Five things you can tell about the Egyptian people from the current state of affairs

First of all, I’d like to start off by wishing you all a happy Ramadan and hoping it was the spiritual and socially active month we’ve all come to know and love.

The past three years have had so many events crammed in them that the future Egyptian Schools’ curriculums are probably going to have entire school years dedicated to studying them and learning from the mistakes made (or so I hope). What I’ve come to notice, however, is that a lot of what happened sheds a light on the Egyptian persona. Through all the ups and downs, Egyptians have consistently reacted the same way to everything, to the point where you start suspecting that someone, somewhere, is handing them scripts.

This article is objective and will in no way discuss politics, but rather point out five very obvious things you can tell about Egyptians just by watching the news.

PS: Of course it will discuss politics. I am Egyptian, after all.

1-      Egyptians are sarcastic and funny

To start with the most obvious one first, anyone who was anywhere near Tahrir Square or even Facebook would know this. We Egyptians excel at looking at everything in the most sarcastic way possible, joking our way through life’s major crises when other peoples would probably be crying at home. However, this also makes it difficult to follow authority figures when they adopt certain policies –no matter what political ideologies they follow- and that would be problematic should a national crisis arise where the people just need to flock behind a leader.

Do you think Churchill was a popular leader? Think again.

The media makes it look that way because all British people supported him as their authority figure, and they put their differences aside and focused on the war at hand. However, Churchill was a heavy drinker and bat-shit insane, as obvious from the fact that he wanted to restart WWII by arming the defeated Germans and pitting them against the newly victorious Soviet Union. The freaking operation was even called “Operation Unthinkable”. Churchill was removed from office months after the war was over.

My point being that with the general atmosphere, we would never support a national leader like the British did in WWII, and when you really think about it, it’s our loss.

2-      Egyptians forgive and forget easily, and they like being lied to

Barely a year ago people were protesting against SCAF. All of a sudden, because the armed forces removed a wildly unpopular president, people became very eager to support them and forget all the crimes they themselves had accused them of doing. Suddenly everyone believed all claims that everything bad in the country was the Muslim Brotherhood’s doing, and the old regime started making a gradual sneaky return to the political scene, blaming all their failings on the Brotherhood. And what’s worse, people are buying it. I’m not here to state a political opinion (yeah I am), but this showcases that we, Egyptians, live in denial, and we’d rather bury our heads in the sand than face our problems. We’ve taken “it’s easier to hear a sweet lie than a bitter truth”  to the whole new, Egyptian level of ”HAHAHA I LIKE BEING LIED TO, ba2ollak eh, sme3t 3an Q-net?”

3-      Egyptians like gossip and rumors

We’ve all heard them, and we’ve all probably mindlessly shared one or two pieces of unconfirmed news on our Facebook walls. Things like “Khairat El-Shater was paid 8 billion dollars to sell the Sinai to Israel” or “Morsi is Jewish” or “El-Baradie received a billion dollars from the Israeli Prime Minister to buy him toilet paper”, You name it. Before you know it, the rumors spin wildly out of control and get blown way out of proportion, morphing into giant ugly lies armed with a huge shotguns, which they pummel you over the head with rather than shoot you, because they’re also very stupid. Over time, the rumors become cold hard facts, engraved into every Egyptian’s brain, and people would calmly recite the facts and figures as calmly and nonchalantly as if they’d studied them in history class.

 If there is one thing you can be sure of, it’s how far rumors can spread in Egypt –to the point that the armed forces have to outright deny some of them- and how creatively destructive those rumors can be.

4-      Egyptians are world-class conspiracy theorists

We all know Egypt is a very strategically important country. However, we Egyptians tend to believe that everything is a plot to destroy Egypt. If two Iranians came to Egypt on vacation, for example, then they’re automatically preaching their Shiite beliefs to bring down Egypt. If army generals talk to American officials, then they’ve agreed on some diabolical plan where Egypt becomes an American puppet state. If Netanyahu were to blow his nose in the general direction of Egypt, then Israel is plotting to invade Egypt. This is also where rumors make an outstanding debut in the Egyptian society, where warring factions dub each others “traitors” or “heretics” and spin wild, game of thrones-style tales of betrayal that are rarely true.

5-      Egyptians want to have a pharaoh.

We all want someone we can blindly trust and follow in times of crisis. However, we Egyptians take this to a whole new level, where that person barely comes short of being a deity and his/her (mostly his) supporters would go to insane heights to make sure they come out on top. Proof? All the “Supportive demonstrations” we constantly have all over Egypt, which I’m sure are unheard-of anywhere else in the world. It’s OK to trust your chosen leader, but to blindly refuse to hear any criticism of said person is to create a pharaoh, an art we seem to have perfected. 

We’ve lived in an autocratic state for so long that people didn’t know how to behave when they were presented with democracy. When the cage’s door was opened for the raging lion that is the Egyptian people -instead of leaping out of the cage and roaring its defiance for the whole world to hear- the lion whimpered and dragged the whip to its fallen tamer, shuffling pathetically back into the cage of its own accord. The old regime is back, the police state is back, the army has the country in a firm grip… and the people are out in the streets, cheering and celebrating their imprisonment.

In the words of the great Egyptian leader, Saad Zaghloul: “Mafish fayda” or “All hope is lost”.

6-      Egyptians don’t know how to disagree with each other

Plain and simple. I, for example, support El-Baradei. If he were incompetent, I would support his removal. Sounds logical, right? If it does, then you’re not Egyptian, GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE YOU TRAITOR, EGYPT WILL NEVER FALL TO YOUR MALICIOUS PLANS.

