The Witch Effect

In my Pocahontas nighty, with a whole bar of chocolate stuffed in my mouth and empty wrappers all around me, I watched Nicole Kidman’s and Will Ferrell’s Bewitched. I needed a distraction. I wanted to give my mind a break. It should have been a nice funny romantic chick flick movie but I found myself drifting away from the main plot and the sub plots, and sinking into a plot of my own; I drew a parallel line between the witch, Nicole Kidman, as Isabel Bigelow, and myself – Don’t laugh! I am not talking looks wise! I outgrew that illusion a few years back!

Let me show you how I ingeniously came to that conclusion; the first thing that got my attention was Isabel’s taste in men. She fell in love with Will Ferrell, playing Jack Wyatt, at first sight. Why? Because he was a mess! He even spelt it out for her: “I am a mess. I am a jerk, number one, extremely arrogant, and I love to bleach my hair out.” I thought I was the only girl on earth with self destructive tendencies, bad taste in guys, and a shallow streak! – I thought wrong!

A few minutes later in the movie, Isabel could not stand the thought of not telling her beloved Jack that she was a witch! She did not want to trick him into loving her, she wanted him to love her for who she really was. – sounds painfully familiar! She struggled with her fear, put her strength together, and blurted it out in his face; “Guess what? I'm a witch!” she said, and what did she get in return? Sarcasm! “Guess what? I'm a Clippers fan!” Jack replied! Poor Isabel was left with the only choice of having to demonstrate her powers. – I do that too!

His laughter stopped. His face changed. He finally realized that she is a broom-flying spell-casting cauldron-brewing witch! Like a lot of guys out there, Jack could not handle her supernatural gift. Behind Isabel’s angelic face and frail figure, lies a witch! In the fifteenth century Europe, and for centuries to follow, witch-hunts involving moral panic, hysterical masses, and mob lynching, resulted in tens of thousands of executions. The thought of having a witch in town evoked superstitious fear, not to mention dating one or, even worse, getting married to one.

Over the centuries, ignorant masses killed any alleged practitioners of witchcraft, and labeled the gifted as quacks who practiced nothing but extortion and fraud. People who failed to comprehend, and accept, the differences that witches brought to the table found it easier to drown, hang, stone, or execute them. The poor witches were alienated in their exile, and eventually, the whole species became extinct and the commoners lived in peace. Books say that witch-hunts ended in the eighteenth century – Oh! did they?

I guess not! today, women who have brains, character, and experience are treated the same way witches were treated in the dark ages. Girls, like me, who ask questions and who insist on being honest and straightforward are castaways in this patriarchal society. As human beings, we are inclined to reject people who differ from us; different in how they look, how they talk, and how they think. Watching Isabel’s witch-effect on Jack brought back instantaneous memories of my very own witch-effect on men.

Flying and crashing seems to be a pattern in my relationships; I am a relationships expert and I advise people on their love lives, but when it comes to me, my men, and my love life, I am totally clueless. After the initial click, I stupidly, yet willingly, decide to put aside my spells, charms, amulets, and witchcraft. I leave my flying broom at home, get out of my human cloak, and I reveal the real witch within. I express myself with a cursed clarity that leaves no room for confusion or speculation. I share my articles along with my dreams. I show the different dimensions of my character. – I wish there was a delete button in real life!

In my relationships, I turn into a cute kangaroo that is trying to walk gracefully in a china shop. But alas! With the first step in the shop, I intimidate the owner, who reaches out for his gun. A few more steps and I begin breaking his antique rules. And by the time I reach him, he is totally panicked and freaked out. He aims the gun at me. I plead. He looks me in the eye. My eyes water. He orders me to get out before I create any more damage. I beg him not to fear me. He pulls the trigger. I get hurt. Witch or no witch, I bleed like normal human beings, I feel the pain, and I moan in agony; a moan that he cannot hear!

In the movie, Jack realized that his love for Isabel is bigger and stronger than his fear of her being a witch. He followed her home only to catch her before she took off on her broom. The happy lovers reunited and lived happily ever after. This is the part that I never got to experience. Once a witch always a witch! People will always hunt me down and try to get rid of my evil influence. They will stone me with their cruel words and ruthless judgments, drown me in negligence and guilt, hang me on the alter of ignorance, point a finger at my scars, and deprive me of true love.

