Dear MAN
Look at me; look again; look closer;
Do you even see me?
Listen to me; listen more; listen deeper;
Do you even hear me?
A woman aching for her man;
A hunter aching to be a prey;
Why are you so lifeless?
Why are you so passionless?
I am not your sister.
Why are you so tame?
I am not your friend.
Why are you so lame?
I am not your mother.
Yet I am to blame.
I hate you!
I have watched my self grow into the man that I dread that most; I have become the jerk I always complained of; I am now blaming you for every time I hit you, for every offence I aimed your way, for every attack I launched on you, for every hurtful word I darted at you ... I was a sweet girl ... now I am an abusive woman! Look what you have made me do? Look what you have made me say? Why did you make me hurt you? You make me feel invisible and it hurts. You make me feel genderless and it hurts even more. You make me want to hurt you. I resent you!
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Thursday, October 16, 2008
Dear Man - I love you
Dear man
I am just a woman in love and I really do not know why. For all the reasons I mentioned above do not do you any justice. I just love you ... and come what may.
I am taking off my masks;
Putting down my guns
I am unarmed.
I am just a girl.
Our differences I want to set aside.
Our similarities let's unite.
Our past I shall erase
With the present I shall replace.
I need to love you.
Why? Find out here
I am just a woman in love and I really do not know why. For all the reasons I mentioned above do not do you any justice. I just love you ... and come what may.
I am taking off my masks;
Putting down my guns
I am unarmed.
I am just a girl.
Our differences I want to set aside.
Our similarities let's unite.
Our past I shall erase
With the present I shall replace.
I need to love you.
Why? Find out here
بحب فيك ايه؟ - حلقة عن فارس الاحلام و فتاة الاحلام
برنامج ... بحب فيك إيه ؟
علي راديو حريتنا دوت نت
مع ياسمين ياسين
و مروة رخا ... مستشارة العلاقات العاطفية والإجتماعية
كلنا بنحب.. طيب بنحب ليه ؟ يعنى إيه بحبه عشان طيب؟
يعنى إيه بحبها عشان جميلة؟..
برنامج بحب فيك إيه هنتكلم فيه عن الكل الصفات اللي كل
واحد بيحبها في شريك حياته و اللي بيتمنى يلاقيها فيه..
استنوا ياسمين ياسين كل يوم أحد و أربعاء من الساعة 6
مساء ولمدة ساعة على الهواء مباشرة في لقاء دائم مع
مستشارة العلاقات العاطفية والاجتماعية مروة رخا..
مش بس كد، مستنيين مشاركتكم معانا فى موضوع الحلقات
أو أي استفسارات في المشاكل العاطفية والاجتماعية اللى
بتواجهكم.. مع مروة رخا و ياسمين ياسين
-------------------------------------------------------------------
سيبوا تعليقاتكوا على صفحة البرنامج
http://www.horytna.net/Articles/Details.aspx?TID=4&ZID=263&AID=8394
أو كلمونا على تليفون
27950706
-----------------------------------------------------------
طريقة الاستماع للاذاعة :
ادخل على موقع راديو حريتنا
http://horytna.net/home.aspx
هتلاقى بانر على الشمال مكتوب عليه :
listen to radio
ياللا دوس عليه و اسمعنا
أو حمل شريط أدوات راديو حريتنا من هنا
http://radiohorytna.ourtoolbar.com/
استمع الان
علي راديو حريتنا دوت نت
مع ياسمين ياسين
و مروة رخا ... مستشارة العلاقات العاطفية والإجتماعية
كلنا بنحب.. طيب بنحب ليه ؟ يعنى إيه بحبه عشان طيب؟
يعنى إيه بحبها عشان جميلة؟..
برنامج بحب فيك إيه هنتكلم فيه عن الكل الصفات اللي كل
واحد بيحبها في شريك حياته و اللي بيتمنى يلاقيها فيه..
استنوا ياسمين ياسين كل يوم أحد و أربعاء من الساعة 6
مساء ولمدة ساعة على الهواء مباشرة في لقاء دائم مع
مستشارة العلاقات العاطفية والاجتماعية مروة رخا..
مش بس كد، مستنيين مشاركتكم معانا فى موضوع الحلقات
أو أي استفسارات في المشاكل العاطفية والاجتماعية اللى
بتواجهكم.. مع مروة رخا و ياسمين ياسين
-------------------------------------------------------------------
سيبوا تعليقاتكوا على صفحة البرنامج
http://www.horytna.net/Articles/Details.aspx?TID=4&ZID=263&AID=8394
أو كلمونا على تليفون
27950706
-----------------------------------------------------------
طريقة الاستماع للاذاعة :
ادخل على موقع راديو حريتنا
http://horytna.net/home.aspx
هتلاقى بانر على الشمال مكتوب عليه :
listen to radio
ياللا دوس عليه و اسمعنا
أو حمل شريط أدوات راديو حريتنا من هنا
http://radiohorytna.ourtoolbar.com/
استمع الان
Monday, October 13, 2008
عزيزى الرجل الشرقى ... أنا اُفضل أن أكون عشيقتك مش مراتك! - كلنا ليلى
ليه؟؟
أقول لك ليه ومش عايزة قلة أدب وطولة لسان! على رأى المثل: "ايش خد الريح من البلاط؟"، انت كـزوج عامل زى البلاط، وكله بالأدلة والبراهين بمقارنة بسيطة بين "برستــيــج" مراتك ووضع عشيقتك هـ تلاقى الآتى
وشك مقلوب وبوزك شبرين قدام الست بتاعتك كعلامة من علامات الرجولة والفحولة والسيطرة. أما بقى مع عشيقتك كله ضحك وهزار وكركعة للصبح لأنك ابن نكته وقعدتك ما يتشبعش منها
لو عندك مشكلة فى الشغل عيب تحكيها لمراتك علشان انت أسد وعيب صورتك تتهز قدامها. إنما عشيقتك هى العتبة اللى بـ ترمى عليها همومك وتفضفض معاها من غير ما تنقح عليك كرامتك
مراتك جاهلة ومش بـ تفهم لا فى الشغل ولا فى السياسة ولا فى البطيخ. لكن عشيقتك لازم تسمع آرائها باهتمام أحسن تحس إنك بـ تعرفها للجنس وبس
الهم والغم من نصيب أم العيال. والورد والهدايا والفسح والدلع والشخلعة من نصيب ست الحسن والجمال
الشخط والنطر من نصيب حرمكم المصون. والصوت الناعم والرقة والخفة لأمورتنا الحلوة