Egyptians do not, and cannot, understand that it’s OK to disagree. As a general rule in Egypt, you either agree with someone, or you’re their mortal enemy and they would raise a giant mob and burn your house down. Seriously, it happens. 

If all I said was right, then the following would hold true:

Point 1 would mean that the liberals are currently making fun of the Muslim Brotherhood leaders, and the Muslim Brotherhood supporters are making fun of the liberal leaders... And the whole world is laughing.

Point 2 would mean that people are buying up any excuses the Armed Forces come up with.

Point 3 would mean that each side is coming up with destructive rumors about the opposing side.

Point 4 would mean that everyone is saying that the US and Israel are orchestrating all the unrest.

Point 5 would mean that half the Egyptian people are supporting El-Sisi, and the other half is supporting Morsi and Badei’.

Point 6 would mean that everyone hates everyone, and no one accepts any opposing opinions.

Isn’t that kind of EXACTLY what we’re doing?

Ice-cream Swirleys

"I think she likes me. Doesn't she? I think she does. What do you think?"
"Stop being a wuss and man up."

Ha. Brian Brody just called me a wuss. The guy whose unfortunate initials were B.B - which inspired his creative high-school class mates to nickname him "BeeBee", "Baby", "B-cups" and "Boobjob" (which had more to do with his flabby man-breasts than his initials) - thinks I should man up. The irony. I started to formulate a witty retort, but I was overwhelmed by the vast array of names I could call him and  ended up responding with an elegant, timeless "Shut up".

I'd just met my long-time friend/crush/almost-girlfriend/I-don't-know-what-to-call-her after a couple of months of chilly conversations of decreasing frequency, and even though I'd moved on (or I'd thought I did) a long time ago, every time I met her it was like there was all this tension and unresolved feelings left hanging in the air, and the fact that Brian kept doing the Gangnam style dance behind her back to force me to laugh didn't help. It had always been an unresolved story-line, a will they/won't they kind of dance that we did every few months, only for one of us to get in a relationship and start being distant, which was OK since an explosive break-up usually followed and the cycle started all over again. I wasn't even sure I liked her that much, but the thrill of the chase and the intimacy of the dance kept me hooked. That time, when we met, I could definitely feel something. Maybe I was having feelings for her again. Or maybe I shouldn't have had that last burrito. At any rate, I still couldn't shake off the feeling that maybe that time something might happen.

"I thought that went great, Ben!" Piped up the ever-happy Sarah. She was the only girl who willingly hung out with our band of inappropriate, that's-what-she-said-joke-abusing, online-game-playing geeks. Each of us had a separate life on his own, with other friends and girlfriends, but when we got together we always reverted to the fifteen-year-old teenagers that we were at heart. Four years at college hadn't helped with our immaturity. In fact, the older we got, the tighter we seemed to cling to our old ways, refusing to accept the responsibilities that came with adulthood.

"I say you move on, mate." Suggested Kirk, always Captain Obvious. "It's been years, and honestly, you could do much better, you're too good for her". Tut, tut, tut. Kirk... Sweet, lovable, idiotic Kirk. Again, always stating the obvious. Kirk was the relationship specialist in our pack. Even though he was five foot five, balding, and of square build, none of which (as I was told) was very appealing to females, he'd been in more relationships than all of us combined, Sarah included. Or as he liked to put it- or rather, boast at the top of his lungs to anyone who would listen- "I'd get more tail on a deserted island in the pacific ocean at 3 AM in a bomb shelter 50 feet underground than you'd all get at a fat cougar reunion with an open bar". Hmm, maybe next time I could make a joke about the tail he got on that island being of the variety usually found attached to squirrels. I made a mental note to snap that at him the next time he brought it up.

"Don't listen to him, Ben, go get her.. you'd be great together" Said Damon.
"Oh, what do you know? It's not like you've been with a girl in five years." Snapped Kirk.

That was uncalled for, and way below the belt. Damon's long-time girlfriend had dumped him a few months before they went to college. Even though he'd been a high-school jock and a pretty boy who was extremely popular in high school, he never picked on anyone. He was the kind of guy all the girls wanted to be with, and all the guys wanted to be like. When she'd outgrown the whole high-school-jock boyfriend phase (even though he was much more than that), his girlfriend had preferred to move away to a far-away college, where she'd hoped she'd find a rich douche she could eventually marry. Damon had never got over her and stopped dating ever since. It was a low blow from Kirk; he knew it was a sore spot.

"Come on, Kirk" I said. "Let's keep this civil. Just because he owned your arse with a sniper rifle in Call of Duty on your own X-Box, in your own living room, doesn't mean you get to lash out at him."
Kirk was an extremely sore loser. I could see that he wanted to reply, but he bit back what was probably a hurtful retort and shrugged.

"Who cares? I know I don't". Said Mitch, the final member of my entourage. Yes, it's my entourage. No, I'm not a self-centered narcissist. You know what, do you want to hear the story or not? No? Too bad, I'm talking, anyway. And I'll have you know that it's very funny story. Oh, NOW you want to hear it? Fine, but not another word out of you... <crickets chirping> That's better.

Mitch was the most entertaining of all of us. He was the weird, sardonic loner who nobody really likes but who admittedly makes outings a lot more fun. He practically lived in that weird part of YouTube, and frequently came up with those weird videos you'd have restricted access to if you have a life. A master of spontaneity, he'd randomly disappear at times and turn up an hour later, drunk out of his mind, with an Iraqi passport in his back pocket, no recollection of where he'd found it and no idea whose it was. The last name in the passport was Hussein, though, so it might have belonged to someone related to the late Iraqi president. You did not hear this from me.