Now I am a witch in hiding; here now on this page I vow to never ever reveal my true nature before a living soul. Like my fellow witches, I will lead a double life. Yes! I have been defeated, but how much rejection can a witch handle? From now onwards, I will lie about the past, cheat in the present, hide in the future. Yes! I have given up, but how much longer was I supposed to fight? I will master the art of nodding, bowing, and smiling and, forever, I will relinquish the rebel that took home in my soul. No … No … I can’t … ok … one more round … just one more! I just hope that you are real – and handsome – I just hope that you can handle the witch-effect!

The Beauty & The Geek

If the producers of The Beauty and The Geek wanted to torture someone who thinks of herself as a beauty by having her date any of those plain geeks on the show, then I would have made an excellent candidate. I am quite certain that those girls do not care about the geeks; they are in it for the money or the fame. I am also positive that they do not continue to date them once the cameras are off. With a pat on the head and a kiss on the cheek they send them off with their goddess-like smiles. Bottom line, the geeks are nice but they are not dating material! I cannot date Winnie the Pooh!

On her show, Ricki Lake invited some girls who were “single by choice” and asked them about their physical requirements in a man. They all seemed to judge a book by its cover and have lost plenty of good guys to a fixation on physical attractiveness. Ricki told them that she had what they were looking for but the name of the game is a blindfolded date dare; the girls will go on a literally blind date! I admit that my eyes have always deceived me into choosing the jerk over the geek but what am I supposed to do? Keep the blindfold on to maintain the chemistry?

So what is it that attracts me to, or repels me from, a man? I tossed away the character nonsense, the vision and mission clichés, and, by digging deeper into the layers of my Freudian heaven of a psyche, I narrowed it down to attractiveness! Yes! The attractiveness of a man is directly proportionate to my being attracted to him. Through extensive research Dallas Barabasz-Lynn has been able to discern the inner structure of attraction. The Ladder Theory claimed that 50% of a woman’s attraction to a man depends on physical attraction, 20% on competition, 20% on novelty, and 10% on other things. Power and money were categorized separately; the amount of money, and the degree of power, required to get a woman’s attention change according to her age. At the age of 16 a gift and a love note would have done the trick. As of the age of 25, a woman’s definition of the richest and the most powerful man changes with her exposure and demands.

In all my happy articles and sweet dreams I envisioned myself with the tall dark and handsome prince; the captivating gaze, the broad shoulders, the flawless smile, the husky voice, and hard in the right places - muscular that is. I have a soft spot for long soft hair, breath-freshener, clean laundry, and perfume. I also spot check nails and hands for cleanliness. Jerks who met these criteria made a doormat out of the little princess’s heart – yours truly!

Good guys who, in my eyes, had a weight or a shape issue were discarded immediately. Those who looked anything less than perfect were tormented to fit a mold that damaged me more than it hurt them. Those who were eager to please, I labeled as geeks, and those who accepted my inner or outer deformities, I crucified on the basis of their own scars and frailties.

The Ladder Theory pointed out how gals like me are attracted to competition; by competition, Lynn meant disinterest. The attractiveness of a man is by far stronger if he has other interests in life than making us happy. We are more tempted to pursue those who run away from us. “Ultimately, almost all guys learn this truth: The best way to never score with a woman is to show too much interest in her.” says Lynn.

What about novelty? Who wants an ordinary guy with a normal life and a normal job? – boring … yuckkkkkk! “Something different is more attractive. Like someone who does not have to work like most people because they have lots of money” says Lynn. I will add to that a few disorders that spice up the appeal of novelty: workaholic, alcoholic, manic depressive, obsessive compulsive, hypochondriac, malingerer, and chronic liar – yes, I have seen it all!

Moral of the story, if you are attractive, rich, powerful, novel, and show no interest in her, she is almost guaranteed to want to get intimate with you. Bonus points for destroying her self esteem, flirting with her friends, cheating on her, and being always late, forgetful, noncommittal, manipulative, and controlling – Isn’t this the definition of the Alfa male? Isn’t that the man who had the lion’s share of my verbal, visual, and written curses?

“So Beauty, why complain now of being painfully single, when you detest the jerks you have created and reject the geeks you have attracted?” – asked the voice of reason that I so often silence!

The Virgin Prostitute!

