bas kefaya keda. 2omi e3mely shay.: (phrase) No, you ignorant (person). That's it, get up and make tea.

3o2bal el shehada el kebeira: (phrase) 3o2bal your college degree.

3o2bal el 3aroosa or 3arees: (phrase) 3o2bal your wedding.

3o2bal ma nefra7 be awladkom: (phrase) 3o2bal when you have children.

3o2bal ma terfa7o be shahadithum: (phrase) 3o2bal when your children get their degrees.

Eshta: (noun) sweeeeet or niceeeeee.

Mozza: (adjective/ noun): babe.

El samar nos el gamal: (phrase) Being tan is already half the beauty in the world.

El bayad el gamal kolo: (phrase) Being white is all the beauty in the world.

3ammo: (noun) term of respect for addressing older males. Can also mean "brother of my father".

Tunt: (noun) term of respect for addressing older females.

Ruz be shi3reya: (noun) rice with noodles.

3eish balady: (noun) pita bread.

Beid be gibna: (noun) eggs with (feta) cheese.

Fool: (noun) Fava beans.

Ta3meya: (noun) Falafel.

Te7eyna: (noun) Tahini

Basterma: (noun) Pastrami

Shay bilaban: (noun) Tea with milk.

Ayam Gamal Abdelnasser: (phrase) Back in the days of Gamal Abdelnasser (a well-loved Egyptian ruler)...

Na3na3: (noun) Mint leaves

Shib shib: (noun) plastic slipper

Lemy nafsek! E7na msh fe masr! Balash fadaye7!: (noun) Behave yourself! We're not in Egypt! Stop embarrassing us!

Howa dah halal wala haram?: (noun) Is this halal or haram?

El Limby: (noun) Movie starring some dude.

Salli 3al naby: (phrase) literally, say "Muhammad rasool Allah."

Bas ya sedy/ siti: (phrase) That's it.

Eh dah? Howa lessa 3ayesh??: (phrase) Whaaaat? Is he still alive??

Lulz, what did you think I take to school? A car??

She Drives for a Relationship, He's Lost in the Transmission

I Stumble Upon'd this earlier this week, and I just thought it was too funny. And it's so true too! Admittedly, I used to be one of those reads-too-much-into-everything type of girls, and I guess it was because the friends I had at the time were read-too-much-into-everything type of girls as well. However, my circle of friends changed and I guess so did my view points. Sometimes a "hi" is just a "hi".

Contrary to what many women believe, it's fairly easy to develop a long-term, stable, intimate, and mutually fulfilling relationship with a guy. Of course this guy has to be a Labrador retriever. With human guys, it's extremely difficult. 

This is because guys don't really grasp what women mean by the term relationship. Let's say a guy named Roger is attracted to a woman named Elaine. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time. A few nights later he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves. They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while neither one of them is seeing anybody else. And then, one evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to Elaine, and, without really thinking, she says it aloud: "Do you realize that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?" 

And then there is silence in the car. To Elaine, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself, "Geez, I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by our relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he doesn't want, or isn't sure of."

And Roger is thinking, "Gosh. Six months." 

And Elaine is thinking: "But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of relationship, either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I'd have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily toward... I mean, where are we going? Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy? Are we heading toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even know this person?"

And Roger is thinking: "... so that means it was... let's see... February when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the dealer's, which means... lemme check the odometer... Whoa! I am way overdue for an oil change here."

And Elaine is thinking: "He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed--even before I sensed it--that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid of being rejected."

And Roger is thinking: "And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission again. I don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting right. And they better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a goddamn garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves $600.

And Elaine is thinking: "He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too. God, I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure."

And Roger is thinking: "They'll probably say it's only a 90-day warranty. That's exactly what they're gonna say, the scumballs."

And Elaine is thinking: "Maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about me. A person who is in pain because of my self-centered, schoolgirl romantic fantasy."

And Roger is thinking: "Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them a goddamn warranty. I'll take their warranty and stick it right up their..."

"Roger," Elaine says aloud. 

"What?" says Roger, startled. 

"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. "Maybe I should never have... Oh God, I feel so..." (She breaks down, sobbing.) 

"What?" says Roger. 

"I'm such a fool," Elaine sobs. "I mean, I know there's no knight. I really know that. It's silly. There's no knight, and there's no horse." 

"There's no horse?" says Roger. 

"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Elaine says. 

"No!" says Roger, glad to finally know the correct answer. 

"It's just that... It's that I... I need some time," Elaine says. (There is a 15-second pause while Roger, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work.) 

"Yes," he says. 

(Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand.) "Oh, Roger, do you really feel that way?" she says. 

"What way?" says Roger. 

"That way about time," says Elaine. 

"Oh," says Roger. "Yes." 

(Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.) "Thank you, Roger," she says. 

"Thank you," says Roger. 

Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn, whereas when Roger gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two Czechoslovakians he never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it's better if he doesn't think about it. (This is also Roger's policy regarding world hunger.) 

IT'S ANALYSIS TIME!

The next day Elaine will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression, and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification. They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite conclusions, but never getting bored with it, either. 

Meanwhile, Roger, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual friend of his and Elaine's, will pause just before serving, frown, and say: "Norm, did Elaine ever own a horse?" 

We're not talking about different wavelengths here. We're talking about different planets, in completely different solar systems. Elaine cannot communicate meaningfully with Roger about their relationship any more than she can meaningfully play chess with a duck. Because the sum total of Roger's thinking on this particular topic is as follows: Huh?

from Dave Barry's Complete Guide to Guys" by Dave Barry, c 1995 by Dave Barry.