SOS – The Relationships Guru needs Help!

On this page, now and today, I shamelessly take off my seven hats of experience and step out of my grand cloak of wisdom. I stand naked and shivering before you – my readers – seeking advice. This time my prince-charming is wearing a white coat and driving a Mercedes. He has a ten year old ring on his left hand ring finger, three angels of his creation, and he wants to take care of me for better or for worse. He wants to go back in time and marry the girl who loved him blindly and unconditionally 20 years ago – yes 20! Not a typo! Were you in my 33 year old independent shoes what would you do? Is this the last rescue boat in the storm or is that a test of the strength of my beliefs? Is he a true knight in shining armor or a dream’s butcher in disguise?

For starters, he was shocked when he met me; instead of the OTV star he was expecting, he saw the modest middle class working girl that I am. I was comfortably wearing my face with no makeup, no fancy jewelry, jeans, a wide sweater, and black sneakers. He told me that I needed a makeover and that he was the right man to see me through it. His prescription started with antioxidants, some growth drink/shake, a full medical checkup, a visit to the skin doctor, and at a later stage a boob job to give me the ultimate Haifaa Wahby look. I kid you not – I sat there with a smile on my face listening to him tell me how skinny, pale, tired, underfed, and neglected I looked.

Then with lots of love and tenderness he told me how much he adored me and that he would adore me even more were I to relinquish my silly independence dogmas and like a good girl, move back home with my mother who needed me the most. In the mean while, I could work more seriously on my relationship with God and walk in the path of light instead of the utter darkness that I have embraced over the past years. He assured me that I needed a heavy blow from fate to sober me up from my delusions and maybe then I would go back to God’s way. Concluding his manifesto of love, he reminded me that he was a man but he was still willing to forgive my past and would honor me with the golden opportunity to redeem myself and to be the decent wife and the loving mother that he was certain I could become.

As he was trying to save me from the brothel of a life that I am leading, he continuously assured me that he loved me and wanted to make me happy; that he pitied me yet fully sympathized with me; that all the men in my life despised me but he still respected me; that I belonged to him and that he sincerely cared for me; that I deserved to finally be with him after all the love and persistence that I showed in the past; that he loved me for who I was and that I was physically unattractive to him in all ways or forms; that had he seen me in the street he would have never noticed me and that I was too much of a tomboy to appeal to a real man like himself. Before we concluded the date, out of generosity and benevolence, he told me that I was not exceptionally successful, that I have wasted my life on absolutely nothing, and that he had no ulterior motives – he was not even physically attracted to me!

So ladies and gentlemen – as you could tell – I am completely lost and totally confused. I have a very generous marriage proposal from a man who came back to his senses, after 20 years, to show me how much he loved me and how much he cared for me. I am seriously depending on you to tell me what to do, or how to respond to prince-charming. I will hold you accountable if I took the wrong decision and I would be highly disappointed if you did not take the time and effort and respond to my SOS shouts. I have always been there for you and now I want to see if you would return the favor. I promise to share your replies and advice with him – uncensored!

Love always
Me

What Color is your Collar?

When did I become so class conscious? How did I grow into that obnoxious girl that categorizes people based on where they live, what they wear, and how they talk? Their dialects, education, and possessions determine their location on my social stratification model. I am not materialistic by any means – I just believe that social class reflects on a person’s general disposition in life; occupation, education, qualifications, income, grooming, manners, cultural refinement, taboos, and language and diction. I fully realize that over the years, I have evolved from a common middle class girl into a distinguished lower upper class lady.

In 1949 William Lloyd Warner set an early example of a stratum class model; Upper-upper class is what we call “old money” and those are people who have been born into and raised with wealth. Lower-upper class is equivalent to “new money”, and those are people who, like me, have become rich within their own lifetimes and due to their own work. The upper-middle class is, like my family, professionals with a college education. But other members of my family belong to the lower-middle class, who are low paid white collars, but not manual laborers. Today, I believe it is only fair to mingle with or marry from my current social class.

Ok … let me start from the start. It hit me for the first time when I met Lisa in her office back in June 2001. She was leaving Egypt and I was her successor. I still remember how my eyes wandered around and literally fell in love with everything Lisa had in her office; the glass bowl and gold fish, the scented candles, the tall vase and bamboo shoots, the lace curtains, the Christmas cards on the shelves, the pink and orange pens on her desk, and his picture - a picture of a dark Egyptian man on Lisa’s desk.

“Ismail, my husband.” Lisa said and I did not know what to say. He obviously looked like an impoverished under-educated working-class Egyptian. As though Lisa could read my mind, she openly admitted that he was poor, that his English was even poorer, and that his family was among the poorest, and that she knew that I would never consider talking to him, let alone getting married to him. I was shocked and perplexed. I struggled for the right words and nothing came out.

Later on that day, Lisa told me that her mother thought she was out of her mind when she decided to get married to Ismail - a black Arab waiter who could not speak English. But she had never met a man who made her feel so special and so precious. She did not need him to talk to her in English, when everything she needed to know was written in his eyes. I told her that they were different – socially and culturally different. She replied with confidence that we were all different and that if I was looking for a man who is a clone of me, then I would look for an eternity – in vain.

I told her that she was smart, pretty, successful, well educated, well traveled, and well positioned in her career. She could have had any man she wanted. Lisa’s smile grew wider as she told me that she did get the man that she wanted. She told me that people from the same country might share the same cultural outlines but when looking deeper one would find various sub-cultures, norms, values, and beliefs. Lisa told me that she loved his family; they had a small house, yet they insisted that she spent a few days with them. They had little food, yet they shared it with her. They did not speak her language, yet they made her feel welcomed and important with what went beyond words.

“Girls in this part of the world measure men on the scales of wealth, education, and social status. Those scales are often deceiving. They only permit you to look at the outside of a person and deny you any access to his real potential; you see his house not his heart, his car not his mind, his language not his words. The Egyptian society is like a foster home for the seven deadly sins including greed, gluttony, lust, and sloth. Why do you insist on turning human beings into dogs who have to wear collars and labels to identify them? A white collar for well educated executives and professionals, a blue collar for workers and laborers, a pink collar for female jobs like nurses, nannies, and secretaries, and a golden collar for those who dropped out of school and college to pursue a vocational career.” Lisa’s words still resonate in my head and I still have no answer.

Blogging vs Writing

You might already know that I write regularly for a few Egyptian magazines in English; Egypt's Insight, Enigma, and Campus. I started writing because I needed a voice; I needed to vent, breathe, and detoxify. In October 2006, I created my first blog (Jenny) and in December 2006 I came out in the open - mask off. In February I began posting for the American Chronicle and their 21 affiliate chronicles, and in March Ex in the City linked me to their experts. This is all great news and progress. Now what am I bitching about?