“The End justifies the Means” is quoted in our everyday life from Niccolo Machiavelli’s book, “The Prince”. So, if the end is getting a ring on your naked left hand finger, then any lie you throw in the way of prince charming is an acceptable means to a justifiable end. What does he want to hear? That you are a virgin? That you have never been kissed? That you have never been in love? That you have never dated? That he is the first and will certainly be the last? That you are a god-sent angel from heaven? Instead of a happily ever after ending to your story, the truth will just bring it to a sudden humiliating ending; hence, maneuvering is called for to perfect this Machiavellian plan.

So let’s assume that we have a girl who is poor beyond poverty, more ambitious than Lady Macbeth, is paying her tuition fees, and is saving for her dowry. This girl chose the least trodden path as a means to her end; she began selling her body bit by bit for the highest bidders, yet holding on to her virginity; kissing has a price, exploring adds to the bill, and making out is rated differently. Advanced services like hand jobs, fellatio (oral sex), and backdoor sex fall in another category. Those girls and their activities shed a florescent light on the definition of prostitution.

“Where there is a will, there is a way” my mom used to remind me whenever my determination failed me, and those girls were willing to prostitute themselves, they just needed to find a way to do so while preserving their virginity. I was first triggered to write this piece on backdoor sex when I read that some girls went to the attorney general and filed a complaint against Hala Sarhan for paying them off and coaching them into pretending to be prostitutes on her show. They said that she promised that their identities will be hidden but when the show was aired they were scandalized because everyone who knew them could recognize them. The girls were presented to forensics so they could prove that they were not prostitutes, as Hala’s show claimed. The forensic report concluded that they were all virgins with intact hymens, however they showed signs of heavy anal use; the signs included abrasions on the anal opening and a 'funneled' anus.

Later on, I received an email with a scan of an article from Al Fagr Newspaper by Amira Melsh that had a shocking headline “80% of prostitutes are virgins” then another article followed by Wael Abel Fattah, titled “Virgin Prostitution in Egypt.” Both articles researched the entangled webs of vice, pimps, strategies and schemes to lure new girls, rules for dealing with customers, pricing strategies, and guarantees. The girls themselves were discussed revealing their ages and motives; the girls made it very clear to the “customer” that they were to remain virgins. In the investigation, they said that most of their customers were Arabs who paid a lot for backdoor sex, many young Egyptians who only wanted to be touched and relieved, and 50 plus men who wanted to feel young again.

Some of the girls had what sounded like strategic goals for a five year plan before they retired, put it all behind them, and got married to their cuckolded prince charming who would flaunt his manhood along with the virginity of his bride. The plan entailed goals as buying a car, a down payment for a house, and some cash to start their own business. “What is better to fill the gap between aspirations and reality, than a girl’s body?” said 25 year old Nagwan, who is a virgin herself and runs a well structured web; someone is in charge of setting up the house, while another is in charge of bringing in the customers; recruiting new girls is a very segmented process that covers school girls, college girls, married women, and mothers. “Our customers have different needs and tastes and it is our job to please the customer” concluded Nagwan.

“I come from a poor family in Sharkia” said Sara “and I have big dreams of living comfortably and of getting married and having kids of my own. I have an image and a reputation to maintain in this society, this is why most of my business meetings are held in Zamalek and Mohandeseen with Arabs; no one will know me and I will never see them again. They are also more generous and more accepting of my sole condition – I have to remain a virgin” said Sara in her interview.

As usual I ran to my laptop and logged on to an Arabic language dating site where I pretended to be a Kuwaiti guy coming on vacation to Egypt and looking for an escort. I did not approach anyone; I just posted a photo and waited. I did not wait long before my inbox was filled with messages from girls of different ages typing, in Arabic, their needs and requests. I picked one girl who specified backdoor sex as the ultimate form of intercourse and she clearly stated that she was a virgin and that she wanted to stay so.

I tried to bargain for full intercourse but she was adamant; I learnt that she came from a conservative family and that she wanted a better life; “If I get married to someone from that level I will remain poor but if I am rich, I can marry rich” she explained. Her services covered airport pick up, arranging for a rented car, outings, kissing and the like, hand jobs and the like, backdoor sex, and sleeping over. She was very forward about her demands and shrewd in negotiating each item. The deal went sour when I insisted on full intercourse.