بيت الزوجية ريحته طبيخ مسبك حسب أوامر سيادتك. البيت التانى بقى ريحته مسك وعنبر برضه حسب أوامرك يا سى السيد
مراتك ولا تخرج ولا تنبسط ولا تشم هوا وإلا تبقى خرجت عن طوعك. أما عشيقتك فغصب عنك لازم تثق فيها وتسيب لها الحبل على الغارب
مراتك طالق لو لبست مايوه على البحر ونزلت الميه معاك ومع العيال. مشمشة قمر فى البيكينى وانت طبعا راجل متحضر وسافرت بلاد بره وفاهم الموضة
مراتك تسأل عن ماضيها بالتفاصيل لأنها اسم النبى حارسها هـ تشيل اسمك. أما أول جملة لتظبيط العشيقة بـ تقول فيها: احنا أولاد النهارده، وانت ليك عندها من يوم ما عرفتها
مراتك تحرم عليك لو صوتها على عليك فى لحظة فاض بيها وتجيب أبوها يربيها. عشيقتك برضه لحم ودم ولازم تستحملها وتاخدها فى حضنك لو اتعصبت ورميتك بطوبة
غيرة مراتك عليك شغل ستات وفضا وقلة عقل ودين. إنما غيرة عشيقتك على قلبك زى العسل وإلا تبقى مش بتحبك يا "بيبى"
السهرة مع المدام قدام التليفزيون ... والسهرة مع الشحرورة كلها رقص ومغنى وحكايات ولا ألف ليلة وليلة
مراتك تكون فى البيت الساعة 10 بالكتير. وعشيقتك تروح وتيجى وقت ما هىّ عايزة
الفانلة والبيجامة الكاستور لأم العيال. والحرير والبرفان المستورد للبرنسيسة
طلبات مراتك للبيت تبذير وقصر نظر وسفه حريم. وطلبات عشيقتك زى العسل على قلبك ... هو انت فديك الساعة لما نونو تطلب منك حاجة؟
مراتك تندبح لو لها صديق مذكر، لكن عشيقتك طبعا "كوول" ولها أصدقاء كتير وانت "سبور" وفاهم الكلام ده
الست مراتك تبقى فاجرة لو شربت سيجارة ولا ضحكت بصوت عالى. إنما الست التانية بقى بـ تبقى "سيكسى" موت وهى بـ تدخن وبـ تسكر وبـ ترقص
مراتك لو كلمتك فى الشغل تبقى خنقة ومش فاهمة إنك شايل المكتب على دماغك. وعشيقتك يوم لما تكلمك ده يبقى يوم المنى لأنك طبعا وحشتها
لو جاملت مراتك وجبرت خاطرها بكلمة حلوة تخاف لا تتمرع عليك. عشيقتك بقى لو غلطت فيها بكلمة هـ تعتذر بكام ورقة بـ 100 وهـ تذرف الدمع لغاية ما ترضى عنك
مع مراتك بـ تشيخ وتعجّز ألف قرن. مع عشيقتك "انت روح الشباب طعم الشباب"
فى بيتك انت عامل زى حكومة أحمد نظيف: "شادد الحزام ومقدم شهادة فقر". فى بيت مشمشة انت عامل زى حملة أوباما للرئاسة: "وعود وورود ومن جنيه لميت ألف!"
مراتك لازم تلبى نداءك فى فراش الزوجية وإلا الملايكة هـ تلعنها للصبح. أما عشيقتك فكله بالخناق إلا المزاج بالاتفاق ... وإلا هـ تطفش من وشك
مراتك أم العيال عيب تطلب منك حاجة كده ولا كده علشان تنبسط لحظة "اللى بالى بالك"، وإلا بقيت قليلة الأدب ولازم ترجع بيت أبوها. لكن قطتنا الجميلة طلباتها أوامر وأحلامها متعتك وكله تحت بند الدلع
سرير المدام كله شوك وانت زى ما تكون فى مهمة رسمية. السرير التانى بقى بـ يخلى الزمن يقف والفن والعبقرية كلها بـ تبان - لعل المعنى يكون مفهوم
أقول لك ليه ومش عايزة قلة أدب وطولة لسان! على رأى المثل: "ايش خد الريح من البلاط؟"، انت كـزوج عامل زى البلاط، وكله بالأدلة والبراهين بمقارنة بسيطة بين "برستــيــج" مراتك ووضع عشيقتك هـ تلاقى الآتى
وشك مقلوب وبوزك شبرين قدام الست بتاعتك كعلامة من علامات الرجولة والفحولة والسيطرة. أما بقى مع عشيقتك كله ضحك وهزار وكركعة للصبح لأنك ابن نكته وقعدتك ما يتشبعش منها
لو عندك مشكلة فى الشغل عيب تحكيها لمراتك علشان انت أسد وعيب صورتك تتهز قدامها. إنما عشيقتك هى العتبة اللى بـ ترمى عليها همومك وتفضفض معاها من غير ما تنقح عليك كرامتك
مراتك جاهلة ومش بـ تفهم لا فى الشغل ولا فى السياسة ولا فى البطيخ. لكن عشيقتك لازم تسمع آرائها باهتمام أحسن تحس إنك بـ تعرفها للجنس وبس
الهم والغم من نصيب أم العيال. والورد والهدايا والفسح والدلع والشخلعة من نصيب ست الحسن والجمال
الشخط والنطر من نصيب حرمكم المصون. والصوت الناعم والرقة والخفة لأمورتنا الحلوة
بيت الزوجية ريحته طبيخ مسبك حسب أوامر سيادتك. البيت التانى بقى ريحته مسك وعنبر برضه حسب أوامرك يا سى السيد
مراتك ولا تخرج ولا تنبسط ولا تشم هوا وإلا تبقى خرجت عن طوعك. أما عشيقتك فغصب عنك لازم تثق فيها وتسيب لها الحبل على الغارب
مراتك طالق لو لبست مايوه على البحر ونزلت الميه معاك ومع العيال. مشمشة قمر فى البيكينى وانت طبعا راجل متحضر وسافرت بلاد بره وفاهم الموضة
مراتك تسأل عن ماضيها بالتفاصيل لأنها اسم النبى حارسها هـ تشيل اسمك. أما أول جملة لتظبيط العشيقة بـ تقول فيها: احنا أولاد النهارده، وانت ليك عندها من يوم ما عرفتها
مراتك تحرم عليك لو صوتها على عليك فى لحظة فاض بيها وتجيب أبوها يربيها. عشيقتك برضه لحم ودم ولازم تستحملها وتاخدها فى حضنك لو اتعصبت ورميتك بطوبة
غيرة مراتك عليك شغل ستات وفضا وقلة عقل ودين. إنما غيرة عشيقتك على قلبك زى العسل وإلا تبقى مش بتحبك يا "بيبى"
السهرة مع المدام قدام التليفزيون ... والسهرة مع الشحرورة كلها رقص ومغنى وحكايات ولا ألف ليلة وليلة
مراتك تكون فى البيت الساعة 10 بالكتير. وعشيقتك تروح وتيجى وقت ما هىّ عايزة
الفانلة والبيجامة الكاستور لأم العيال. والحرير والبرفان المستورد للبرنسيسة
طلبات مراتك للبيت تبذير وقصر نظر وسفه حريم. وطلبات عشيقتك زى العسل على قلبك ... هو انت فديك الساعة لما نونو تطلب منك حاجة؟
مراتك تندبح لو لها صديق مذكر، لكن عشيقتك طبعا "كوول" ولها أصدقاء كتير وانت "سبور" وفاهم الكلام ده
الست مراتك تبقى فاجرة لو شربت سيجارة ولا ضحكت بصوت عالى. إنما الست التانية بقى بـ تبقى "سيكسى" موت وهى بـ تدخن وبـ تسكر وبـ ترقص
مراتك لو كلمتك فى الشغل تبقى خنقة ومش فاهمة إنك شايل المكتب على دماغك. وعشيقتك يوم لما تكلمك ده يبقى يوم المنى لأنك طبعا وحشتها
لو جاملت مراتك وجبرت خاطرها بكلمة حلوة تخاف لا تتمرع عليك. عشيقتك بقى لو غلطت فيها بكلمة هـ تعتذر بكام ورقة بـ 100 وهـ تذرف الدمع لغاية ما ترضى عنك
مع مراتك بـ تشيخ وتعجّز ألف قرن. مع عشيقتك "انت روح الشباب طعم الشباب"
فى بيتك انت عامل زى حكومة أحمد نظيف: "شادد الحزام ومقدم شهادة فقر". فى بيت مشمشة انت عامل زى حملة أوباما للرئاسة: "وعود وورود ومن جنيه لميت ألف!"