I will tell you. Yesterday I got a call from my editor in Campus Magazine who informed me that my article for the April issue has been removed by "rekaba" - censorship. The 65 year old veiled lady interpreted it as "a call soliciting incest" - Please do not ask me where that came from.

Then I called my editor in Enigma to see if they had any issues with censorship. She was as sweet as ever, and told me that my Bloggers feature and my relationships article we removed because of spacing issues. A multinational advertiser took a few pages and they had to take out half of their content!

I was a bit frustrated but I was thankful for blogging and eternally grateful for the world wide web. When I first started blogging, I used to post one article each month, then they became three when I began writing for three publications. Last month I noticed that I run to my blog every time anything disturbs my peace. It is no longer about articles; it is about me living and breathing.

Every time one of my articles gets censored, removed, postponed, or even edited I feel like a gagged woman watching a thief break into her house. It is a suffocating feeling for a control-freak like myself. On the other hand, blogging is an extremely liberating experience - this is where I get relief, support, understanding, acceptance, and a genuine warm welcome.

Bye Bye magazines!

Master of the Word

I was half deaf by the time I got home; I played the music so loud in the vain hope of silencing the voices in my head. I raced every car on the road hoping that my car would be faster than the thoughts racing through my mind. Today, I discovered a new dimension of the word "turmoil"; that word never felt as lively as it feels now. I cannot say that I am hurt; I did not get to know him that well or that long. I do not dare talk about feelings for him; he did not reach that deep within. I am just angry; this time my anger is airbrushed with violence. I wanted to slap him; I could feel my hand coming from way behind my ear, my palm pushing against the fine particles of air, my slap landing on his face with all the power I had in me, and I could hear the sound of the explosion as my fingers left their mark on his face. I wanted to hurt him, to shake him, to throw him off guard, just as he did to me. As he dropped me off, I jumped out of his car before I did something to regret. I got in my car and flashes of our conversation struck me like glimpses of lightening. A silent scream escaped my soul and a frozen tear lay still between my eyelids. I was gasping for air.

Is he a bad guy? Not at all! He is a nice and sweet man in the body of a kid. In ten days, he managed to put me in words; he managed to formulate the intricacies, contradictions, sudden turns, dead ends, and blocked roads of my dark maze - the maze that confused the most avid explorers. Then he encouraged me to "just be me", expressed his sadness that I filtered my words before they fell into his lap, and gave me all the verbal and non verbal signs that I would be safe from harm. I landed my heavy loads on him, his face changed, his mind took over, and his heart stopped beating for me. He told me that he wished I were his wife but this - my maze - was too advanced for him. I watched the spark die in his eyes and I felt his soul distancing me. The master of the word was lost for words. Uncomfortable silence, courteous smiles, and small talk added to the heavy feeling of loss - my worst fears. No matter how sugar-coated it is, rejection hurts. Raging voices from the deep void in the center of my body blurred my vision and my thoughts. I sat still but my crucible was boiling and the rotten steam of my burning guts filled my senses.

Were I in his shoes, I would have probably done the same. I understand his logic and comprehend his reasons. In me, he saw the incarnation of the devil - a cute seductive devil that would replace his faith by an insatiable need for adrenaline. After all, I am the master of mind games! I am eternally grateful for self-control, pride, and will power. I gracefully backed off by offering my friendship, apologizing for not going to a big bash with him, and announcing that I will take a few steps back. Restlessness was crawling on me, bugs were numbing my mind, and I wanted to be home alone with my cats and my laptop. We were both sorry for the loss of what could have been a great trip in the human psyche. I had something else to be sorry for; I was sorry for being me, for being real, for being a bit above the average girl. Now, at this very moment, I wish I were anyone else but who I am now. What was the drill, again? Oh yes, bottle it up, push it down, shove it beneath, and burry it all in the black box.

I can't get that song out of my head: (Humming) Time can never mend the careless whispers of a good friend ... To the heart and mind, ignorance is kind ... there's no comfort in the truth ... pain is all you'll find ... Should've known better ... I feel so unsure ... as I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor ... as the music dies, something in your eyes ... calls to mind the silver screen ... and all its sad good-byes. I'm never gonna dance again ... guilty feet have got no rhythm ... though it's easy to pretend ... I know you're not a fool ... We could have been so good together ... We could have lived this dance forever ... But no one's gonna dance with me - Thank you George Michael!

The B-Word

Did you ever disagree with a political icon, but you chose silence for obvious reasons? Do you feel trapped in mazes of invisible laser beams that strike with every breath you take? Were you ever raging with pain and anger to the point of screaming out loud, then you held back because it was not socially acceptable? Do you have things to share with the world but fear harsh judgment? Do you feel like spilling your guts out with no inhibitions whatsoever? How about taboo talk? Do you have your own opinions and experiences but you cannot risk having them discovered or uncovered? What about uncensored news? Do you seek the truth no matter how shocking or how ugly? Do you want to write until there are no thoughts left in your head? Do you want to be in control of what you write; how long, how often, and what about? Do you not keep a diary lest it falls in the wrong hands? Do you long for your very own personal impersonal online journal? Do you want to become a tiny particle of typing on the World Wide Web? Have you ever wished to become literally invisible, yet heard?

The magical B-word made it all possible; no credit card number is required, no identification is needed, no personal information is obligatory, and no one asks any questions when you create your own blog. Wikipedia defines a blog as a contraction of 'web log'; it refers to a website where entries are made in journal style and are displayed in a reverse chronological order. The term "weblog" was coined by Jorn Barger on 17 December 1997. The short form, "blog," was coined by Peter Merholz in 1999, when he jokingly broke the word weblog into the phrase we blog. This was quickly adopted as both a noun and verb ("to blog," meaning "to edit one's weblog or to post to one's weblog"). Gartner Group forecasts that blogging will peak in 2007, levelling off when the number of writers who maintain a personal website reaches 100 million.

Jenny – The Genius of Messed-up Relationships was my first blog. Jenny was a figment of my imagination; I created her and hired her to be my spokesperson three years ago. I was too hurt to talk and way too broken to write, so I decided to let Jenny express my anger, my pain, my love, my hope, and my worst fears. Just as much as any female in our society, I needed her strength and determination. With her foreign name, daring views, transparency, openness, and sarcasm Jenny stole my spot under the sun and turned me – reality – into a pale shadow of herself. She received love letters, job offers, compliments, and I had nothing. I have crossed the line between fact and fiction many a time and I have always managed to find my way back. I reached a point when I realized that unless I have the courage to speak up for myself, I will always need to be Jenny and I will always be kept in the dark. This was when I created my second blog Egyptian Fe-mail, which has my name, email, and picture. Then I created my third blog Experienced Innocence, where I posted my personal quotes. Blogging is such a liberating experience that helped me pour my brains, document my passion, and make great intellectual friends.