In the old days prostitutes had distinctive features; the way they laughed, talked, walked, dressed, wore make-up, and chewed gum. Nowadays, they could be anyone you meet in a shop, supermarket, college, or outing. When our society placed all the emphasis on the presence or absence of a piece of meat, a new breed of Machiavellian call girls was born. They used society’s best argument to their favor; socially speaking honor is linked to the presence of a hymen, and they will have a hymen to show on their wedding night. Innocence, integrity, and the truth sunk deep down in our social gutters and now we have to live in the stink of lies and the stench of corruption. They learned that our laws turn the customer into a witness and that the only proof of their innocence is virginity. They found out that where there is a will, there is a way; and when the front door is locked, open the backdoor!

Good Riddance!

To: All the Narcist Jerks I know … and to those I do not know
From: Marwa Rakha – on behalf of all women
Subject: I do not love you … I do not even like you

Date: Now and forever

__________________________________________________

Dear Narcist Jerk

Please do not take this letter personally; I neither mean insult nor injury. I am writing to you on behalf of all the females that I know, and those that I do not know. Who? You know who; the doormats. Oh please, do not give me that face!

To be more specific, I am representing the women who stay in relationships with worthless men like your kind self; women who have no demands; who give without expectations; whose return on investment is your humble smirk. Yes, the ones who can do much better but because of some fatal flaw with their self perception, they settle for half the man they deserve. Oops! Did that hurt?

Hold your horses! I am not done yet! I have not even started! Let me remind you of the long list of your offences; falsifying a male ID on the grounds of facial hair and protrusions, theft of their hearts, deception to gain access to their lives, evading liability relating to any of your actions, trespassing to other feminine pastures, assault of their friends, battery of their ego, unlawful wounding of their self-esteem, wounding with intent of their pride, recklessness throughout the relationship, negligence of their needs, intimidation and threats, conspiracy against their peace of mind, and murder of their happily ever after dreams.

If I were to sentence you to prison for all your crimes, I would sentence you to an eternity of loneliness and suffering. I would have you stoned for every tear a woman shed for you. I would have you whipped for every dagger-of-a-word you threw in her heart. Like a plucked chicken, I would toss you in boiling water for every jealous moment you caused her. I would stick an iron rod in each ear that would not listen to her desperate pleas. Should be broken, those fingers that hurt when they promised to heal. Should have been cut …. I will let you figure that one out on your own!

She wanted you strong to protect her not to bully her; handsome to please her sight not to torture her wits; rebellious to support her causes not to offend her logic; imaginative to fly with you not to get caught in your entangled webs; sensitive to understand her not to confuse her; determined to lean on you not to suffer your well-launched attacks; eloquent to appeal to her mind not to flirt with her friends; charming to give her pride not shame.

How could you live with yourself? On a merry-go-round, you sent her heart racing standstill shadows and fighting lost battles. You exhausted her senses on your swing; one day, she touched the stars in the sky, and the next day she licked the dust off the ground. You played her like a ruthless circus trainer; you gave her sugar when she performed tricks for you, and I could hear her trumpet in agony when your sharp metal hook, with the spiked end, tore through her sensitive skin.

What excuses have you to offer? You told her you were confused and depressed. You said you were a mess from within. You pleaded innocent when you were guilty as charged! Did you not ask for her help? Was it not you who needed her support? Were you not the illegitimate child of receding passion? Have you not suffered the withdrawal symptoms of love? Had she not held your hand through your suffering? Was it not for her ears, who would have listened to you? Was it not for her wise words, who would have consoled you?

Now you sit back and judge her? Now you list her faults and flaws? Now you point a finger at her weakness? Today you turn your back to her? Today you no longer want to be with her? Today she repels you when only yesterday she was never close enough? High time you smashed her wise head with your stupid words? Tomorrow you will wake up and forget all about her, and about all your crimes against her? What a pig! What a drag! What a narcist jerk!

Good Riddance

Marwa Rakha

The Scars of Life

Here I am, again, with the ever so familiar tear lingering between my eyelids; it refuses to surrender to gravity; it just sits there and sparkles. Sadness? How would I color it? Blue is classic for sadness but I do not see just any shade of blue; I am wearing a necklace of sapphire; so royal; so proud; so attractive; so untamed. Gems are more precious when they are raw and sadness is the gem I am wearing today - close to my heart.