It was ironic, Mitch giving relationship advice. Mitch was the bluntest, meanest, out-rightly-frankest bloke you'd ever meet. His father was in the army, and that's the kind of upbringing he'd got. And as we all know, blunt honesty with females of the human variety tends to go rather.. unappreciated. In other words, it was a running joke that Mitch couldn't get laid in a women's prison with an armful of pardons. Mitch maintained a healthy, albeit slightly abusive relationship with his right hand, which he acknowledged, adding that he sometimes cheated on it with his left hand. Yeah, we didn't like the joke when we heard it, either.

Presently, no one replied to Mitch. Rather uncreatively, faced with the daunting prospect of choosing a hurtful nickname for Mitch, we'd opted for "Bitch". Sometimes more obvious equals funnier. As it were, if you'd just heard a negative remark from someone you called "Bitch", there's often no need to voice a retort at all. His name is "Bitch". There's no competition, he'd lost forever.

We walked in silence, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. Unwillingly, Mitch had brought to my mind something I'd been choosing to overlook. This relationship, if it were to ever happen, would never live up to my expectations. I don't think I'd even wanted it. And the more the ordeal dragged on, the more crushed I'd eventually be when I finally had to move on. As painful as it had seemed, I would have to call Rachel (her name was Rachel, something which BeeBee seemed to find very funny. He called me "Ross" for weeks after he'd found out) and tell her that this chapter of my life is over. "There's plenty more fish in the sea" I thought. Although a lot of these fish are either in inaccessible areas of the ocean, or carnivorous, or too small, or too poisonous, or too big. Come to think of it, that's a terrible metaphor. "There's plenty more ice-cream flavours" seemed like a more appropriate choice. I'd always thought Rachel tasted like a quite unorthodox blend, like "Cinnamon and grass ice cream" or "Tuna-Banana swirleys". Is there a kind of ice cream called a "Swirley"? I think it sounds rather ice-creamish, don't you think? There should be more swirleys in the world of ice cream. I should make a mental note of that. Hmm, too many mental notes. I should write this down.

Now what should I do? Oh I know, my blog!


Well, that ended rather abruptly. Very unaccommodating of me. Dreadfully sorry, I'm sure. In the interest of providing even a little bit of closure I offer you this: " I moved on and the girl got incinerated in a terrible fire which may or may not have been started by our very own Mitch. You did not hear this from me."

No? It seems like an appropriate ending. Well, your opinion doesn't count, I'm writing the story. Don't you take that tone with me... Fine, I'll work on the ending. Seriously, some people just don't understand theatrics. There might be more entries in this story, so stay tuned. Or, more appropriately, bookmark this page. Ha ha.

(I have no idea why I'm being British. But I think it's a rather appropriate development, don't you agree?)

Salmon-chip Cookies

Never thought I’d see myself
(A giant in red and white and black)
Reduced to a flag on someone’s shelf
For them to trade me forth and back

For years and years, I’d grow and thrive
The banks of the Nile were a fertile land
Like ants in a hill and bees in a hive
My men achieved goals great and grand

They reaped the fruits of what they sow
My men were tall and dark and proud
With a sword and an axe and a shield and a bow
They gave not an inch of sacred ground

Not long ago, in ages past
The world would look at me in awe
I never doubted I would last
Until the end of time and law

Pyramids and a sphinx stood guard for a while
By Ebn Al-‘as I was then claimed
For a new dawn on the banks of the Nile
And scholars studied and soldiers trained

For centuries, I was the Arabs’ shield
Helping them in peace and war
For proud Egyptians would never yield
As long as an enemy remains at the door

But in modern times, I have grown ill
Plagued with men both vile and lame
Traitorous men, who for a dollar bill
Would defile me and destroy my name

They use religion as a means
To move the masses as they please
They make less sense than a tin of beans
Or a batch of Salmon-chip cookies

So Egyptians everywhere, hear the plea
Of an Egypt in most dire need
Of loyal men, both strong and free
To put an end to lust and greed.

Chicken Guy

"Excuse me, that seat's taken" He said, not bothering to look up.
"That's ok, I'm the one you're supposed to meet" A feminine voice replied.

Face palm.

Damn him, damn him, DAMN HIM ! He'd specifically asked his friend to stop setting him up on blind dates.. Ever since his last disastrous relationship -which he didn't want to think about- his best friend had taken it upon himself to make sure to set him up on as many dates as possible, following the timeless tradition of throwing a lot of mud at the wall and seeing what sticks. Well, girls.. not mud. It would be impolite to compare girls to mud.. The fact that he had to remind himself of that was ample evidence that he wasn't ready for this.

The first time his friend asked him if he wanted to set him up on a date, he refused point-blank. The result of that was waking up at 12 PM to a knock on his door, only to find a prostitute on his doorstep, wearing as much clothes as one would wear in a bubble bath. He explained politely -while keeping her hands off of his shirt- that no thank you, I'm not interested. She took it way too seriously. Instead of backing off, she renewed her attacks with increased vigour, even going so far as to offer him the night for free. When he still refused -far from putting on what little clothes she was wearing and leaving him alone- she was reduced to tears and he had to sit there with her for a whole hour, telling her that it was OK and that he found her attractive but still wasn't interested in her oh-so-appealing services.. which were perfectly fine, because there's nothing wrong with being a working girl, and her parents would be proud if they knew she was working to put herself through college instead of.. well, there really was no instead of.. She was already selling herself. Anyway, eventually he offered to pay her for the night if she'd leave now and go to his friend's place and give him the same show. She nodded, smiled and left him feeling worse than he'd been before she came.