I have to admit that the quality of Arab bogs and the opinions of Arab bloggers are beyond impressive. Our very own young men and women are knowledgeable, expressive, cultured, and above all, they care. The Big Pharaoh* is a great writer, excellent analyst of current political events, and his arguments are bulletproof. “This blog is a way for me to voice my opinions as well as vent off my emotions.” He is a true patriot who wonders “When will Egypt return the way it was? This country once appointed a Jewish finance minister in the 30s at a time when Jews were marked with a yellow star in Germany and blacks were kicked out of “whites-only” restaurants in the US. My guess is that we need to go back to where we were 50 years ago and we have to pass through every stage medieval Europe passed through.” The Big Pharaoh comes across as an enlightened Egyptian who talks rationally about taboos that involve inter-religious conflicts, politics, and controversial books; “Most of my female friends, especially those who cover their hair, do not have a problem shaking my hand. These educated upper class girls were foolish enough to be convinced that God would punish them if they didn't cover their hair, yet fortunately they were not foolish enough to believe he'll do the same thing if they shook my hand.”

Thumbs up for the Egyptian Sandmonkey* who, on one of his posts, asked us if we knew what we wanted from the west. The result of his poll had mainly two groups “One group is angry at what they view as foreign interference in our affairs; the other group is dismayed at what they view as fake or not enough pressure exerted on our countries to reform. I can't personally decide which group confuses me more. The people that are angry at the US and the EU for exerting pressure on us to reform confuse me because they are protesting against a generally good thing that is in their benefit. They remind me of the battered wives that go bail out the husbands that are in jail for beating them … Then you have the second group and they confuse me even more; they are the ones that are mad at the US and Bush for not exerting more pressure in favor of reform, yet they never actually specify what the US is supposed to do. …The people have become so complacent, docile, afraid and apathetic that it seems that they have lost the will to move, think or act. It seems like everyone wants some change to happen, but they want someone else to do the actual work.”

Strawberry* is an Egyptian female blogger who writes about the “life of an egyptian girl with an open mind, a huge set of dreams and not enough space to realize them. Consider this a ventilation spot for me and other amazing, yet frustrated, egyptain women of my generation.” On one of her posts she wrote: “I want to avenge every woman who has been mistreated in any shape or form but I cannot do that on my own. I am on the verge of creating a memorial day for all the women who sacrificed, or have been sacrificed, to keep our society intact (something that hasn’t worked so far). So please spread the word and help me make a small difference.” Isis* is another remarkable young lady who wrote in her introduction “When we were young they taught us to stand up and speak out. Now, when we're all grown up and big they turn their words around; they tell us not to talk & want us to sit down. I won't sit in silence, I will not be ignored. I will not be invisible or quiet anymore!! I don't care about profanity; I'm a big girl and can handle big people saying nasty things.”

Mechanical Crowds* dared discuss the existence of God in one of his posts; “The Creator created the year old puzzle. Before the puzzle, the Creator was not a creator. So in a way, the puzzle created the Creator just as the Creator created the puzzle. You obviously can think of a few possible solutions to the puzzle, but none of them seem to answer all the questions to your satisfaction. You always reach a point where you’re left with a missing piece, or an extra piece. Something is wrong.” He also brought up the issue of censorship on blogs in Egypt in a brave post titled But Someone's Listening In; “There’s an Egyptian blogger who is being accused of “insulting the president”, “inciting sedition”, “disrespect of religions”, and "harming national unity". I’m sure this news makes Egyptian bloggers a little uneasy. That’s the whole point isn’t it? To make bloggers think twice before hitting that publish button. It does make me a little uneasy. It makes me sad knowing that Egypt is still that far behind on human rights. We have no choice but to voice our opinions anyway, regardless of whether or not it is well received. If this news makes us bloggers resort to self-censorship then there is no point in writing … Fortunately, you don’t have to pay such a high price for saying your opinion; publishing your opinions on an anonymous blog should be safe.”

Ghawayesh* is a female blogger who is living in Europe but her heart stayed back home. “Ghawayesh means bracelets. In my context it symbolizes the cuffs of my culture. I don't know if I like them or hate them.” She is more concerned with the impact of our culture and tradition on our women; “Since childhood we can only play with dolls and kitchen appliances. Results: We are programmed to realize that we should be good house-keepers and baby-carers. I bought my son a mini-washing machine, mini-vacuum cleaner, mini-iron and ironing board, mini-kitchen, and a baby doll (and they are all among his favorite toys), and when my (Egypt-based and Egypt-minded) sister saw that, she was stunned, and said: "Your son will become a homo". As we grew up, we constantly heard: "You're a girl, you can't do that. Only boys can do that". "That" can be anything adventurous; demanding physical strength; technical thinking or action; or freedom of movement. Result: We are cripples! Hey! We are women and we need a man to save us, right? A girl's main goal in life should be to hunt down a man. No matter how high we reach, we are *nothing* without a man.”

A study done by Maktoob.com*, covering over 40,000 blogs, showed a clear stand towards politics, with a percentage of 40% bloggers voicing their concerns on recent issues. Cultural topics were the second with 25 %; however literature, entertainment and internet issues followed closely. The blog phenomenon enabled many journalists & writers to reach out to a wider audience outside of their own home countries. Prime examples are Yasser Abu Hilalah, the Jordan-based President of Al Jazeera TV & Ahmad Mofaq Zidan, The Afghanistan-based President of Al Jazeera T.V. Both are political journalists' bloggers in Maktoobblog.com who have evoked a strong response from the Internet browsing community. Blogs have revolutionized the way aspiring writers can communicate with their audiences, while gaining their readers' feedback instantly through the use of interactive comments.

Jeeran.com* – neighbors – is another example of the blogging outburst. Since launching its blogging service in November 2005, Jeeran's bloggers’ community has grown tremendously reaching a count of 35,000 blogs and 110,000 posts to date. Laith Zraikat, Co-founder, and Director of Innovation of Jeeran says that "Being the largest bloggers community in the Arab World, Jeeran can closely monitor topics presented and discussed in the Arab blogosphere.” Omar Koudsi, Co-founder and president of Jeeran adds “Many of the Arab bloggers do not like to be classified under one category; 24% of the total choose to categorize their blogs under Personal; this allows them to state their opinions in many issues including, but not limited to, politics and social issues. In addition, many of our members are tech savvy, leading to 14% of our bloggers classified under Computer & Technology. Surprisingly, other categories follow with very close percentages shedding light on bloggers dedicating their writings to topics like arts, education & culture, religion & spirituality, and sports.” Jeeran attracted some prominent journalists and politicians in the Arab world like Rashid Al Mudawwer (Moroccan Parliament Member), Mohammed Lachayeb (Moroccan Parliament Media Consultant), Tawfiq Al Rayyash (Bahraini Journalist), Batir Wardam (Jordanian Journalist and Environmental Activist) and that is just to name a few.