This is how the story goes:

One day a little boy decided to go for a swim. He flew into the water, not realizing that as he swam toward the middle of the lake, an alligator was swimming toward the shore.

His father saw the two as they got closer and closer together. In utter fear, he ran toward the water, yelling to his son as loudly as he could. Hearing his voice, the little boy became alarmed and made a U-turn to swim to his father. It was too late. Just as he reached his father, the alligator reached him.

From the dock, the father grabbed his little boy by the arms just as the alligator snatched his legs. That began an incredible tug-of-war between the two. The alligator was much stronger than the father, but the father was much too passionate to let go. A farmer happened to drive by, heard his screams, raced from his truck, took aim and shot the alligator. Remarkably, after weeks and weeks in the hospital, the little boy survived.

His legs were extremely scarred by the vicious attack of the animal. And, on his arms, were deep scratches where his father's fingernails dug into his flesh in his effort to hang on to the son he loved.

The newspaper reporter who interviewed the boy after the trauma, asked if he would show him his scars. The boy lifted his pant legs. And then, with obvious pride, he said to the reporter, "But look at my arms. I have great scars on my arms, too. I have them because my Dad wouldn't let go."

We too have scars, too. No, not from an alligator, but the scars of a painful past. Some of those scars are unsightly and have caused us deep regret. But some wounds are because God has refused to let you go. In the midst of your struggle, He's been there holding on to you.

Sometimes we foolishly wade into dangerous situations, not knowing what lies ahead. The swimming hole of life is filled with peril - and we forget that the enemy is waiting to attack. That's when the tug-of-war begins - and if you have the scars of God's love on your arms, be very, very grateful. He did not and will not ever let you go.

Never judge another person's scars, because you don't know how they got them.

In the Absence of Light ... Darkness Prevails

It was St. Valentine’s Day in 2000 when I first heard “Losing my Religion”. I was happily dancing to the beat until the lyrics hit me. My feet lost the rhythm and I came to a complete stop. How could anyone sing along, or dance to, such a song; “That’s me in the corner … That’s me in the spotlight … Losing my religion … Trying to keep up with you … I thought that I heard you laughing … I thought that I heard you sing … I think I thought I saw you try …”? It was the first of many more things to challenge my deeply rooted conviction that religion is neither open for questioning nor subject to doubt. I was brought up, like many other Egyptians, to take religion for granted. Asking “why?” is transgression and wondering is the first step of atheism.

Last month, my aunt invited me, along with all my siblings, for dinner to welcome our American-born cousin and his wife who were in town. I was happy to meet up with my cousin. There was a time when we talked about everything from cultural differences and social pretences to physics and astronomy. Seven years ago Ahmed got very religious but he was still fun to be around; his soul and essence were untouched. Two years ago he got married to the daughter of a Sheikh. I met her briefly after the wedding; I only saw her eyes. That night we did not shake hands, let alone talk. His wife launched an attack on me for taking off the veil ten years ago saying that I looked prettier before and that I had the light of God on my face instead of make-up! When we all took our seats on the big dining table, Ahmed’s wife sat alone in the living room. Our kind hostess left her food and joined her.

One thought haunted my drive home; this utter humiliation cannot come from God. God loves us! He did not create us to doubt us! He has faith in us just as much as we have faith in Him! He does not think of us as pieces of meat governed by lust! Instead of going to bed, I went on a treasure hunt; I was looking for material on the relationship between men and women. On IslamToday.com, Sheikh Sami Al Majid compiled all the verses and quotes I needed. I loved his opening statement; kind of defies the purpose! “We cannot find direct references in the Qur’ân and Sunnah that say that free mixing between men and women is unlawful.” The Sheikh continued saying that Islam “has defined the limits of interaction between men and women. Moreover, Islam has closed all doors that lead to temptation and promiscuity.”

He quoted scholars saying that a judge should try women separately from men, women are not obligated to attend the Friday prayers, a party invitation may be refused if there will be any clear wrong doing at the party because “under these circumstances, desires are kindled and temptations are greater and regrettable things happen, as is seen time and again in co-ed schools and mixed social events.” said the Sheikh as he listed the evidence:

1. Allah says: “And when you ask the ladies for anything, ask them from before a screen. That makes for greater purity for your hearts and for theirs.” [Sûrah al-Ahzâb: 53]

2. The Prophet said: “Never is a man alone with a woman except that Satan is the third party with them.

3. The Prophet also said: “Do not enter into the company of women.” A man then asked him: “What about her male in-laws?” The Prophet replied: “The in-law is the most dangerous”.