Two days later he went home after work, feeling particularly drained after a very long meeting and a whole bunch of reports he'd had to write, only to find a strip club where his house used to be. His best friend was there, along with a lot of their common friends. Apparently, this was supposed to be his second cousin's bachelor party. But seeing as the second cousin was a figment of his best friend's imagination, he'd told everyone that "Mitch" (the second cousin) was passed out drunk in the bathroom and that they shouldn't worry about it and enjoy the party. He spotted his friend right away, and made his way towards him through the maze of strippers and alcohol.
"Mitch?! You couldn't choose a better name for my second cousin? All the Mitches I know are either white trash or accountants".
"Dude, you waived your right to make fun of people's names when you were named "Donald" ".
"Max, I'm not in the mood for this.. I have a big meeting tomorrow. So, using the keys I've just picked from your pocket, I'm going to your place to sleep it out. Enjoy the party.."
"Touche, Donald. I'll get you for this, though.. Mark my words. Not you, Mark, I was talking to Donald here.." And with that, he vanished back into the party.

Donald left the house and went to sleep at his friend's place.

Just one day later, his friend passed by his place for their weekly game night. Only instead of coming alone, he violated the all-time sacred rule of "no girls on game night". Of course, when they'd made that rule, the chance of them getting a girl on any night, albeit game night, was about less likely than them getting a "get out of jail free" card in real life.. So they hardly ever actually had to enforce the rule. But still, it was going against the rules. He was just about to point that out when Max not-so-subtly excused himself, grabbed his coat and hurriedly left the appartment. He was now alone with a girl whose name he didn't even know. Damn it.
Contrary to his expectations, they turned out to have a lot in common, and he ended up having a great time with her. Just when he started to think that this might lead somewhere, she got a call from her girlfriend. Yes, her girlfriend. If Max had done the slightest bit of research, he'd have realised that this girl had too much in common with him. WAY too much. She stormed out of the house shortly after she hung up, muttering a hurried apology and claiming she was having a huge fight with her better half.

Far from being discouraged after the "Lesbian Fiasco", as they came to know it, his best friend went to the trouble of setting up another date. He called Donald, asked him to meet him up for coffee, and didn't bother to show up. Instead, there was a girl there waiting for him. Unbeknownst to Max, however, it was the same girl Donald had fired not three weeks ago. Needless to say, she was less than thrilled to see him. She brutally  savaged any attempts he made at a civil conversation;
"I love meat, but I'm a chicken kinda guy, myself. What about you?" He asked, hoping she'd be mature about this.
"Of course you're a chicken guy; You're a chicken, and you're a guy. Chicken Guy. Do you have any super powers, Chicken Guy? Apart from firing people?" So much for maturity.
"Yeah, I can make a wicked omlette!" Said Donald, hoping she'd take the hint and stop being so touchy.
"It figures, Chicken Guy must have amazing omlette powers. Do eggs obey your every command? Super Heros of the world, beware.. Chicken Guy is here. He'll soft-boil your eggs to oblivion. You stand no chance. MUAHAHAHAHAHA". She actually MUAHAHAHA'ed in public. Nice. He slowly put down his fork, grabbed his coat, left enough money to pay for both their meals and left. He didn't think she noticed.

The following month of his life was jam-packed with terrible blind dates; a blonde who asked him if his Surname was "Duck" and found it so hilarious that she doubled over laughing and choked on her steak (he had to perform the Hiemlich maneuver on her while she was laughing at his name); a Ukranian girl who was pretty as hell but only knew two words of English: "Yes" and "Bathroom" (how Max had set up that date with her, he'd never know); a feminist who thought it was insulting that he tried to pull her chair for her and left before they'd even ordered their food; a Texan girl who seemed nice enough but had a very heavy southern accent and he eventually burst out laughing and she left, feeling hurt (he felt terrible about that); a woman in her late thirties who started asking him how many children he wanted to have and whether or not he was afraid of commitment before they'd ordered the main course; a dude (Max meant that as a joke); a British girl who he found very hot but who found him "quite immature" because he told her he didn't like reading the papers and "rather lacking in taste" because he didn't like tea; and a girl in her twenties who showed up with her mother (because she kept no secrets from her mother).

A couple of months passed without incident and he thought that was the end of that, until one day, Max called and arranged for an outing. He should have seen it coming when he told him the name of the place they were supposed to be going to.. One did not simply ask out his friend on a bro date at a fancy restaurant.. But he'd thought he wouldn't stoop that low.
Of course, he was wrong.

He braced himself, took a deep breath, and looked up.

To his great surprise, she was breath-taking. She turned out to be a beautiful, elegant, age-appropriate, straight, single female who spoke English and had a lot in common with him. They spent hours talking and they couldn't get enough of each other. He really did think this could be the start of something big.

It doesn't matter how many times you fail, or how many wrong people you meet.. As long as you have the right attitude and a best friend like Max, you'll eventually get there. Don't give up. No matter how many terrible relationships you go through or how many appalling people you're set up with, remember..

It only takes one time to meet the right person.