مراتك لازم تلبى نداءك فى فراش الزوجية وإلا الملايكة هـ تلعنها للصبح. أما عشيقتك فكله بالخناق إلا المزاج بالاتفاق ... وإلا هـ تطفش من وشك
مراتك أم العيال عيب تطلب منك حاجة كده ولا كده علشان تنبسط لحظة "اللى بالى بالك"، وإلا بقيت قليلة الأدب ولازم ترجع بيت أبوها. لكن قطتنا الجميلة طلباتها أوامر وأحلامها متعتك وكله تحت بند الدلع
سرير المدام كله شوك وانت زى ما تكون فى مهمة رسمية. السرير التانى بقى بـ يخلى الزمن يقف والفن والعبقرية كلها بـ تبان - لعل المعنى يكون مفهوم
واحدة اتدبست خلاص فـ تخبط دماغها فى الحيط. والتانية إيه اللى يغصبها على المر فلازم تراضيها وتحايلها
مراتك عصفور فى اليد واجب عليك تعذيبه وتنتيف ريشه حتى لا يطير. عشيقتك عصفور على الشجرة لو اتفزع أو زهق منك هـ يطير، فعليك بالبر والتغريد معه طوال الوقت
فاكرين سى السيد والست أمينة؟ فاكرين كانت غلبانة ومقهورة ومرعوبة من البيه بتاعها ازاى؟ طيب فاكرين هو كان قاسى وجامد ومتحجر معاها ازاى؟ افتكروا كمان بقى عشيقة سى السيد والدلع والهنا والحنية اللى كانت من نصيبها! افتكروا أى فيلم أو أى مسلسل كان فيه رجل شرقى "حمش ودكر" وافتكروا كان بـ يتصرف ازاى فى بيته وسط عياله: حاجة تغم وتقبض القلب. افتكروا بقى نفس الراجل ده مع عشيقته: سبحان مغيّر الأحوال
قولوا لى بقى الزوجة هنا كسبت إيه؟ اتبهدلت واتنكدت واتقيدت وكل احتياجاتها اتسفهّت. حد قال الشرعية؟ حد قال الشرف؟ شرعية إيه وشرف إيه لما الدنيا كلها بـ تمصمص شفايفها على حالها اللى يصعب على الكافر؟! حالها وقف واتكتب عليها الهم فى البيت والفضيحة بره البيت ... آه فضيحة لأن كل الناس عارفة إن جوزها مطلع عينها وبـ يخونها وسايبها فى البيت تربى العيال وهو بـ يشوف مزاجه. العار والشرف وجهان لعملة واحدة ... وفى المقارنة ما بين معاملة الرجل الشرقى لمراته ومعاملته لعشيقته أى حد هـ يفهم إن العار كان من نصيب الزوجة! وفى النهاية أحب اسألكم: تاكلوا زفت لوحدكم ولا تاكلوا تفاح مع الناس؟؟
فاكرين سى السيد والست أمينة؟ فاكرين كانت غلبانة ومقهورة ومرعوبة من البيه بتاعها ازاى؟ طيب فاكرين هو كان قاسى وجامد ومتحجر معاها ازاى؟ افتكروا كمان بقى عشيقة سى السيد والدلع والهنا والحنية اللى كانت من نصيبها! افتكروا أى فيلم أو أى مسلسل كان فيه رجل شرقى "حمش ودكر" وافتكروا كان بـ يتصرف ازاى فى بيته وسط عياله: حاجة تغم وتقبض القلب. افتكروا بقى نفس الراجل ده مع عشيقته: سبحان مغيّر الأحوال
قولوا لى بقى الزوجة هنا كسبت إيه؟ اتبهدلت واتنكدت واتقيدت وكل احتياجاتها اتسفهّت. حد قال الشرعية؟ حد قال الشرف؟ شرعية إيه وشرف إيه لما الدنيا كلها بـ تمصمص شفايفها على حالها اللى يصعب على الكافر؟! حالها وقف واتكتب عليها الهم فى البيت والفضيحة بره البيت ... آه فضيحة لأن كل الناس عارفة إن جوزها مطلع عينها وبـ يخونها وسايبها فى البيت تربى العيال وهو بـ يشوف مزاجه. العار والشرف وجهان لعملة واحدة ... وفى المقارنة ما بين معاملة الرجل الشرقى لمراته ومعاملته لعشيقته أى حد هـ يفهم إن العار كان من نصيب الزوجة! وفى النهاية أحب اسألكم: تاكلوا زفت لوحدكم ولا تاكلوا تفاح مع الناس؟؟
نشرت فى مجلة احنا فى اغسطس 2008
Women are like Ducks - from The Poison Tree - planted & grown in Egypt
Today, for no justified reason, I decided to come clean with a new confession; women are like ducks. When I look at women, instead of faces, I see ducks. There are several categories of ducks in my world; wild ducks, stuffed ducks, black ducks, and sitting ducks. There are pure, hybrid, and deformed breeds of ducks … Let me illustrate to give you a better idea.
Wild ducks are fearless spirits, risk-takers, and trend-setters. In the prairie, among beasts they live, yet highly respected and well positioned. No one dares pluck their feathers, tame, mold, frame, or domesticate them. Those creatures are often criticized, rejected, and resisted but it never makes them any weaker or milder. Whether other ducks look up to them or look down on them, they just cannot be as wild or as free. Unlike black ducks, they know who they are, what they want, and where they want to go. Wild ducks end on a plate only if shot dead or ambushed.
At the other extreme, black ducks are outcasts; like their market value, their self esteem, and their social acceptance are low. Their flaw could be related to their physique, social disposition, spiritual inclination, tarnished reputation, or unheard of ideas. Black ducks are sentenced to a lifetime of isolation and alienation – and it hurts them. A black duck wants to be unnoticed, unheard, unseen, and, in a way, invisible. They are the geeks, the nerds, and the pimple-faced teenagers that never grow into anything more assertive. Since the men of this world are not blessed with insight into their souls, black ducks, end up alone or on the plate of an equal male outcast. Being a black duck is a stigma that neither time nor blood could erase.
Going down the ladder, stuffed ducks are a delight to look at and a pleasure to feast over. They are perfect for social occasions and for showing off purposes – each man on the table has a stuffed duck on his plate! Being full of rice, onions, and any leftovers in the fridge, stuffed ducks look bigger and better than other ducks – posh and grand. They lure men by their big bloated over-fed over-exposed over-stuffed appearance only to give them, instead of nourishing meat, a plate full of constipating legumes. Needless to say, one can only handle that much of stuffed fowl. Their mission in life is to look good – and stuffed! Stuffed ducks land on the plate of whoever pays more.
Sitting ducks are pathetically lovely; you can caress them, fondle them, shoot them, cook them, stuff them, or cage them. They are tame, demure, docile, and disciplined. Sitting ducks are anything but confrontational – they will whine, complain, and bitch about something to everyone and anyone but their offender. Sitting ducks have neither flying abilities nor argumentative capabilities; they are an easy catch, a quick dump, and a perfect emotional punching bag. They do not land on a man’s plate; they end up in his fridge for use when there is no other food on his table – sitting ducks are always taken for granted and never appreciated.