4. The Prophet also said: “It is better for one of you to be pierced by a steel pin in his head than to touch the hand of a strange woman.”

5. The Qur’ân clearly forbids women from being soft of speech while talking to men. Allah says: “Be not too complaisant of speech, lest one in whose heart is a disease should be moved with desire: but speak with a speech (that is) proper.” [Sûrah al-Ahzâb: 32].

6. The Prophet said: “Any woman who puts on perfume then goes and passes by some men to let them find her scent is a type of adulteress.”

7. Allah says: “Nor come nigh to adultery”. In this verse, Allah does not say “Do not commit adultery” but tells us not even to come close to it.

8. Allah says: “Say to the believing men that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty: that will make for greater purity for them.” and says: “And say to the believing women that they should lower their gaze and guard their modesty.” [Sûrah al-Nûr: 30-31] This shows us how men and women are to conduct themselves.

As if that was not enough research for me, I had to take my confusion into the chat room; I told Sherif that the devil was in our head and that temptation came from within. He was shocked and asked me if I am a believer. I told him that I am a believer in a great God and in a merciful religion but people who came between us and God’s book did all the damage; I was not talking about prophets, I was talking about sheikhs who try to interpret God. He told me that the Qur’an mentioned the devil clearly. I told him that the Qur’an also mentioned Heaven and Hell clearly, but the words and visuals used were metaphorical; a palace is not a palace, a river is not a river, and a devil is not a devil. I asked Sherif to try to let go of the interpretations that we were fed growing up, but he insisted that Satan was an outside force; he is the source of temptation. I asked him about the Holy month of Ramadan; God promised us that the demons would be chained, so where did temptation come from? At this point I mentally signed out.

From Sherif I moved to Ehab. I told him that I was writing an article about questioning religion. He told me that this was a place where angels feared to tread. I shared with him a link to an article titled Wondrous Treatment of Women in Islam. He said that it must have been written by some “ignorant worm”. He declared his disliking of the article from the start. I asked him to leave the tone of the article aside and to focus on the facts. He refused, saying: “I am one of those people who believe that our religion is without reproach … if we choose to go astray here or there then we do it at our own peril… we should not try and fault our religion to find excuse for our own behaviors. I am no saint but I know where not to cross the line … no matter how much of a drone I may seem to be, there is no heroism in challenging God.” I asked him if he believed that if a man and a woman were left unattended to, the third party would be the devil. He jokingly said that he did; not because he knew the devil but because he knew guys.

My chat with Ehab ended when he said that in the absence of light, dark prevails, referring to me, I guess. I replied telling him that one man’s poison is another man’s bread; it is all a matter of perception. In this case light and dark are very relative and are subject to our interpretations. Islam promotes the principles of trust, integrity, honesty, wisdom, and freedom of choice. Why did this sheikh, and others, turn a loving forgiving God into a tyrant? Why did they interpret the verses to favor one gender over the other, when God created us as equal? Darkness is in the head of someone who says that for women to go about uncovered in the company of men is inarguably a gross violation of Gods’ commands. It is pitch black in a world that believes that everything that may seduce a person to fall into adultery is unlawful. Depraved of light are those who fear getting turned on by shaking hands with a woman or by smelling her perfume. Blind are those who lock their God-given brains in their stubborn skulls, and let others think on their behalf!

The Color of Loneliness - A touching comment

Sameh wrote:

Hello,

I was touched by your last post. It reminded me of the lyrics of Tiger; tiger was lonely, though surrounded by loving friends but yet felt sad and knew there would be more fulfillment in finding his goal beyound what he has. Interesting movie, though childish awi.

The Lyrics:

Mostly I'm happy and I'm bouncy
Because I am the onliest one
(hmm hmm hmm)
But now all at once I feel so lonely
For someone like me
(someone like me)
Right now I'm sorta feelin' downsee
I'm just about the loneliest one
(hmm hmm hmm hmm)
And deep in my heart
I'm sorta wishin'
For someone like me
(someone like me)

Somebody with springs and things
Who laughts and sings and jumps everyday
Somebody who's fun, fun, fun
Who loves to trounce and pounce and
bounce the gloomies away
(hoo-hoo...)