Out of sheer curiosity, I looked into Saudi blogs by women. 24-year old Jo is a Saudi female who posts regularly on A Thought in the Kingdom of Lunacy*. She is peeling layers and layers of the smelly onion of social hypocrisy. Having lived in London, Jo is still finding it hard to adjust. “Now that I am not allowed a life … From midnight till about 3 AM you’ll find me on the rooftop smoking and thinking … I usually have my phone to keep me company during that time – thank God for mobile phones here … It’s difficult to have any time to yourself when you’re living in a city like London. You have so many distractions … I think that if it weren’t for having to spend so much time by myself then it would have taken me a lot longer to grow up. I can remember getting so agitated at the small things and … But now I could care less about getting my way … One other major change in me is my lack of ambition now. I’ve lost interest in so many things. For one thing I was quite fanatical about politics … I have lost complete interest in whatever is going on in the world … All I want right now is to just head back home – London, working a 9-5 job that pays me just enough to pay my bills and maybe have some cash left over at the end of each month for a teeny bit of fun … I think I’ve grown up enough and it’s time to go home.”

Saudi Eve* touched my heart when she wondered “What would happen if today, instead of having my chauffeur drive my car, I drive it myself? No, not with twenty other women in a parade ... just plain ol' me going to work. What would happen if today, instead of saying God bless you to any person who recites (that) a perfumed woman being adulterous, I sue for slander and emotional trauma? What would happen if today, instead of saying "oops", smiling, then passing the spoon to my right hand, I say "I am a ****** lefty you ****** imbecile!. I can't eat with my ****** right hand even if it meant that the ****** devil will get a ****** bite of my ****** kabsa. So unless you'd ****** feed me yourself – with your ****** right hand of course – say bon ****** appétit Mr. Devil.” I never thought I would live to read a Saudi “erotic” story. Mystique, the blogger posting to The Emancipation of Mystical Thoughts*, writes about romantic escapades and her girlish dreams and desires of love and warmth. Her last post was on November 20th and it was a letter to her readers: “Mystique created history and she's history. I'll miss you … Mahmoud Darwish once wrote: One day I shall become what I want; one day I shall become a Thought, a Bird, a Poet.”

The Toy Boy Nightmare

A few years ago I wrote a letter to Santa asking for my perfect man; I went into details describing his character, his career, his attitude, his manners, his looks, his star sign, his Chinese sign, his marital status, his hygiene standards, his beliefs, and his outlook on life. I had a long list of things that Santa should avoid but it did not cross my mind to ask for a man my age or a few years older; I thought it went without saying that younger guys were not an option. I used to wonder what some of my friends found in a guy who was 5, 7, or 10 years younger that they were. I used to wonder what a young guy had to say to someone who was carrying her schoolbag when he was sucking on his thumb. My heart went out to those ladies who had to bear the inquisitive eyes that followed them wherever they took their toy boy. I was so certain that I will never walk the famous mile in their shoes. I assured myself that I am bulletproof safe from that kind of disgusting despair. I knew that I will never be as lonely or as insane as they were. I surprised myself … I was wrong!

It all started when I noticed that 22 & 23 year old guys found me attractive; whether they were students in my classes or trainees in my workshops, I used to smile and gently push them out of my way. I felt flattered but I was always in control of my actions and emotions. Last year I made a slight exception – a year or two younger is not such a big deal, especially if he is well-traveled, well-exposed, and well set in his career. My toy-boy-alarm was in the making; just the thought of me settling for this type of public humiliation gave me immediate palpitations. Last January, a 24 year old writer developed a crush on me; he was young, cute, and, on top of it all, he had great brains. Instead of redirecting his route away from me, I caught myself red-handed flirting with him. A dreamy “I don’t want to lose you” flew out of his mouth to slap me on the face. The harsh wake-up call startled me ... what on earth was I doing? But then I ignored the voice of reason and enjoyed listening to his passionate compliments about how I made him feel and how much he wanted to be with me. He got attached and I sobered up; I vanished and he was hurt.

A few weeks later, I crossed paths with another writer – 7 years younger! This time my defenses were up and I would not allow myself to repeat my previous mistake. I turned this connection into an online intellectual friendship but I am still curious about the other side of the fence. I dedicated a special dark corner in my head where I buried all such thoughts and feelings – they just scared me. I am 32 but luckily, because I tend to be well-maintained, I do not look it – it was never about looks, was it? I am a single independent career-oriented girl who is starved for love and attention. I miss being in a relationship and I miss the little things that add a warming flavor to my spreadsheet of a life; the surprises, the love words, the excitement before a date, the dreamy reminiscence after a date, and the phone calls that are directly wired to my heart. I want to have a plan for the weekend and someone to look forward to talking to. I want to come out of my class to find a missed call or a text message from someone – not my mother, not my friends, and not work-related.

Is it that I do not meet enough men? Is it that I do not attract them? No! There are plenty of them around me but I just do not like them. I do not like their baggage; be it an ex wife, a current wife, kids, bad experiences, imbedded resentment for women, commitment phobia, independence-related selfishness, emotional stinginess, financial stinginess, lack of expressiveness, over-eagerness, hair loss, muscle loss, a spare tire around their waist, or a midlife crisis. Men who are my age, or a bit older, have given up on life or given in to life. They are either married, defeated, depressive, deformed, or plain ugly. The few who are eligible candidates do not want to be with me, my dozen professions, and my radical opinions. They do not want an equal and cannot accept a superior; they want a young girl whom they could control, boss around, guide, and manipulate in the name of love! They want a young mother for their kids and an inexperienced wife in their bed. Let’s face it: at the age of 35, a guy can easily have a healthy relationship with someone who is 25, 26, 27 or 28 years old. I am developing a scary form of cannibalism; young hearts, fresh skin, and green minds attract me. I love the puppy-love look in their hope-filled eyes, the sweet compliments, the need to be with me and around me, the attention, the eagerness to please, the fear of loosing me, and the pride of showing me off to their friends.