Our culture encourages sitting ducks, exiles wild ducks, despises black ducks, and craves for stuffed ducks, but pure breeds are rare nowadays; for example, I am a hybrid of wild and black ducks- and that says it all about me. Men drool over the offspring of crossbreeding stuffed ducks and sitting ducks; such ducklings fit all the molds of our patriarchal society. Some men are stupid enough to think that they can turn a wild duck into a sitting duck, or even worse, turn a black duck into a stuffed duck. The most hazardous type is a mix of wild ducks and stuffed ducks; they think they rule the world.
Continuing the bird analogy, I would classify swans, ostriches, and birds of prey as deformed breeds. Swans are the vain girls who do not practice what they preach; they claim to be on a high ethical pedestal when their feet are in deep mud. Ostriches burry their heads in the sand thinking they outsmarted everyone when they are nothing but blind, stupid, and ignorant. They easily point out the flaws in others, and because their heads are in the sand, they believe that no one could see their flaws. Hawks are a carnivorous strain of women that feeds on its own friends and loved ones. They are full of envy, venom, evil, and have zero tolerance and no resilience. Multiple deformities occur but the outcome is a creature that is, at best, disgusting.
Wild ducks are fearless spirits, risk-takers, and trend-setters. In the prairie, among beasts they live, yet highly respected and well positioned. No one dares pluck their feathers, tame, mold, frame, or domesticate them. Those creatures are often criticized, rejected, and resisted but it never makes them any weaker or milder. Whether other ducks look up to them or look down on them, they just cannot be as wild or as free. Unlike black ducks, they know who they are, what they want, and where they want to go. Wild ducks end on a plate only if shot dead or ambushed.
At the other extreme, black ducks are outcasts; like their market value, their self esteem, and their social acceptance are low. Their flaw could be related to their physique, social disposition, spiritual inclination, tarnished reputation, or unheard of ideas. Black ducks are sentenced to a lifetime of isolation and alienation – and it hurts them. A black duck wants to be unnoticed, unheard, unseen, and, in a way, invisible. They are the geeks, the nerds, and the pimple-faced teenagers that never grow into anything more assertive. Since the men of this world are not blessed with insight into their souls, black ducks, end up alone or on the plate of an equal male outcast. Being a black duck is a stigma that neither time nor blood could erase.
Going down the ladder, stuffed ducks are a delight to look at and a pleasure to feast over. They are perfect for social occasions and for showing off purposes – each man on the table has a stuffed duck on his plate! Being full of rice, onions, and any leftovers in the fridge, stuffed ducks look bigger and better than other ducks – posh and grand. They lure men by their big bloated over-fed over-exposed over-stuffed appearance only to give them, instead of nourishing meat, a plate full of constipating legumes. Needless to say, one can only handle that much of stuffed fowl. Their mission in life is to look good – and stuffed! Stuffed ducks land on the plate of whoever pays more.
Sitting ducks are pathetically lovely; you can caress them, fondle them, shoot them, cook them, stuff them, or cage them. They are tame, demure, docile, and disciplined. Sitting ducks are anything but confrontational – they will whine, complain, and bitch about something to everyone and anyone but their offender. Sitting ducks have neither flying abilities nor argumentative capabilities; they are an easy catch, a quick dump, and a perfect emotional punching bag. They do not land on a man’s plate; they end up in his fridge for use when there is no other food on his table – sitting ducks are always taken for granted and never appreciated.
Our culture encourages sitting ducks, exiles wild ducks, despises black ducks, and craves for stuffed ducks, but pure breeds are rare nowadays; for example, I am a hybrid of wild and black ducks- and that says it all about me. Men drool over the offspring of crossbreeding stuffed ducks and sitting ducks; such ducklings fit all the molds of our patriarchal society. Some men are stupid enough to think that they can turn a wild duck into a sitting duck, or even worse, turn a black duck into a stuffed duck. The most hazardous type is a mix of wild ducks and stuffed ducks; they think they rule the world.
Continuing the bird analogy, I would classify swans, ostriches, and birds of prey as deformed breeds. Swans are the vain girls who do not practice what they preach; they claim to be on a high ethical pedestal when their feet are in deep mud. Ostriches burry their heads in the sand thinking they outsmarted everyone when they are nothing but blind, stupid, and ignorant. They easily point out the flaws in others, and because their heads are in the sand, they believe that no one could see their flaws. Hawks are a carnivorous strain of women that feeds on its own friends and loved ones. They are full of envy, venom, evil, and have zero tolerance and no resilience. Multiple deformities occur but the outcome is a creature that is, at best, disgusting.
About divorce at a young age - from the Poison Tree - planted & grown in Egypt
I cannot deny that there are times when I wonder how my life would have differed had I not called off my wedding. If I woke up on the right side of the bed, my thoughts took me to a cozy house with a loving husband and lovely kids; but if it was one of my countless bad hair days, I envisioned a miserable wife in a boring marriage with teary-eyed kids, and sleepless nights contemplating a flawless murder. I am certain that had I married the guy who used to exercise his “stick”, or the guy who wanted to deliver his own babies, or the alcoholic, or the neurotic, or the psychotic, or the caveman, or any other guy, I would have been divorced. I do not think I would have made it past the first month, let alone the first year. I was miraculously saved but many young Egyptian couples were not as lucky.
What fed their dreams to the shredder? What turned their vows into curses? To love but not to hold? For the better but not for the worst? For the richer because no one wants the poorer? In health but never in sickness? What would make a young bride runaway from the love nest? What would make prince charming flee on his not-so-white horse? Was it a bad choice? Was it that marriage put an end to the dating farce? Is it the lies? Is it the false pretences? Could it be expectations? Could their premature divorce be the only natural outcome of the marriage of a couple who were incubated in a schizophrenic society? Am I being too pessimistic? Am I being too realistic?
We are victims of our society. The double standards that we are brought up to adopt create what we call in business, an execution gap. There is a big void between where we really are and where we want to be; what we want and what we have; how we feel and how we act. We drown in an abyss of deluding illusions, unrealistic expectations, fake emotions, consuming demands, and the inevitable frustration. We get married for the wrong reasons; we mistake lust for love and confuse stability with stagnation. Mothers are over protective as though they want to suck us back into their wombs. Fathers discriminate between their sons and daughters. Women sing to the deaf ears of their male counterparts. Men play to the sensitive tunes of the female vulnerability. Traditions, manners, taboos, and religion mix in one melting pot that defines stereotyped outlines for our ideal character and our perfect mate. We are dictated the answers to all the quizzes but we are left to face the final tests alone – we fail with flying colors.
What fed their dreams to the shredder? What turned their vows into curses? To love but not to hold? For the better but not for the worst? For the richer because no one wants the poorer? In health but never in sickness? What would make a young bride runaway from the love nest? What would make prince charming flee on his not-so-white horse? Was it a bad choice? Was it that marriage put an end to the dating farce? Is it the lies? Is it the false pretences? Could it be expectations? Could their premature divorce be the only natural outcome of the marriage of a couple who were incubated in a schizophrenic society? Am I being too pessimistic? Am I being too realistic?
We are victims of our society. The double standards that we are brought up to adopt create what we call in business, an execution gap. There is a big void between where we really are and where we want to be; what we want and what we have; how we feel and how we act. We drown in an abyss of deluding illusions, unrealistic expectations, fake emotions, consuming demands, and the inevitable frustration. We get married for the wrong reasons; we mistake lust for love and confuse stability with stagnation. Mothers are over protective as though they want to suck us back into their wombs. Fathers discriminate between their sons and daughters. Women sing to the deaf ears of their male counterparts. Men play to the sensitive tunes of the female vulnerability. Traditions, manners, taboos, and religion mix in one melting pot that defines stereotyped outlines for our ideal character and our perfect mate. We are dictated the answers to all the quizzes but we are left to face the final tests alone – we fail with flying colors.