Of Rice and men

"We're gathered here today to pay our respects to Mr. Marvin Burton"

Marvin.. he'd always hated his name. It was ancient.. a name you'd expect a grandfather to be called, not a 23 year-old. His classmates had always made fun of him at school, giving him annoying nicknames like "The 100-year-old boy who lived" and asking him what it felt like to fight in the Civil War.. If it really did turn brother against brother like they said in the movies. He hated these jokes and he hated his name even more.. But at least he wouldn't have to live with it now.. It would just be inscribed on a gravestone and he would lie there, forever forgotten.

In the movies, when some happy go-lucky angel or genie came up and asked a character if they wanted to see how the world would be without them, they always omitted this part. Contrary to popular belief, although we all like to think that tears will be shed and that our close friends' lives would be turned upside down in the aftermath of the soul-wrecking agony of our deaths, it's really not something one should see. Seeing your loved ones in this much pain is something only the most sadistic of people can appreciate. He wished he a had a remote control with a "mute" button, to tune out the sound of misery in the hall. Suddenly, as if someone had yanked the speaker's plug out of the socket, the world was mute. Strange..

He looked around, searching for that one face.. but she was nowhere to be found. He was glad she didn't show up.. She'd hurt him and he never wanted to see her face again, alive or dead. At least she had the common decency to not waltz in to his funeral and "pay her respects".. Ah, never mind. There she is. Of course she came.. When there's tragedy involved, drama queens always liked to associate themselves with whoever died, got terminally ill, lost family members or had to leave the country for good. It didn't matter if they were close or not, they'd just put on a sad face and some crocodile tears and thrive off of the mourners' attention. He'd seen it happen with some of his close friends, and he couldn't stomach it;  people's attention was better directed at the deceased, not at some faker who turned up to pretend to be a damsel in distress, ultimately aiming to soak up some soothing words, put on a brave face, and get some guys' phone numbers. Of course they'd give her their phone numbers. Look at her.. She was as majestic as a tigress and twice as dangerous. Her face was strikingly white in stark contrast to her black clothes. She didn't wear any make up; her tears didn't leave smudges of eye-liner all over her face. It's not like she needed any make-up, though.. She was so pretty that he was sure if he were still alive, he'd have got a headache just looking at her.. kind of like the headache you got after consuming too much sugar.

He scanned the hall again, looking for familiar faces. There his family was, bundled together in the front decks of the hall. It wasn't right. He didn't want to see that. He quickly looked away, and immediately spotted his friends. They were also sitting in front, a respectful distance away from his family. So many had turned up.. He couldn't help but feel slightly better. He was a narcissist in life and a narcissist in death. He didn't deserve to have had all these people in his life. He'd only ever loved himself and he'd never been any real help to anyone. If only he could go back and change things..

He wasn't exactly sure why he was lingering here. He'd thought he should be up there now, getting judged for his sins.. He hadn't expected this transit. It was both a blessing and a curse, really.. He'd wanted to see their faces, but not like this. Never like this.

He forced himself to watch his family again.. It would be the last time for him to see them in a very long time. Looking at his parents, he couldn't help but feel remorse. He shouldn't be here. He should be alive, caring for them in their old age, not dead before they were even retired. His mother didn't seem awake.. and she didn't seem asleep either. She simply sat there, embedded in a sea of sad faces, existing to serve no purpose. He didn't want them to remember him like this.. He'd have loved for them to reminisce about all the fun times they'd had together, not tear themselves apart over a death they had no hand in.

His father was hugging his mother, trying to soothe her, but he looked like he needed a hug himself. Judging by his facial expression, he was still in denial. Marvin really didn't want to be there when he snapped out of it. His sister was obviously there too, looking sick and much older than her 20 years.  It was sick and wrong that he was watching this, he shouldn't remember them that way either.
 He was a terrible son. He was short-tempered and irritable, always snapping hurtful remarks and apologising for them later. A glass-half-full kind of guy would have focused on the apologising, but he was forever a pessimist. All he could see now was all the times he'd given his parents hell over sending him out to run an errand; how he'd always thrown childish tantrums over trivial things like food (He hated rice and his mother insisted on cooking it. It seemed so silly he could have laughed); how he was never there for his family when they needed him because he wanted to be there for his friends, which now that he came to think about, was a really stupid thing to do. He'd cared about them in his own selfish way, rarely bothering to go out of his way to help out, rarely caring enough to just spend some quality time at home with them without having any requests or demands. It had got to the point where his dad automatically knew he wanted money when he tried to socialize with him. He was rarely even there to talk to his sister and help her through tight spots.. He was a terrible excuse for family. He didn't care enough to offer his help. Granted, he was always too lazy to help himself, let alone others, but he still wasn't a son or a brother anyone would hope for.

He tore his eyes away from his family and looked at his friends. They didn't seem much better off. They weren't tearful because they had to keep brave faces, of course, but it seemed like most of them would lose many nights' sleep over this. Everyone was there, even people he didn't like. He couldn't help but feel touched. He'd been a very bad friend to them - God, was he ever any good to anyone? Yeah. He was good to her. But she didn't hesitate to tear his life apart and show up to his funeral to ruin his death for him as well. At least his friends ruined her advances.. It would have been a real slap to the face to see her getting along with them. He was always too busy for his friends for one reason or another, but he liked to think he pulled through when they actually needed him. Or did he? He wasn't sure. All he felt was mind-numbing regret.. that he couldn't go back in time and show these people how much their support meant for him and that he was very sorry for having been such a major pain in the groin for most of them. It was ironic that all the people he considered to be his first priority back-stabbed him in cold blood, while everyone he took for granted always wanted what was best for him.