I met my most recent prey by coincidence – ironically before one of my relationships episodes on TV. We talked before I started filming and the chemistry was there; the flow was so natural and interesting. After I was done, he told me that I sounded so intellectual and that I was great, then he asked me to wait for him until he was done with his segment. His words caressed the proud tigress in me and, at the same time, touched my maternal instinct. I was caught off guard! I was so confused. He is 26, obviously young, very successful, creative, witty, sarcastic, and funny. Two weeks later he took my number, and we went out on a …. emmmm …. meeting. To add a few years to his age, he wore masculine cologne, did not talk much, and smiled scarcely. I enjoyed his company and loved his wit. I did not mind his age or the different life he led; we were extreme opposites yet I missed him, enjoyed talking to him, gave him space in my mind, and looked forward to seeing him again. I felt that I lived in a glass house and I was under the illusion that people are throwing stones at me; when my producer asked me how he was, I said that he was too young!

The sad news is that just as much as I can see through the lonely over-eager older guys, younger guys can see through the false tough façade that I so brilliantly set up for myself. I have become so trained on picking up the vibes of desperate hunters, and young guys can easily sense my cannibalism and need for affection. Old worn out bodies with heavy cynical heads turn me off, and young white-slate girls pose as viable competitors. The four players – older guys, me, younger guys, and young girls – formed an infamous hide and seek game. I have no living proof of the success or the continuity of any such toy boy relations. I do not like the way I see the future – I see a 45 year old hag hunting young mouthwatering kids and devouring their hopes, aspirations, and futures. This is topping the chart of my worst fears. I will save my thoughts, shut down my laptop, sleep, and when I wake up I want it to be over. I want to be stronger and in control again. I am so vulnerable; I have nightmares – toy boy nightmares.

THE ROAD TO HELL IS PAVED WITH A MOTHER’S GOOD INTENTIONS

Being the daughter of an insectologist, I grew up playing with butterflies, examining mosquitoes, and studying the morphology of unheard of flies under the microscope. One day my father got me a silk worm - as a pet. With lots of love, I watched my worm transform into a cocoon and I waited for the colorful butterfly to come out of its silk hiding. I woke up one morning to find a small opening in my cocoon. I watched the butterfly for several hours trying to get out of the hole, then I decided to help her; I proudly, yet lovingly, snipped off the remaining bit of the cocoon with a pair of scissors. The butterfly then emerged easily but something was wrong with my pet; it had a swollen body and small wings. I waited for the moment when her wings would expand and she would fly. Neither happened! My baby pet spent the rest of her life crawling. My dad then explained to me that the butterfly’s struggle to get through the tiny opening was nature's way of forcing fluid from her body into her wings so that it would be ready for flying once it was free from the restricted cocoon.

Today as I watch many of the young men and women that I come across at work or in my classes and workshops, the image of my poor pet comes back to mind. I flossed my brains trying to find out the mental connection between the two until it hit me one day; in their attempt to protect their kids, our mothers crippled them. “We want a revision” howled a 28 year old marketing student in my class, but I see the pattern of the ready-made-easy-to-cook attitude everywhere. Like my butterfly, they face the world with shriveled wings, limp bodies, porous bones, and hollow heads. They are neither equipped to deal with the heavy blows of fate nor the daily challenges of life. They have no sense of direction and a vague reason for existence. Following the “use it or lose it” rule of thumb, if they are not used, muscles turn to flab, brains turn to mush, and determination turns to lethargy. I loved my pet so much that I wanted to ease her way out of the cocoon but instead, I maimed her for life. According to Darwin, I turned what could have been powerful wings into a vestigial structure – like our degenerate tail bone and wisdom teeth. Sometimes struggles are exactly what we need in our life; if nature allowed us to go through life without any obstacles, it would cripple us.

When I moved out five years ago, my mother thought that I did not love her anymore; today she is still wondering what she did wrong to push me away, or what she did wrong to deserve a daughter like me. When my brother graduated she got him a job, when he wanted a car she gave him hers, and when he wanted to get married she got him a bride, a house, a wedding, and more. There were times when I felt that the boy wanted to be a man but with her over protectiveness she stifled all his attempts to grow up. My mom is no exception; like many mothers, she believes that it is her role to take care of her baby until – well, until forever! One day I questioned her and she said “After I am gone, I want him to remember how I loved him and how much I helped him. I wish I could spoon feed him all my experience to spare him pain and unnecessary frustration.” Then she looked at me with a smile and said “You are tougher by nature; I wish you were not so tough. Come let me braid your hair.”

Magda Abdel Wahab (55) has a soft spot for babies. “Their little hands and feet are just irresistible.” With Mohamed, her eldest son, Magda had a long list of forbidden fruits that covered visitation rules, playing hours, friends allow list, and places block list. “I wanted to keep an eye on him all the time; no matter how much he grew up, in my eyes he will always have little hands and little feet.” At the age of 42, Magda had Omar. “I loved to be a mother again but I was not getting any younger. I suddenly realized that my ways were not fault-free. I will not live forever and I needed to equip Omar with the tools that will see him through all the walks of life.” The forbidden fruits fell off the tree and a change of strategy was needed. “I would walk him to the arcades a few times, show him the signs on the way and back, explain the rules about strangers, and then I would let him go on his own. Every time he is out of my sight I feel my ribs closing on my heart and my worst nightmares turn into ominous deja-vues. I would only breathe again the moment he walks though the door and throws his little hands in mine as he tells me about the fun he had.”

On asking Jailan Gamil (35) about the 8 simple rules for dating her teenage daughter, she said “I teach my daughter, Sandra, the difference between right and wrong and I remind her that even when I am not there, God sees her all the time and that she should not upset Him. I spot check her online chats, her room, and her phone – I am just scared. I want to keep her safe from the crazy world out there. Dating is not a welcomed option.” Dalia El Rashidy (40) knows that her 15 year old Lara is no longer a little girl. “She grew up all of a sudden. Watching her adjust her belly ring, curl her hair, put on lip gloss, and wear perfume made me realize that I have to become more of a friend than a mother; she has to come to me with her stories and I have to show empathy while helping her straighten-up. I worry about her but I have to give her space to grow up.” Hoda Shafik (54) has three fine gentlemen. “I never worried about the girls they dated as long as they never married them. My boys are strong; they know how to discipline their women they never show their weakness. Men were created to rule and to be obeyed; that’s how I was brought up and that’s how I raised them.”