Single at 34 - from The Poison Tree - planted & grown in Egypt
I love sunset tea in the terrace with my mom; I love the tea, the sunset, the mint in the tea, her cat playing with the teabag, but I hate the conversations she strikes! I was enjoying a great moment watching a lovely bird flying in utter freedom across the horizon when my mom broke into my space capsule and asked me: “Why did your last engagement last three days?” I was too perplexed to reply when she hit me with the second bomb of a question: “Why did you break up with your first fiance two months before your wedding?” I was still trying to figure out where these darts were coming from when she hit me with “Why are you still single?” By the time words found their way to my mouth, she was already stoning me with her questions: “What was wrong with H, A, M, K, B, T. R, N, O, S, E, Z ….? Why did you turn down C, D, X, F, G, I, J, L, P, Q, U, V, W, Y ….? Why don’t you get married to one of your friends? Why do you have brothers that I never gave birth to? Don’t you want to have a baby? Don’t you want to have a home? Don’t you want to be happy?”
My mind got on the time machine and I remembered the first marriage proposal I got; I was 16 and he was 22. I remember feeling flattered, excited, and important; I was already dreaming of the ring, the wedding, the dress, the honeymoon, and the home. As a little girl my granny, the best story-teller ever, used to tell me nice stories that involved mainly princes, castles, white horses, and happily ever after. It was not difficult for the little girl in me to wear the crown and gown, and ride behind prince-charming for an eternity of love and happiness. My mother, grand mothers, aunts, and any woman who ever set foot in our house wished me one thing: A man who would take care of me and make me happy!
Judging by the standards of our society, I was a “normal” girl growing up; I had nothing against men, marriage, kids, and mothers in law. When I turned 20, all the heads turned to look at the lucky man whose ring will adorn my finger. Years later, I am still single, and I have gone through a great metamorphosis since my teen years. Countless men came my way; I have seen those who stink in the mind, those who stink in the heart, and those who stink in the flesh! They all just stink!
That day on her terrace, my mom cross examined me, questioned my sanity, and was totally oblivious of my motives. I made no sense to her; I asked her why people got married and she told me that I was no longer seven to ask such a silly question. That was a clear sign that my peaceful sunset tea was over and that I had to make a quiet exit.
So, why do women get married? To have a home, to have kids, to leave their parents’ house, to start a life, to make love, to be responsible …? This is so wrong! Biological and physiological needs like food, air, shelter, and sex, and safety needs like security, protection, and stability are at the very base of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. The need for belonging and love is midway between these two basic needs and the two superior needs of esteem and self-actualization. Looking at my aspirations now and my beliefs ten years ago, I can only be eternally grateful that I am not married to any of the men who came into my life.
A ten minutes meeting with an NLP guru six years ago changed my life. He asked me about what I was looking for in my prince-charming and I innocently said: “I want him to make me happy”. At the age of 25 I still believed in fairytales; a gorgeous man will stop me on the way to work, get off his horse, kiss my hand, kneel, point his magic wand at me, and order happiness to take home in my heart. The NLP expert clapped twice, woke me from my beauty sleep, and told me that if I was not a happy person on my own, no one would make me happy … ever! His words marked my memory and I slowly moved up Maslow’s pyramid towards achievements, status, responsibility, personal growth, and fulfillment. Now I am facing a bigger problem!
In the movie Runaway Bride, Maggie Carpenter (Julia Roberts) asked Ike Graham (Richard Gere) if there was one right person for everyone, he said: “No, but I think attraction is mistaken for rightness.” I have been attracted to many people but none of them felt right. There were always the ominous mental notes, the odd vibes, and the bad sparks. In my future vision of myself, I see kids and lots of fun, but no man … I see myself as a single mom.
What is difficult about asking for a man with who I can have endless conversations? Who will be faithful? Who will hold my hand as we watch TV? Who will make me feel like the most beautiful woman on earth even when I feel like a shaggy doll? Who I know will come to my rescue whenever I call? Who will give me a knot in the stomach when I think of him? Whose name or number on my phone will draw a smile on my face? Who is my equal? Who appreciates my independence, cherishes my strength, and respects my weakness? Who is not some needy freak or disgusting creep? Who will let me be and love me for who I am? Is this too much to ask for nowadays? I am no princess so I no longer expect a prince!
Maggie Carpenter finally made it to the alter; she proposed to him saying:
“Look, I guarantee there'll be tough times. I guarantee that at some point, one or both of us is gonna want to get out of this thing. But I also guarantee that if I don't ask you to be mine, I'll regret it for the rest of my life, because I know, in my heart, you're the only one for me.” I will wear a ring and keep it, love a man and keep him, and get married and stay married, only when something in my heart tells me that he is the only one for me and that if I let him go, I will regret it for the rest of my life!
My mind got on the time machine and I remembered the first marriage proposal I got; I was 16 and he was 22. I remember feeling flattered, excited, and important; I was already dreaming of the ring, the wedding, the dress, the honeymoon, and the home. As a little girl my granny, the best story-teller ever, used to tell me nice stories that involved mainly princes, castles, white horses, and happily ever after. It was not difficult for the little girl in me to wear the crown and gown, and ride behind prince-charming for an eternity of love and happiness. My mother, grand mothers, aunts, and any woman who ever set foot in our house wished me one thing: A man who would take care of me and make me happy!
Judging by the standards of our society, I was a “normal” girl growing up; I had nothing against men, marriage, kids, and mothers in law. When I turned 20, all the heads turned to look at the lucky man whose ring will adorn my finger. Years later, I am still single, and I have gone through a great metamorphosis since my teen years. Countless men came my way; I have seen those who stink in the mind, those who stink in the heart, and those who stink in the flesh! They all just stink!
That day on her terrace, my mom cross examined me, questioned my sanity, and was totally oblivious of my motives. I made no sense to her; I asked her why people got married and she told me that I was no longer seven to ask such a silly question. That was a clear sign that my peaceful sunset tea was over and that I had to make a quiet exit.
So, why do women get married? To have a home, to have kids, to leave their parents’ house, to start a life, to make love, to be responsible …? This is so wrong! Biological and physiological needs like food, air, shelter, and sex, and safety needs like security, protection, and stability are at the very base of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. The need for belonging and love is midway between these two basic needs and the two superior needs of esteem and self-actualization. Looking at my aspirations now and my beliefs ten years ago, I can only be eternally grateful that I am not married to any of the men who came into my life.
A ten minutes meeting with an NLP guru six years ago changed my life. He asked me about what I was looking for in my prince-charming and I innocently said: “I want him to make me happy”. At the age of 25 I still believed in fairytales; a gorgeous man will stop me on the way to work, get off his horse, kiss my hand, kneel, point his magic wand at me, and order happiness to take home in my heart. The NLP expert clapped twice, woke me from my beauty sleep, and told me that if I was not a happy person on my own, no one would make me happy … ever! His words marked my memory and I slowly moved up Maslow’s pyramid towards achievements, status, responsibility, personal growth, and fulfillment. Now I am facing a bigger problem!