He remembered that one time when he'd just ended things with his ex-girlfriend and his friends spent a whole week taking it in turns to take him out and keep him safe from his self-deprecating thoughts. He remembered that time when his grandmother passed away and they all showed up at the funeral (Deja-vu) and kept cracking lame jokes to make him laugh. Ironically it worked and he was soon laughing like an idiot and everyone was looking at him like he'd raped a kitten or something. He wondered how he'd feel if people started laughing at his funeral and quickly made a mental note to apologise to grandma when he saw her up there.

His whole life was summed up in this room. This room contained everyone he ever cared about or shared a laugh with.. It seemed so pathetic it was almost obscene.. that this would be his legacy. He would just be someone's past, a picture in a frame hung upon someone's bed somewhere. A forgotten memory that might or might not bring a smile to someone's face. One of the thousands of faces one meets in their lifetime.. A face they might remember with a smile or a frown, a face they might come to associate with joy or misery. He suddenly felt very insignificant. This must be what another brick in the wall feels like.. albeit the broken, self-hating, selfish brick that he was in life. The worst part about this whole thing was that he knew what he was. He didn't have the luxury of pretending he was a good person. No one would swoop in and talk him out of it. No well-meaning genie would grant him a second chance to go back and fix everything.. It wasn't a Disney movie. He was dead. He had negatively impacted everyone in his life. There was no going back. Once the grief washed away, they'd all remember him for what he really was.

Suddenly he couldn't take it any more. He wanted to leave this place, to never come back, to get the hell away and go be damned in some deep, dark hole where he couldn't hurt other people or ruin their lives. He just hoped that when his ex-girlfriend died, she'd be sent to a different deep dark hole so he wouldn't have to spend eternity with her. That would be torture.. but maybe he deserved it.

He just wanted to be gone.

And so, suddenly, he was no longer there.

His time was up.

A Hard Life

He wasn't one of those pampered babies who were born with silver spoons in their mouths. On the contrary, he was born to an average -truth be told, below average- family in a low-class district in old Cairo. His mother got married to his father when she was fifteen, owing to the fact that her own parents had no longer been able to support her and had to marry her off to the first man who came along. Moreover, his father was also married to another woman.

Born as the eleventh child for his father and the fourth child for his mother (not counting stillbirths and siblings who died in their first two years), with three more yet unborn siblings still to come, he wasn't exactly a dream come true for his parents. Toys? He didn't have any toys. It was a very unstable time in Egyptian history, and all the children of that generation didn't generally own toys due to the fragile economic state of the country under the socialist rule of Gamal Abdel Nasser. In addition, he was born in the aftermath of the 1956 tripartite aggression which destroyed the country's economy even more. With that in mind, it's easy to imagine what it was like for a little boy in such a big family.

His idea of fun was having wrestling matches with his brothers and playing football out in the alley he lived in. His mother was pregnant more often than not, and had to care for three other children simultaneously. She was never able to pay attention to him or submit to his every whim like mothers do nowadays. She had to cook three giant meals every day, tend to his baby brothers and sisters, nurse the sick to health and wash all their clothes manually on an ancient washboard. It was now some time in the late 1960's, after the 1967 war with Israel which cost Egypt the Sinai. With every available resource at his disposal directed towards funding offensives against Israel, President Gamal Abdelnasser shattered an already weak economy and most of that generation's house wives had to make do with what they had. They had to learn to sew their own clothes, make their own soap and when possible, produce their own food..Which is why she kept some chickens and rabbits on the roof; so she could breed them, slaughter them and feed them to her children. It was also a nice source of fresh eggs every 21 days. She was almost uneducated, barely able to read and maybe write. She didn't have time to help him with his homework or to even walk him home from school. He had to learn to fend for himself at a very young age.

His father had to support two wives and more children than he could remember. He owned a wafer biscuit factory, but it was a very small factory and he had a very large family. He wasn't a rich man. To support that many people, he was never home. He was always working. He didn't have time for family, and he sure as hell didn't have time to tend to a nine-year old boy and play catch or football with him. He got home very late, and then he either occasionally went to his other wife's house, or he came back home expecting dinner on the table and a bucket-full of salt-water for him to soak his tired feet in. When he went to bed, his wife stood guard  on the door to beat up any of the children who dared make loud noises or try to enter his room. If he woke up, he'd wake up in a temper and he'd beat them up or have intense fights with his wife, so she tried to avoid that by instilling in the children a crippling fear of their father, which he encouraged because he believed it made him more intimidating, and that his children would be much better raised if they had a healthy fear of their father. He didn't have any time to urge his children to study or focus on their future because he was too busy trying to keep food on the table. He wasn't a bad father..  he was just the product of a very different time, when all children were raised that way.

Having such a hard childhood helped shape him. He learned to fight for what he wanted. When your father has thirteen children other than you and sometimes has trouble remembering your name, you made sure to stand out and to let him know that you're there, and that you're worth his attention and his respect.

Along came middle school, and it brought no changes to the family, apart from the final addition to their already large family, his youngest brother. His eldest brother was getting through high school nicely, with very high grades, and so his parents gave him even less attention than usual because they were so focused on the newborn baby and their eldest son who looked like he had a bright future ahead of him. Our poor, unappreciated protagonist went to a mediocre middle school, met mediocre/low-class friends, and led an over-all mediocre life at the time. It did, however, teach him that he had to make it square. He was always getting reminded that he had to fight for what he wanted.. that there was no easy way to get anywhere. He put in his best effort at school, but was awarded no recognition from his over-worked parents.