How I dream there is another
A double or a triple of me
(to keep him company)
But since I'm awake I feel so lonely
Because I know it can't be
(it never can be)

Because I'm the one and onliest
Someone like me
Someone like me

May you find a real match and enjoy ur vacation ;-)

Were u in alex yesterday?

The Color of Loneliness

Every feeling has a color; anger is red, sadness is blue, and happiness is orange. Loneliness is colored in the shades of purple; purple reminds me of bruises; bruises, at first, are intense and painful but as they fade away by time, the deep purple blossoms into mysterious flowers of lavender, orchids, lilac and violets. So attractive yet so sad!

Purple is said to be the color of royalty, nobility, and spirituality. If I have a palette of colors, I can mix the hot red with the cool blue to create the intriguing purple shade. Like wise, loneliness comes from mixing a passionate heart with a cold attitude - the story of my life! The right shade of purple triggers my imagination; hence, unleashing my creative powers, but too much blue in the mixture results in moodiness and sulking.


I researched articles on the culture of purple, and it turns out to be the color of mourning for widows in Thailand and the favorite color of Egypt's Cleopatra. The purple heart is a U.S. Military decoration given to soldiers wounded in battle. I am mourning the days that pass me by in utter solitude and isolation. I am mourning the bruises that are hidden from inquisitve eyes. I am the Cleapatra of the Millenuim. I am a Cleopatra painted in the color of Liz Tailor's eyes. I have been wounded in the battles of the heart and the conquests of passion.



I am all bruised and loneliness colors my busy life. Juggling several careers does not fill the void. Men all around me do not quench the thirst. Loneliness hits hard amongst people; I feel the most single when I am in a relationship; I am in isolation when I am with friends. So out of place ... so misplaced ... so different in a common way. I am the withering lilac ... the memory of a bruise ... it is just another bruise ... it will fade away.

Divorced

Young, healthy, uninhibited, and alive; this is how I would portray him with words. I lost myself in his deep blue eyes while I played with my hands in his golden sandy locks. He had the heat of a warm sun. Nature blessed him with a solid mountainous exposition that became the compass of my life. On his shore, I let go of my pain and anger; I buried my sadness and freed my soul. He radiated love into my life - but he was poor!

Along came a rich man; older but not too old; traditional but not stiff; disciplined and groomed. He lured me with wealth and power. I sealed the deal with a kiss on his firm forehead, and I took off. I abandoned the love of my life for a man who would provide me with security and stability. In six years of marriage, I watched myself wither; I was starved for passion yet was unable to love him. I tried to be the dutiful wife but my mind used to wander to a time when I had love and happiness. I abided by the basic minimum. I was prostituting myself.

I missed him. I needed to laugh. My soul was chained. I was miserable. There were of course happy moments but nothing compared to the mind blowing orgasmic moments I shared with the one man that I loved. Six years is a very slow death. I still feel his burden next to me smothering the living soul out of me; I would not kiss him; I could not touch him; I resented him; I hated him and I hated myself for hating him. He was patient; he just wanted me to love him.

I wanted a divorce after three months; I backed off for fear of what people would say. I also knew that my sweetheart would not take me back. I have been contemplating divorce for the past two years; fear of starting over scared me. I have had so many set-backs until I finally did it. My divorce is final. We have been emotionally divorced way before our legal divorce. like everything else with him, the divorce was civil, cold, and tasteless.

Why am I not happy? Why am I not celebrating? Isn't this what I wanted? Why am I so burnt out? I feel so exhausted. Did I do the right thing? Will I suffer? Will I starve without his security net? Change scares me, and the worst change that is scaring me is the change that took place within me. I need to get in touch with the person I once was before he came into my life.

I once had a bird who locked up in a cage. I opened the cage one day but the bird did not fly; he poked his head out of the cage and the big big world scared him. He stayed in the cage, though its door was open. I kicked him out of the cage he fell on the floor. I picked him up and threw him out of the balcony expecting him to spread his wings and fly; he fell like a rock and died - my bird forgot that he was born with wings.

Look ... but don't you dare touch!