Claudia Venturini (39), living in Cairo, originally from Luxembourg, has an Italian father, a Belgian husband, and two daughters, has a very different way of thinking; “When it comes to kids, I believe that you have them as you make them; you sow what you reap. If I sow the seeds of inexperience, I will reap the fruits of disappointment. I make sure to let my girls, 7 and 4, choose, make mistakes, fall, get their hands dirty, and find their own answers. Over-sheltering them would be like killing their immune system.” On the issue of dating, Claudia said “Alex and I worry a lot about who the girls will bring home; being European does not make us loose, on the contrary, we are quite conservative. Just like Egyptians, we do not want our girls to get hurt or to end up with the wrong man. We just do it differently; we are always there to guide them and to give advice but we allow them to grow through their own experiences.”

I had to ask Claudia about her opinion on the discrimination between the way boys and girls are raised up in the Middle East, she honestly disapproved saying “those young boys and girls are the nucleus of society and if I corrupt the nucleus, I corrupt the society. I have lived in Egypt for the past 5 years and I have no plans of leaving soon, which raises the chances of my girls dating Egyptians. My girls were never bossed around and they will never allow anyone to do it. Federica and Alexia were brought up to express their thoughts and views, no matter who disagreed, as long as they abided by the basic courtesy codes. They are independent and strong from within. I wish the girls in this part of the world realized their potential and acted upon it; being a woman does not mean being submissive and needy. I also wish that the men would learn the essence of manhood; being a man does not mean being self-centered and disrespectful. I believe that mothers spoil the boys and oppress the girls and this destroys the chances of having a well-balanced family and a healthy productive society.” In three words Claudia summed the core of a man in being “respectful, responsible, and honest.” whereas, a woman is “graceful, intelligent, and powerful.”

A WOMAN WITHOUT HER MAN IS NOTHING

I wanted to put on a gown of rose petals and share with you pink dreams on scented paper; but instead of the sweet Valentine’s Day feature I had in mind, I was driven by painful anger to defend women from the blows of Dr. Nick Neave who dropped a bomb in my backyard when he announced that “women in the 21st century may boast that they are truly independent for the first time in our social history. They may tell themselves and each other that they don't need a man. They can even start a family on their own thanks to IVF techniques. But, while feminists may argue (that) this proves women have finally kicked off the shackles of dependence on men, I'm afraid they're wrong.” Walid Anwar, sales and marketing expert agrees saying that “women will always be women no matter what they achieve under the name of their so-called independence. Deep down inside each woman, she needs a man to lean on and support her. No woman wants to be totally a male figure - it is just against nature.”

The evolutionary psychologist is convinced that women “are programmed to worry their men are going to abandon them … women may be richer and enjoy all the trappings of success but, deep down in their psyche, they fear they can't survive alone … they fear a drop in status or social standing that might come with divorce … women are more inclined to forgive an affair than a man … not because they're nicer, more easygoing individuals. It's simply because their primeval urge to hang onto a male provider is so strong … the thought of your husband having sex with another woman may be devastating. But even worse is the prospect of him pouring all his financial resources her way.” Tamer El Meehy, managing director of Entrust: Development & Management Consultants acknowledges the existence “of a deeply embedded sense of insecurity in women that is often reflected in a high level of possessiveness; many women are richer than their men, and are in fact providing for the family, but they still have the same insecurity.”

Reading the doctor’s words triggered my resentment for Walt Disney, who fed us many a time lies about a long awaited prince charming who fights the monsters to free the little helpless princess from evil spells. He promised living happily ever after yet overlooked the affairs, breakups, make-ups, struggles, boredom, and challenges that rock, or wreck, many boats. Hallmark is next on my hit list; because of their cute cards, creative gifts, and heart warming poetry, we have to celebrate Valentine’s Day and unlucky tomboys, like my humble self, never get to send or receive any of their product lines. It is as though being brought up, and living, in a conservative Middle Eastern society is not enough to get us, Arab ladies, into frequent intellectual fist fights with cavemen who come our way, the good doctor had to add fuel to our living hell with his conclusions.

On the one hand, Rania Hegazy, TV producer wonders if “earth will be a better place to live on were there no men.” On the other hand, the relationship between men and women in our society reminds Nancy El Maghrabi, managing director of Markstri of “the Cold War between the USA and the Soviet Union, at the time. It is an eternal power struggle.” Moreover, Shahinaz Ahmed, education/training specialist sees the male-female communication process as “a series of catastrophic collisions of ill-defined needs that we like to believe are the same.” And Dalia El Rashidy, partner at Logic Management Consulting says that our women are trapped with their men in a “mother-child relationship where the mother has to be understanding and accommodating all the time without the child ever trying to reciprocate. The sad truth is: this particular child never grows up.”

The article goes on: “In prehistoric times, women … needed the support and protection of men who didn't just have brute force but also had social status in the group, either through their sheer physicality or the strength of their personality … modern surveys consistently show that women today ape those inherent characteristics by looking for partners who are socially dominant and have the respect of their peers.” Did I get this right? Did the evolutionist refer to women as limp creepy social parasites who need to climb up a strong male trunk and suck the living sap out of him to survive? Will we wither and die if we are separated from our socially acceptable host? In short, we prefer being tied to a stake and stoned to death to getting out of a bad relationship, or marriage. Khaled El Dessouky, business development manager for Hitachi Egypt disagrees with Dr. Neave; “I tend to think that men and women are equally, yet differently strong. Their bonding becomes a win-win game only when they master their strengths; for example, when men throw the power card, women should use their tenderness weapon.”

Dr. Neave shared with us another study by unnamed sociologists at Virginia University: “women who worked were more dissatisfied with their husbands than those who stayed at home (and) a survey by the Skipton Building Society concluded that many women who are the main breadwinner hold it against their partner for contributing less to the household budget than they do … happiest of all were women whose husbands brought in at least two-thirds of the household income … in short I suspect women will never feel truly comfortable earning more than their men. The need to rely on a man is driven by such a deep-seated biological urge.” How bad could this article get? I am used to Middle Eastern men wanting to turn back time using religion or pleading protectiveness, but Dr. Neave threw the ball high up and it fell on the grounds of our biology – who could argue against that?!

“Women need to look up to their man and independent women who have an established career need a man who delivers an added value. Compatibility has a final say when it comes to who is putting how much where and for how long,” refuted Amany Souka, managing director of El Wekala Advertising. “A male partner who earns less is prone to insecurity attacks and minority complexes that would drive him to having affairs to prove his masculine caveman strength.” she added. Hence, the women in the doctor’s research have developed a severe case of low self-esteem that could be traced back to a mentally and emotionally abusive partner – who earns less money. Dr. Rafik Nakhla, director of personnel at the library of Alexandria and business instructor at SAE focuses on the bigger picture saying: “men and women are not rivals; they are partners for life where the return on investment comes in the form of mentally and emotionally healthy children; the future of the children depends on the quality of the partnership.”