In the movie Runaway Bride, Maggie Carpenter (Julia Roberts) asked Ike Graham (Richard Gere) if there was one right person for everyone, he said: “No, but I think attraction is mistaken for rightness.” I have been attracted to many people but none of them felt right. There were always the ominous mental notes, the odd vibes, and the bad sparks. In my future vision of myself, I see kids and lots of fun, but no man … I see myself as a single mom.
What is difficult about asking for a man with who I can have endless conversations? Who will be faithful? Who will hold my hand as we watch TV? Who will make me feel like the most beautiful woman on earth even when I feel like a shaggy doll? Who I know will come to my rescue whenever I call? Who will give me a knot in the stomach when I think of him? Whose name or number on my phone will draw a smile on my face? Who is my equal? Who appreciates my independence, cherishes my strength, and respects my weakness? Who is not some needy freak or disgusting creep? Who will let me be and love me for who I am? Is this too much to ask for nowadays? I am no princess so I no longer expect a prince!
Maggie Carpenter finally made it to the alter; she proposed to him saying:
“Look, I guarantee there'll be tough times. I guarantee that at some point, one or both of us is gonna want to get out of this thing. But I also guarantee that if I don't ask you to be mine, I'll regret it for the rest of my life, because I know, in my heart, you're the only one for me.” I will wear a ring and keep it, love a man and keep him, and get married and stay married, only when something in my heart tells me that he is the only one for me and that if I let him go, I will regret it for the rest of my life!
About virginity - from The Poison Tree - planted & grown in Egypt
“I broke up with her … she is not a virgin” with these words my best friend, Sparky, woke me up on a lovely sunny Friday. I got in my lazy weekend outfit and I drove to that sunny promenade downtown to meet him. My mind was still asleep, I was not sure of what I had to say to him and I did not know what to expect to hear about her. Shania Twain’s ominous song, “It only hurts when I am breathing”, was playing on the radio and my heart went out to the poor girl Sparky broke up with the night before, yet I decided to keep my thoughts to myself and listen to him with an objective pair of ears.
I pulled a chair, adjusted it to face the sun, ordered a hot cup of tea with mint, looked at Sparky with big green eyes, and told him to tell me what happened. He moved a nervous hand through his tousled black hair and told me in the saddest tone ever “She deceived me … I fell in love with a slut … I will make her pay for it!” My lovely Friday was ruined as I asked him to tell me what turned his angel into a slut overnight.
“I told you ... she is not a virgin … she confessed yesterday … I asked her if she did it before and I was sure she would say she did not … she looked so innocent … but instead she told me she did … I went deaf then numb then mad and I broke up with her … what more do you want to know?” Sparky barked back at me.
“Take it easy now and let’s break this down to little pieces.” I said carefully trying not to infuriate him. As I avoided the slightest eye contact, I took a sip of my tea and asked him “Ok … she is not a virgin … what does this say about her?”
Sparky did not take much time thinking, “She is a slut; she is loose; she is easy; she cannot be trusted; she is not fit to be neither a wife nor a mother; she did it before marriage and she is most likely going to do it after marriage.” He said with utter confidence; and as though his problem was suddenly resolved with this conclusion, he asked for the check, thanked me for my support, and left.
My drive home was far from pleasant; I was angry! My sense of justice was provoked and I could see visions of me whipping all the Sparkies in the world with my counter argument. I wanted to pick up the phone and tell my best friend that he was a big fat fake lie; that he was a selfish egocentric sexist; that I envied his ex girlfriend for getting rid of him while I was stuck with him in this so-called friendship.
This is not fair! He called her a slut, denied her the right to be a wife and a mother, turned her into a cheap piece of meat, and decided that she will cheat on whoever decides to take pity on her and marry her. What about the other side of the coin? What about the accomplice in the crime? What about you Sparky? Are you a virgin? Well, I know you are not! I know you have done it, bragged about it, and never missed a chance to blow your own horn when it came to talking about it. He turned a human being into a chocolate bar and he wanted to be the first to unwrap the chocolate bar!
Now what does that say about the Sparkies we know? What does that say about our society? For him it is a subject worthy of pride, appreciation, and admiration, while for her it is a subject of shame, humility, and disgrace. He brags about his big deeds to every Tom, Dick, and Harry, while she strives to burry the deep dark secret. His mom proudly jokes about his adventures and his dad gives him well-kept advice, while her family, if they found out, would rather she caught an exotic disease and died when she was a child.
Agreeing that in the eyes of God males and females are judged on the same criteria, let’s dig deep into the attitude of Sparky. Let’s try to figure out why men, in our male-dominated society, think and behave like that. Let’s also find out the reasons that make girls accept that behavior. Why is experience an advantage on his side and a disadvantage on hers? Why does he expect her to forgive and forget about his past while he insists on a detailed confession of her amours? Well Sparky, I know you are not going to like the answers I came up with.
It can all be traced back and tied down to insecurity. Sparky is after all a scared little boy who does not want to be evaluated, judged, or measured up, or down, against benchmarks from her previous relationships. He is a lazy male prototype who does not want to work hard to keep her happy, satisfied, and fulfilled in their marriage. He does not want her to compare notes and give grades. He does not want to hear comments, remarks, or observations from her, he just wants his cute doll to look at him with grateful eyes and thank him for being in her life. He does not want to listen to her needs; he wants to hear how good he makes her feel and how much of an expert he is.
Sparky wants to play master-slave with her; she will never complain, leave him, or get a life, while he is busy with his wild goose chases. She will never threaten to walk out on their marriage, or dump him for negligence and first-degree murder of the love she had for him. He wants to be the source of whatever sexual knowledge she acquires, and as her sole and prime teacher he will teach her the uses and benefits of yes, thank you, and you are the best!
Now let’s examine her ... what is wrong with us girls? Why do we let the Sparkies get away with it? I know it is easier asked than answered … but let me try … it is years and generations of accumulated traditions that tied our hands to our feet, blindfolded our eyes and gagged our mouths. I could not tell Sparky in his face that he was a hypocrite; if she was loose then he was loose and if she would cheat on her husband then he would cheat on his wife. For having sex, he could not trust her, so why would any other girl trust him?
She could have easily lied ... she could have easily “rewrapped” the chocolate bar. The price of a pair of Italian boots would have saved her pride and would have made her a happy bride. When she was honest she was rejected. Sparky did not appreciate the fact that she respected him enough to tell him the truth. I am sure that next time she will get smarter and swear on her mother’s life that she does not know how babies are made, and I am sure that the next Sparky, like all the other Sparkies, would rather be lied to than be faced with such an ugly truth! I wonder how happy will the next Sparky be with his brand new rewrapped chocolate bar.
In our circles we see a lot of “chocolate bars” who hold on to the wrapping but we all know how they went from one hand to the other. There are girls who literally got naked with so many men yet managed to hold on to that little piece of skin that, in the eyes of Sparky, makes a girl an angel or a slut. Egyptian men are not thinking straight … a slut is not a label; it is a whole attitude of a girl who is willing to lie, cheat and twist facts ... a virgin is not a medical term; it is a girl who is honest, pure and sincere … a girl is not a chocolate bar and Sparkies are definitely not Smarties.
I am not promoting premarital sex; I am neither defending girls who lost their virginity nor attacking guys who want to be the first to unwrap the chocolate bar … I am just asking how can a society applaud something when it is done by one gender and then condemn that very same thing when it is done by the other gender knowing that all religions forbid that thing? How can a man choose a lie over the truth? How can God’s most favored creature be so ruthless and judgmental when it comes to his female counterpart? How do I tell Sparky what I really think of him?