High-school marked the introduction of hard work into his life. His father took him aside when he turned fourteen and he explained that he would no longer give him his allowance. He would now have to work in his father's factory and earn it. It was the early 70's, and Egypt was again saving for the 1973 Yom Kippur war, and the economy was as weak as ever. That said, his dad couldn't afford to pay for any extra workers for his factory and had to push his sons to work for their allowance. It was a very tough job.. Factories at the time mostly relied on manual labour, as opposed to the automatic machinery that we are used to today. That meant that he had to spend hours in front of a raging fire, lifting heavy copper and iron machinery to earn the few shillings he could later use to buy his own food. Other teenagers might have bought junk food (or whatever "junk food" they had in the 70's, anyway), but he always bought vegetables and milk because he wanted to be healthy. His siblings always made fun of him for that.

 High-school also introduced him to girls and cigarettes. He went through that phase everyone goes through, with bad influences and worse friends. What made it even worse was that his parents were again too busy to pay attention to his life. As long as he was home before his curfew, they had no reason to be suspicious, and as long as his stashed cigarettes which he sneakily smoked in the bathroom were paid for by his own earned money, they had no way of knowing anything. Which was a blessing and a curse, really, because if they knew, his father would probably beat him bloody and if they didn't, he could have wasted away his life. But thankfully, God had better plans for him and he soon grew out of that phase. But not before it cost him his dream of getting high scores on his exams that would allow him to get into the faculty of engineering, like his eldest brother. Again, he was outshone by his brother and unnoticed by his parents.

Alas, he got accepted in the faculty of commerce, Ain Shams university. He hated his studies. He wasn't remotely interested in economics or accounting. His very successful eldest brother had got a fellowship abroad in Glasgow after he graduated from the faculty of engineering.. He was making his dreams come true. He didn't hate his brother. On the contrary, his brother was his role-model. He was always supporting him, helping him, giving him the fatherly advice his own father wasn't there to give him, and urging him to forge a name for himself. So when his brother finally went to Glasgow, he was finally forced to make a stand. He decided that he would succeed, no matter what. So what if he didn't like his faculty? That didn't mean he wasn't going to succeed in spite of everyone. He was going to be the best at what he did. He was going to be somebody.

Before he knew it, he graduated and was unemployed. Throughout college, he still worked at his father's factory to earn his living and so when he graduated, he found himself dedicated full time to the back-breaking labour of the factory. His father had passed away a few years ago, and the pain of losing him was only outweighed by his iron-clad determination.. he was determined to succeed, and he knew he had to have an edge. To that end, he started taking  English language and computer classes, which was entirely unheard-of at the time; Accounting records were mostly on paper due to the fact that computers hadn't been invented yet. However, he went ahead with the two courses anyway, to improve his chances on the job market. Fate had him meet an Italian guy in the English course who worked for an Italian oil company, called ENI. He offered to get him a job, and asked him to go to the company in two days' time for an interview at 12 o'clock.

On the day of the interview, he to get some work done at the factory. It was Ramadan, he was fasting, and he had an interview at 12 o'clock. He toyed with the idea of not fasting that day, seeing as he had to be on his top form in the interview and that would be very hard after spending three long hours in a very hot vault in the factory, working the machines in front of an intense gasoline fire. However, he dismissed the notion and he decided to fast anyway, believing that God would reward him for his effort.

On his way to the interview, he started praying with all his heart. He prayed for this to be his big break. He prayed to get accepted to work for ENI, to get the hell out of that god-damned alley, to be able to support himself. Then his young mind started fantasizing.. he daydreamed about meeting a nice girl there, preferably  blonde (yes, that's what he daydreamed about).. that he could maybe start a family with her and transition away from his very hard life. He hoped and he prayed, knowing in his heart that God wouldn't let all his hard work throughout the years go to waste, and believing that his hard work and his wits can get him anywhere in life.

After working as a cashier at a Movenpick for three months, he got a call back from ENI. On his first day at work, he vowed to make a name for himself in this company. He vowed to work hard and even sleep at the office sometimes if he needed to get some work done. He vowed that he wouldn't let his future children suffer through what he did.

Thirty years of hard work later, this man was the first-ever Egyptian finance manager for ENI, with his company Audi parked in the garage and his son and daughter in a much higher social position than he was at their age. Ironically, he was also married to a beautiful blonde woman that he'd met all these years ago when he first started working for the company. His son was also epically handsome, very smart, amazingly talented, muscled, classy, hilariously funny, sharp as a knife, single (wink) and sitting on my chair writing this blog post.

He is my father, Magdy Rizk Bondok.. and I couldn't ask for a more inspiring role model. He has taught me to fight for what I want, to not settle for anything less than perfection.. to carve out a name for myself through hard work and perseverance. Well, he's trying to teach me.. It's a work in progress, really.

I'm proud of you, dad. Enjoy your victory.. You've earned it.

Old Wounds

I should probably change the name of this blog to "Diaries of a depressed fifteen-year-old girl" since all the posts I make nowadays are depressing. Hopefully I'll get back to writing the good old funny posts soon, but if not, indulge your inner depressed teenage girl.

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And that was when it hit him.. His old wounds hadn't healed and probably never would.

Let's back up a little bit and put this in context, shall we?

It was a good day. He was happy. It was one of those few occasions when he didn't feel like wallowing in self-pity or spending quality time with his laptop at home. He didn't even know why he was depressed, but he knew that he just was.. He always was. That wasn't going to stop him today, though, because he decided to go out and have fun with his friends.