It all comes back to maturity; women who are dependent on men are like fungal infections whose symptoms are reddened teary eyes, blistered ego, itchy heart, and overall burning sensations, and men who are dependent on their women are pathetically, yet disgustingly, sick. Dr. Steven Covey divides maturity into three phases; “dependence is the paradigm of you - you take care of me; you come through for me; you didn't come through; I blame you for the results. Independence is the paradigm of I - I can do it; I am responsible; I am self-reliant; I can choose. Interdependence is the paradigm of we - we can do it; we can cooperate; we can combine our talents and abilities and create something greater together.” Monir El Shazly, strategy consultant and freelance photographer summed it up saying that “If their relationship will not make both of them better, it will make both of them a lot worse off.”

Instead of a male-bashing book, Daylle Deanna Schwartz’s All Men are jerks – Until Proven Otherwise helps us realize that we create the jerks that we later complain about by allowing them to get away with unacceptable behavior in an effort to please them – the kind of behavior that Dr. Neave applauded earlier on in his theory. Daylle believes that if we can get to a place where we can see a man as a sweet addition to our life, as opposed to a necessity, our relationship becomes a win/win situation: we win if we have a satisfying relationship with a man - we win if we have to leave a jerk because we have a satisfying life either way. Hesham El Zeini, recruitment consultant agrees and believes that balanced and successful relations are “a never ending process of strategic negotiation where enough space must be given for compromises.”

Before Dr. Nick Neave rested his case, he came up with a joke of a conclusion: “while women may claim they are having cosmetic surgery and Botox treatments purely to feel better about themselves, I believe the reason is much more complex. Women are driven by a primeval urge to keep their men by looking youthful and fertile.” Now I am beyond livid and totally speechless. A woman, without her, man is nothing!

“You should never look for someone to complete you.
A relationship consists of two whole individuals.
Look for someone complimentary...not supplementary.”
Oprah Winfrey

Full Article: http://www.dailymail.co.uk:80/pages/live/femail/article.html?in_article_id=420513&in_page_id=1879

Character is Fate

"A man's character is his fate." — Heraclites, Greek philosopher (c. 540-c. 475 B.C.)

After her father was shot dead, Clarice Starling went to live on a farm with a foster family, from which she ran away in horror when she witnessed horses and lambs being slaughtered. Their screams haunted her, and all her success, achievements, trophies, and honors were a relentless pursuit to silence the lambs. Mediocrity was the farm that I ran away from; my lambs were screaming for freedom and the wild horses within me wanted to feel the wind against their faces. Back in 1994 I read Thomas Hardy’s The Mayor of Casterbridge. The pessimistic novelist made it sound as though the hero’s catastrophic fate was a natural byproduct of his character. At the time, it all made sense and I fully agreed. Then one night I watched “Return to Eden” and I saw how a woman faced her worst fears, altered her self perception, confronted the demons in her past, and changed how she talks, walks, and looks. She gave herself a new name and a new life. At the time, I did not like who I saw in the mirror and I resented the path that I was told to follow. I wondered if I could be someone else; would my fate change, were I to change my character?

It is amazing how much power we have yet we are so oblivious to its existence. At home we were directed to focus on our downsides, at school we had to improve our bad grades, and in the workplace we are asked to “develop” our weaknesses. Those who succeeded in aligning their character and their fate did the exact opposite. We invested in what made us feel strong instead of wasting time on things that only made us feel weak and bad about ourselves. Marcus Buckingham* says “all you have to do is find the one controlling insight that allows you to unlock your potential” – knowing your strengths is the first step. Stephen Covey* tells you to “live out of your imagination, not your history.” – This is the part where we get stuck; we do not believe in flying. We feel more secure with our feet on the ground, even if it is just quicksand. The most difficult step is the change itself. Change is an intrinsic part of our existence, yet we resist it to the bone. Dr. Spencer Johnson* wrote in his bestseller Who Moved My Cheese, that “if you do not change, you can become extinct.” Fear always intercepts our attempts to change; fear of the devil we don’t know; fear of the other side of the fence; fear of the maze. We hold on to stability, to our comfort zone, like a mother to her child on a collapsing bridge, and we avoid venturing outside for fear of getting hurt or getting lost.

Over the years I jumped one hurdle after the other I managed to finally silence the lambs. To unleash the power within me, I turned my back to the little nerdish girl that I once was. I silenced the screams of the student who sat in the front row but always went unnoticed. The shy frightened elf spoke up and earned her right to be heard. The little plain Jane Eyre has blossomed into a Madonna that is coveted for her uninhibited spirit and diversified career. I changed my character to change my fate. I began looking for needles of my kind in a stack of hay. I found many people who found their way inside the maze. Dalia Ibrahim (32), currently regional public relations manager for Hilton hotels in Egypt, says that the key to changing your fate is in believing in yourself. Dalia is very clear on the difference between the realistic knowledge of her potential and the delusional thoughts of what she could achieve; “You need to believe in your strength to reach the highest top of the highest mountain, but you also need to have the tools and the equipment to get you there – otherwise you might fall and break your neck. I believe in well-calculated risks; I try to keep my eyes open for opportunities and I am very honest with myself when I am assessing my options. I am aware of my talents and I capitalize on them but I also know that I still have a lot to learn.”

In a marketing communications workshop, I met the marketing manager of El Sewedy Cables, Ahmed Hassouna (33). A remarkably solid person who has determination written allover his face, Ahmed believes that people can grow and develop; “the backbone of the personality is more likely to stay the same but daily interactions, experience, reading, and self-education are the tools to help us stretch our character in all directions and dimensions.” Ahmed thinks that your vision is your fate; so if your vision is unclear, your fate will most likely be unclear. “Having a personal vision is like knowing where you are going when you leave your house in the morning, and having objectives and goals is like having a clear route to follow to get you to that place. We grow and our vision grows with us; hence we need to adjust the route to our new destination.”

Shahinaz Ahmed (34) is the CEO of the Egyptian Education for Employment Foundation (EEFE). She used to think that she is what she was born with then she began realizing that her actions decide her destiny. “Character is like an onion and we discover one layer after the other as we go on in life. Training is based on the idea that people have the ability to alter their behavior and ultimately their character, otherwise it is no use to learn presentation skills if you fear public speaking. We were born in a risk-free society; we want to live and die with a clean slate regardless of what we have learned. Change has a high price tag and those who resist change are just avoiding the responsibility that comes with it.” Leaving Egypt and going to England to study at the age of 32 was frowned upon. People discouraged her; they reminded her of her stable career, great position, big salary, and stability. “I was not content. I had so many unanswered questions and I had to find the answers my way. This was one of the best things I did in my life I learned so much about myself. Now, I make my own choices; regardless which country, or culture, I live in, I am the compass.”