I pulled a chair, adjusted it to face the sun, ordered a hot cup of tea with mint, looked at Sparky with big green eyes, and told him to tell me what happened. He moved a nervous hand through his tousled black hair and told me in the saddest tone ever “She deceived me … I fell in love with a slut … I will make her pay for it!” My lovely Friday was ruined as I asked him to tell me what turned his angel into a slut overnight.
“I told you ... she is not a virgin … she confessed yesterday … I asked her if she did it before and I was sure she would say she did not … she looked so innocent … but instead she told me she did … I went deaf then numb then mad and I broke up with her … what more do you want to know?” Sparky barked back at me.
“Take it easy now and let’s break this down to little pieces.” I said carefully trying not to infuriate him. As I avoided the slightest eye contact, I took a sip of my tea and asked him “Ok … she is not a virgin … what does this say about her?”
Sparky did not take much time thinking, “She is a slut; she is loose; she is easy; she cannot be trusted; she is not fit to be neither a wife nor a mother; she did it before marriage and she is most likely going to do it after marriage.” He said with utter confidence; and as though his problem was suddenly resolved with this conclusion, he asked for the check, thanked me for my support, and left.
My drive home was far from pleasant; I was angry! My sense of justice was provoked and I could see visions of me whipping all the Sparkies in the world with my counter argument. I wanted to pick up the phone and tell my best friend that he was a big fat fake lie; that he was a selfish egocentric sexist; that I envied his ex girlfriend for getting rid of him while I was stuck with him in this so-called friendship.
This is not fair! He called her a slut, denied her the right to be a wife and a mother, turned her into a cheap piece of meat, and decided that she will cheat on whoever decides to take pity on her and marry her. What about the other side of the coin? What about the accomplice in the crime? What about you Sparky? Are you a virgin? Well, I know you are not! I know you have done it, bragged about it, and never missed a chance to blow your own horn when it came to talking about it. He turned a human being into a chocolate bar and he wanted to be the first to unwrap the chocolate bar!
Now what does that say about the Sparkies we know? What does that say about our society? For him it is a subject worthy of pride, appreciation, and admiration, while for her it is a subject of shame, humility, and disgrace. He brags about his big deeds to every Tom, Dick, and Harry, while she strives to burry the deep dark secret. His mom proudly jokes about his adventures and his dad gives him well-kept advice, while her family, if they found out, would rather she caught an exotic disease and died when she was a child.
Agreeing that in the eyes of God males and females are judged on the same criteria, let’s dig deep into the attitude of Sparky. Let’s try to figure out why men, in our male-dominated society, think and behave like that. Let’s also find out the reasons that make girls accept that behavior. Why is experience an advantage on his side and a disadvantage on hers? Why does he expect her to forgive and forget about his past while he insists on a detailed confession of her amours? Well Sparky, I know you are not going to like the answers I came up with.
It can all be traced back and tied down to insecurity. Sparky is after all a scared little boy who does not want to be evaluated, judged, or measured up, or down, against benchmarks from her previous relationships. He is a lazy male prototype who does not want to work hard to keep her happy, satisfied, and fulfilled in their marriage. He does not want her to compare notes and give grades. He does not want to hear comments, remarks, or observations from her, he just wants his cute doll to look at him with grateful eyes and thank him for being in her life. He does not want to listen to her needs; he wants to hear how good he makes her feel and how much of an expert he is.
Sparky wants to play master-slave with her; she will never complain, leave him, or get a life, while he is busy with his wild goose chases. She will never threaten to walk out on their marriage, or dump him for negligence and first-degree murder of the love she had for him. He wants to be the source of whatever sexual knowledge she acquires, and as her sole and prime teacher he will teach her the uses and benefits of yes, thank you, and you are the best!
Now let’s examine her ... what is wrong with us girls? Why do we let the Sparkies get away with it? I know it is easier asked than answered … but let me try … it is years and generations of accumulated traditions that tied our hands to our feet, blindfolded our eyes and gagged our mouths. I could not tell Sparky in his face that he was a hypocrite; if she was loose then he was loose and if she would cheat on her husband then he would cheat on his wife. For having sex, he could not trust her, so why would any other girl trust him?
She could have easily lied ... she could have easily “rewrapped” the chocolate bar. The price of a pair of Italian boots would have saved her pride and would have made her a happy bride. When she was honest she was rejected. Sparky did not appreciate the fact that she respected him enough to tell him the truth. I am sure that next time she will get smarter and swear on her mother’s life that she does not know how babies are made, and I am sure that the next Sparky, like all the other Sparkies, would rather be lied to than be faced with such an ugly truth! I wonder how happy will the next Sparky be with his brand new rewrapped chocolate bar.
In our circles we see a lot of “chocolate bars” who hold on to the wrapping but we all know how they went from one hand to the other. There are girls who literally got naked with so many men yet managed to hold on to that little piece of skin that, in the eyes of Sparky, makes a girl an angel or a slut. Egyptian men are not thinking straight … a slut is not a label; it is a whole attitude of a girl who is willing to lie, cheat and twist facts ... a virgin is not a medical term; it is a girl who is honest, pure and sincere … a girl is not a chocolate bar and Sparkies are definitely not Smarties.
I am not promoting premarital sex; I am neither defending girls who lost their virginity nor attacking guys who want to be the first to unwrap the chocolate bar … I am just asking how can a society applaud something when it is done by one gender and then condemn that very same thing when it is done by the other gender knowing that all religions forbid that thing? How can a man choose a lie over the truth? How can God’s most favored creature be so ruthless and judgmental when it comes to his female counterpart? How do I tell Sparky what I really think of him?
On the Dating Scene in Egypt - from The Poison Tree - planted & grown in Egypt
Clap Clap, girls and boys are playing musical chairs … an easy game on the dating scene … just jump on an empty chair … just get an available guy … just get an available girl … and as you let go of her, make sure you grab another girl … as you jump boats, make sure you left nothing behind … ditch your partners … switch your partners … just keep going in circles around the musical chairs …What is happening to us? How did we get trapped in an endless game of musical chairs? Why did we agree to the rules of play? Who told us not to stop? Guys, why do you play ball with your girls? Girls, why do you play dummies with your guys? Isn’t it sad? Isn’t it pathetic? Isn’t it disgusting?!! False pretences, facades, maneuvers, fake words, shallow appearances, and out-of-this-world expectations rule this fiasco.
Egyptian men are caught between what they like and what they want; they like the girls that their minds do not want and they want the girls that their hearts do not like. A typical example of this schizophrenic condition is the single version of the cool guy who is seen in all the trendy hangouts, drinks, dances, flirts, dates, and the sky is the limit when it comes to how far he could go with his adventures. Mr. Cool likes girls who share his wild rides and challenge his hunter instinct; who are exposed, experienced, and expressive.
If it is just dating and having a nice time, Mr. Cool has no problem. But when it comes to the forever word, Mr. Cool takes off his cool mask and in a strict tone describes the girl he wants; traditional, conservative, religious, sheltered, and controllable. But is Mr. Cool willing to alter his lifestyle? Is he willing to become an equal match for the girl he wants? No! No! This is not how this story goes. Mr. Cool will eventually get married to a girl who will not threaten his sense of security; who has no benchmarks to measure his performance, in and out of bed, against; who is just grateful to have him in her life. Then he will leave her at home to take care of his house and his kids while he pursues the girls he likes.
This is not the end of Mr. Cool … you will see the married version of Mr. Cool in the colleague who hits on you at work, in the client who puts you in one hand and the business deal in the other, in the werewolf who hunts you in outings and chases you in parties – all of them sounding like a broken record when they tell you how unhappy they are in their marriages; how they need someone who understands them and shares their dreams; how they miss communication and passion in their homes …… sounds too familiar?!!!