He went out with a friend for a bite to eat, and they spent some good time reminiscing and talking about the good old days.. His friend was the sort of friend who earns the right to be in one's life, and is a valuable addition to it. He was one of those friends who are more like family than they are friends. His company was a welcome change from the usual depressing company of his own thoughts in the confines of his distressed brain.

Before he knew it, he was having fun and laughing and enjoying himself. The company of friends who know you more than you know yourself does that to people sometimes. Eventually, some common friends came over to hang out with them. It was a nice, typical, boring day with no complications and no reasons for his overworked brain to over-analyse anything or to put in more than the 5% of his brain power necessary to crack the odd joke or pretend to listen to someone while they drivelled on and on.

Nice little stress-free outing with friends, what could go wrong?

He noticed a new face in the group that he hadn't seen before. She was pretty. Not the usual sort of angular, bony pretty that has become so popular through media. No, the comfortable, full face that makes you feel more at home than any cat-faced supermodel. She had full lips and wavy brown hair that descended in ringlets to her shoulders. Her eyes twinkled in the dim lighting of the room, sometimes deep hazel, sometimes bright green, sometimes even yellow. Shy eyes. Mysterious eyes. Interesting eyes. She was instantly sexy to him. Her face also seemed to remind him of someone, but he couldn't quite figure out who.

She seemed like an interesting person, so he started talking to her. She was nice, one of those people that remind you of buttercup cupcakes with a rainbow frosting and puppies and unicorns. The sort of person who wouldn't even hurt one of those thrice-damned mosquitos that pick the eve of an important exam or presentation to fly right into your ears and choose annoying places such as joints to bite you in. She was a very attentive audience; she laughed at his jokes, she groaned sympathetically or smiled in all the right places, and was even doing that girly thing where she twirls her hair around playfully which he found strangely attractive.

He was hooked. He flashed back to his teens, when the mere sight of a crush would make him blush and forget his alphabet, albeit his sense of humour. It was weird, he hadn't felt like that in years. What he thought was lost to him surfaced again, and he couldn't tell why or how. Had he seen her before? He was pretty sure it was the first time he'd seen her. Why was she bringing this out in him? It made no sense. He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted with her, but he knew he wanted something. He hadn't even bothered to try to get close to any girl for a very long time, but he thought he'd give it a shot.

Time flew quickly, and he found himself getting more and more comfortable staring into the unfathomable depths of her eyes. They spoke volumes; of love lost and lessons learned. Of lean times and prosperous times. Of good experiences and bad. How she held his eye contact also told him that she wasn't one to trifle with; it was very hard to meet his gaze because his cold blue eyes usually discomforted people.. but not her. It also spoke of confidence. It's amazing how much a person's eyes can tell you about them without even meaning to.
Why were her eyes so captivating? Why were alarm bells going off in his head? The odd shine in her eyes reminded him of someone, warned him to stay away, but it was too late for that.. he was in too deep now. Despite the warnings his brain kept throwing at him, he was still in that cosy, fluffy, emotional teenage bubble she'd unkowingly put him in. He didn't stand a chance.

After what seemed like a very short time, he had to go to the bathroom. He excused himself, went to the bathroom and made a phone call on his way back.

From a long distance away, he could see her flirting with a guy. This was a girl he'd only just met, so it shouldn't really bother him that she was talking to another guy. It's not like he'd introduced her to his parents and settled for a June wedding, right?

So why did it feel so much like a stab to the heart?

Why the overreaction? She was perfectly entitled to speak to anyone she wanted. Why did he feel so betrayed? What was it about her? She was laughing. Her laugh was familiar. Everything about her was familiar.WHERE HAD HE SEEN HER BEFORE?

Then her head shifted, and the light hit her eyes and hair at a different angle. And he knew. Why had it taken him so long to realize the resemblance between her and his first girlfriend? They even had the same name. the fact that he didn't see the similarities the moment he laid eyes on the girl was a testament to his hatred of his ex-girlfriend and his determination to suppress any memories of her..

His ex-girlfriend.

His first girlfriend who cheated on him. His first girlfriend who broke his heart so long ago. His first girlfriend who he thought he'd shut out of his life, the same girlfriend who made him cynical about the concept of love. The same girlfriend who made him think he'd never find love again.

He suddenly wanted to hug and choke her.

He had to get the hell out of there. The sooner the better.

He turned around, went back outside, and started pacing in circles. He tried to close the door that the girl had unintentionally blown off its hinges. He tried to use logic, to convince himself that he was over her, to assure himself that this was just a minor lapse and that he'd be back to being the cold, calculating realist he had taught himself to be.. But it was no use.

And that was when it hit him.. His old wounds hadn't healed and probably never would.

He didn't know how he felt about this girl, but he sure as hell wasn't over his ex-girlfriend. It didn't change anything; he still wasn't going to call her, he was never going to forgive her and would probably always love her and hate her intensely and simultaneously. But now he had to admit it to himself, and admit that he had an open wound that three years of bandaging hadn't helped to heal. He had to admit that he would never love again, and if he did, he wouldn't love her like he loved his first girlfriend. He had to admit to himself that the reason why he was always depressed was that he couldn't find anyone who could fill the hole his first love had left, or live up to his insane expectations which were a direct result of his building up his first girlfriend to an undeserved, almost angel-like status.

He had to admit to himself that his self-loathing, his self-pity, his need to sabotage himself and nearly everything else that was wrong with him could be traced back to this evil witch who scarred him for life.

She didn't break something IN him..
She broke HIM.

And that was the sad truth of it all.