I crossed paths with Ahmed El Badawy (31) back in 2000; he was the marketing coordinator for Dar El Fouad Hospital. A bright optimistic smile lit up his face when I asked him about how he saw his future; he had big dreams. In 2001 he formed a partnership with three of his best friends and they opened the first Café Mo. In 2004 he became the marketing manager of the renowned hospital. His mentor at the time, Dr. Hatem El Gabaly helped him “toughen up” and saw him through the challenges of the position. “I was getting bored and my work was becoming monotonous; I was aching for my dream of going 100% private and I wanted to give a free rein to my creativity. I resigned when I was at the peak of my professional career and I created REACH Advertising.” Ahmed does not deny the fear of failure that haunted him in his quest, but he kept his eyes fixed on his dream every time he had an anxiety attack. “I had the support of my parents, Dr. El Gabaly, and my wife to lean on when I needed someone to hold a torch in the tunnel.”

Those are just a few examples of the remarkable people that standout as exceptions to an obsolete rule. Dr. Yasser El Manawy, clinical therapist and life coach, says that every human being is born like a white sheet. On the one hand, our nature is dictated by our DNA and genetic traits – and that we cannot change. On the other hand, our character, or personality, is shaped by the people we meet and the things we see in our lives. We can change our fate by changing our personality. “It takes a few steps; first you change how you think, then you change how you feel, then you take actions to support the new thoughts and feelings.” said Dr. Manawy. When I asked him about the fear of change, he replied saying that “this is a societal imposed fear; it is part of our upbringing. Had we any faith in a higher power, this fear should work for us not against us. Healthy fear protects us from harm and empowers us; unhealthy fear holds us back and inhibits us. In order to change our personality and gain control of our fate, we need to face our core issues and innermost fears; we need to shift our motivation from the fear of loosing to the excitement about winning.”

Sow a thought, and you reap an act;

Sow an act, and you reap a habit;

Sow a habit, and you reap a character;

Sow a character, and you reap a destiny. - Samuel Smiles

Marcus Buckingham: best-selling author, expert on outstanding leadership and management practices. www.marcusbuckingham.com

Stephen Covey: internationally respected leadership authority, family expert, teacher, organizational consultant, and author, Dr. Covey dedicates his life to teaching principle-centered living and leadership to individuals, families, and organizations. www.stephencovey.com

Dr. Spencer Johnson: One of the world's most influential thinkers. He is renowned for his brief, profound parables that help millions of people manage in changing times and rejuvenate their spirits. www.spencerjohnsonpartners.com/spencerjohnson

TO BE, OR NOT TO BE: THAT IS THE QUESTION

Hamlet!! I beg to differ! How limiting could that question be? How restraining could it ever get? Do we only have two possible answers to a question? Do we always have two things to choose from? Are our options so restricted? Are we so grounded? Have we gone color blind? When did our retinas stop seeing the colors of a rainbow? Why do we print our experiences in duotone? In a game of multiple choice questions, how many answers could be correct? What number of choices do we have? Who gives us the options? When do we have to submit our selections? Who decides if we passed or failed? I studied Shakespeare’s masterpiece, Hamlet, ages ago. I remember enjoying the depth, the soliloquies, and the suffering of a tragic hero until his cathartic downfall. Only today that Hamlet’s line began bothering me – this cannot be it! We might as well die and end our misery!

I was brought up to be your typical “option-less” person but I learned how to find micro-options and loopholes of choices in the tightest of situations and the trickiest of questions. It was always hard for me to choose between two dishes, or two men, when one gave me heartburn and the other made my brain go numb. I went through a long journey of self discovery where I learned the virtue of the big picture, multi-dimensions, and different perspectives. I found my true calling and now there is no putting off to the fire within my soul. Being a Libra, I have always weighed my options on the fair scales of my inanimate birth sign. I still weigh the possibilities but they are much more than two. It shocks me now to meet people who are still trapped in the narrow tunnels of low self esteem and shackled to the ground by lead balls of fear. With their black blindfolds on, they face the brick walls of self inflicted imprisonment and turn their backs to all the opportunities in the world.

I was training some remarkable ladies from one of the UN bodies in Egypt, one thing led to the other, and I told them that we – human beings – have unlimited options. Silence filled the meeting room, heads turned to face me, eyes widened, jaws dropped, and then they all said: “No, we don’t! We do not have “that many” choices. We have commitments, responsibilities, and burdens that leave us only a few options to choose from.” They told me that my freedom to choose is directly related to my being single. They insisted that they could not do as they pleased, regardless of its impact on those around them, and I insisted that the power to choose does not mean being reckless; I do not want them to runaway from their duties, I want them to embrace them. Choices liberate us and knowing that we will never run out of options and alternatives is a relief. I am grateful that I am not married to any of the men who came my way. I am delighted that I am not stuck with one of those careers that suck the living life out me. I can safely assume that I am a happy person; on a scale from one to ten, one being the lowest and ten being the highest, I would give myself a comfortable eight.

We are meant to choose. We are created to investigate options and alternatives. We are not equipped to compromise for the long term. There are times when we consciously limit our options because we do not want to feel overwhelmed by the infinity of choices out there. It is difficult to choose; the bigger the selection, the more helpless we feel. How do we know we are making the right decision? How do we know that we are choosing what is good for us? How can we tell that we are not going to regret this? Other than using our limited common sense and intangible gut feeling, we will never know! But this should not limit us when looking into options. It is normal to make mistakes, just as much as it is normal to look into more and more choices for corrective actions. Nothing justifies waking up in the morning hating what you wake up to, who you wake up with, or where you get up to go. Nothing explains leading an unfulfilled life with an unfulfilling job and an unfulfilling partner. We only live once, so we had better make perfect use of our time on earth.

I am not pleading for drastic measures like divorce, immigration, a great escape, or 180 degrees career changes; I am defending our human right to choose. Our lives do not have to come to a standstill if we are in the wrong job with the wrong boss or in the wrong house with the wrong partner. We do not have to settle! We do not need to settle! We should not settle! After being confined in a solitary cell, freeing your mind starts with knowing who you are. Find the answers in your heart: what do I like? What makes me happy? What makes my eyes light up with hope? What makes my cheeks glow with achievement? What makes me want to jump out of bed in the morning? What puts a smile on my face when someone, or something, rocks my boat? Be it a new language, a long forgotten hobby, a dream career, a challenging sport, or anything else that adds flavor to a tasteless dish – anything that adds color to our black and white life. No Hamlet, I am sorry; it does not have to be or not to be!