Egyptian girls, on the other hand, lost touch with who they really are and what they really want. Most of us do not know what we like any more. As “good girls” we should dress up in a certain way, go out to specific places, be seen in the company of particular people, be home by this or that socially agreed upon time, and the “good girl” list goes on. It is as if we were born in this world to meet other peoples’ expectations regardless of who we are. Our dreams are always blurred by the influence of a higher authority that dictates the code of conduct we should abide by to gain acceptance.
Someone once told me that human beings have three dimensions; how you see yourself, how others see you, and how you want others to see you. The closer the distance between the three dimensions the more at peace you are and the more stable you become. How many girls do you see everyday stretching their three dimensions east, west, south, and north? They are bending over backwards, denying their needs, turning against their true selves. Take a close look at a sequence of actions that contradict the words, words that defy the body language, and body language that is at war with the eyes - all in an attempt to meet expectations, gain respect, get approval, and win a ring on the naked left finger!
If girls compare their expectations of a man when they were sixteen and what they are willing to accept from a man now, they will see how far they are willing to compromise. Is it growing up or growing desperate that drove us so far down the ladder of expectations? An assembled package of your average guy replaced the tailor-made prince-charming; a married man will do if he has the money, a younger guy will do if he has the looks, any man will do if he can make it to the alter!
The cycle continues and, like a game of cards, when you throw a card away someone picks it up and when you pick a new card up you have to know that it was thrown away by another player in the game. With a mask on his face he promised to love her forever and with a mask on her face she swore she has never played before. The music is still playing ... cards are handed … cards are thrown … chairs are vacant … chairs are taken … and the game goes on!
Bang Bang, you shot me down, Bang Bang, I hit the ground,
Bang Bang, that awful sound, Bang Bang, my baby shot me down!
On Marital Fidelity - from The Poison Tree - planted and Grown in Egypt
As I drove to the office on a gray winter morning, My Immortal was playing on the radio and for a few minutes I was lost in my thoughts; I wondered what Evanescence meant. I took a mental note and decided to check it out when I went to work. The song went on and on; the lyrics and the soul-penetrating voice of Amy Lee touched a place deep down in my heart reminding me that there is just too much that time cannot erase. Memories raced with my thoughts until I reached my destination, and in my office, I sat myself on my desk, switched on my computer, and looked up the meaning of the word that I toyed with throughout my drive.Merriam Webster’s online dictionary said Evanescence means vanish; to dissipate like vapor; to cease to be visible; to disappear. In a game of word association, using any of those words would remind the player of mercury, perfume, or any other substance known for vaporizing. Thinking of it myself, the first thought that came to my mind was a visual image of a man who came to our house a few years ago asking for my hand in an arranged marriage setup. My mother was so excited about me meeting Mr. Perfect; he was young, tall, dark, handsome, successful, well off, and open-minded. Mr. Perfect was willing to see me even though he knew that I was living on my own, I had a career, I traveled a lot, and I am not the compromising type. Mom was certain that she would get to see me in a wedding gown in no time!
As I walked in the room, my eyes captured his deep black eyes, wide smile, and graceful posture. I smiled back at him approvingly and as the evening went on I realized that he is also charismatic, witty, and has a great sense of humor. My mother was happy with the way the conversation was going and his mother was ever so cheerful.
Suddenly the room was filled with a heavy silence and all heads turned to me as I asked Mr. Perfect if he was the faithful type. The question just flew out of my mouth and it was too late to take it back. In an attempt to pursue the topic I raised, I said with a struggling smile “I mean will you be able to write me a paper that states that if I caught you cheating on me, you would pay me a million dollars? I would write you the same paper guaranteeing you my faithfulness.” Clearly my attempt to sugarcoat my bomb of a question failed as the silence grew louder.
All it took from Mr. Not-So-Perfect was a clear audible “NO” as an answer to my question, to bring my green-eyed monster out of its cave. My mother, totally baffled, asked the guests if they wanted some sweets; but nothing would stop the provoked monster from its righteous attack; I repeated my question again highlighting the facts that I expected my husband to be loyal; that I liked to play fair and square; that it was a two way street; that from a religious stance, marital infidelity is a big sin that men and women get stoned to death for.
Again I kept getting nonsensical replies from the groom-to-be. Matrimonial devotion did not seem to suit his notions. After a long debate that brought my mom to the verge of a heart attack, and brought his mother to a noticeable level of disapproval of the bride-to-be, I told him with one of my super aggressive tones “So now you are in our house, looking at my mother, asking to marry me, and you are letting us both know in advance that you would not be faithful?” I was not being sarcastic; this IS what I heard “Marry me and I promise to cheat on you.” He said nothing but his body subconsciously turned to face the door and his mother saved him when she signaled that it was time to leave.
My mother was more than unhappy when they left; she was livid and she kept wondering what she did wrong to deserve a daughter like me. I tried to point out to her where I was coming from but her main argument was that all men were the same and that I was not going to change the world; as long as the husband came back to his house, wife, and kids then he was a good man and a woman should not ask questions that would lead to a confrontation of any kind. This was how a good wife kept the father of her kids and saved her home! She told me over and over that all men have “little” affairs and women ignore them. She told me that men have different needs and it was their right to attend to those needs. Finally she gave up and gave me that look that signified the end of the discussion and I left the house.
So for me, in a word association game, evanescence would be associated with marriage vows that evaporate faster than mercury and sink quicker than a lead ball; with love that flees the merciless scars of infidelity; with a melting sense of commitment; with a fading respect for family. This was not the end of the sad story; it got worse when I shared the details of my “date” with my friends … they called me a fool; told me that there were no more men who wanted to get married; that who cared what a man did outside the house; that what I did not know about would not hurt me. They sounded so much like my mom and I felt alienated from their world.
Of course Mr. Not-So-Perfect had every right to walk away. With his God-given qualities and mouthwatering attributes he could easily land any girl he wanted for a marriage bargain. Why would he bother with me and with my “radical” opinions? Why did he have to justify his actions and keep his promises? He did not need to resist temptation if he knew in advance that he would be forgiven. Men created a big myth ages ago and women believed it; they claimed that their physical needs are much higher than those of a woman and used that as an excuse to justify their shameful behavior. They said they got bored of “eating the same dish everyday” and they needed the change. They kept feeding women lies for generation after the other. My grand mother, my mother, and my friends fell for that lie and now I am asked to go with the flow.
I am no longer angry at Mr. Not-So-Perfect … my anger is directed at the girls who suffer from an extreme condition of low self esteem; who locked their pride in sealed bottles and threw them in oblivion; who willingly subject themselves to the double edge of treason and rejection; who would prefer sleeping with the enemy than sleeping alone. I get bored too; I crave for a change just as much as men do. I needed to feel desirable and wanted when I was 18 and 28 and when I will be 38, 48, 58 and forever. Still, I would respect my vows of loyalty and commitment to my husband. Infidelity hits the woman’s pride; takes its toll on her self-esteem; makes her feel rejected, unwanted, and unfit. If only men knew how much damage they were causing and how deep of a scar they were leaving.
Here goes my girlish dream of happily ever after … to cherish and to hold vanished into thin air … to love and to honor evanesced into dark vapors … until death do us part is just an anagram of “another stupid adult”. Seriously ... reshuffle the letters and you get ANOTHER STUPID ADULT.
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