“Let me give you a little inside information about our society; our society likes to watch. It’s a prankster. Think about it. It plays on mans’ instincts. It gives you extraordinary gifts, and then what does it do? I swear for its own amusement, society sets the rules in opposition. Look but don't touch. Touch, but don't taste. Taste, don't swallow. Ahaha. And while you're jumpin' from one foot to the next, what is it doing? It’s laughing its sick head off! It’s a sadist society!” – That was me, Marwa Rakha, playing John Milton in Devil’s Advocate!

What is it this time that offset my safety valve? Was it a guy who started the lame nauseating right and wrong argument with me? Was it a girl who hid her actions in a cloak of virtue and self-righteousness? Was it a married couple who preach what they never practiced when they were single? Regardless of what irritated my hyper allergic brains, the fact remains that we are a shame society nurturing a guilt culture.

“Shame” – what a word! It has the power to clog your mouth and seal your lips just by pronouncing it. Have you ever noticed how such a tiny word can lock your mind, inhibit your feelings, and imprison you in a world of rules that are not supposed to be broken just because it is a “shame”? We were born free and uninhibited, and then we were given “the rules of shame and its derivatives”; cover your body, hide your feelings, withhold from expressing your opinion, and filter your words before you get yourself in trouble, were all tips to treasure from childhood onwards.

Dr. Thomas J. Scheff, author of Shame and the Social Bond: A Sociological Theory names shame as the premier social emotion. “The thing that moves us to pride or shame is not the mere mechanical reflection of ourselves, but an imputed sentiment, the imagined effect of this reflection upon another's mind. We are ashamed to seem evasive in the presence of a straightforward man or cowardly in the presence of a brave one. A man will boast to one person of an action—say some sharp transaction in trade—which he would be ashamed to own to another.”

Likewise, in the presence of her family, Maha would curl her lips and condemn girls who “shamelessly” hold hands with their boyfriends. In the company of his friends, Ahmed would brag of dumping a girl for “shamefully” offering herself to him. On a shopping spree with her mom, Ola would show her resentment towards a couple kissing inside the elevator. They all want to belong; they all want to be accepted. This is why we lie, fear judgment, and wear masks and faces to hide our own. The question is: who do we see when we look in the mirror?

She woke me up crying in the middle of the night. I asked her what happened and she said that she was so ashamed. “I want to die” screamed R. “I kissed him. I let him touch me. I kissed him back. I wanted him.” I was silent. I knew that my “guilt-shame” argument will not be understood. I tried to be as unbiased as possible. That night I could not sleep; a questionnaire was formulating in my head, and the morning after I was café-hopping picking people’s brains. My “research sample” included single men and women of different ages, families who were having lunch, and couples. The findings of my quick survey revealed that we are sucked in a black hole of contradictions where human termites are eating away our uninhibited essence and our basic human rights are vacuumed by the hands of society and its code of ethics.

The sad truth was that so many responses sounded identical; I asked them on a scale of shame from one to five, one being the least shameful and five being the most shameful to rate the following physical actions between a girl and a guy who were not married. Kisses scored the lowest and full intercourse scored the highest. Touching with clothes on was more acceptable than making out naked. External sex is less grave than penetration. Why? Because what the eyes do not see the mind does not judge and what you don’t know will not hurt you – Hail thee ostrich land I said in the back of my head.

I asked four families who have no relation whatsoever if they would let their daughter date. They unanimously said no; but, one mother said that if her daughter was seeing someone, she did not want to know about it. One of the fathers said, with a stern knowing face “She is not a boy.” Another mother said she knows that her daughter has a boyfriend but “thinking that I do not know, will make her feel guilty. When she feels guilty she will not make mistakes.”

Couples and singles were asked to explain their boundaries; what will they do and what will they not do? Nahla & Amr said that they would do whatever pleased them because they were in love. Their families did not know and if they broke up no one would know. Samar and her boyfriend said they moved in together but told the doorman that they were married. Rehab said that she always kept him wanting her but she denied him anything that went beyond holding hands. Her significant other had a smile on his face and as he told me that this was why he trusted her. He knew for sure that he would be her first and last. Mona does not let her boyfriend touch her at all but she “has a few guys stashed for “touchy-feely” purposes.”

Omar will never take a girl’s virginity, even if she asked for it. Tamer promises that the girl will walk out of his house just as she walked in; “if she walks in a virgin, she walks out one, and if she walks in not a virgin, she never walks out pregnant”. Hisham told me that there were wives and there were whores; a whore would never be marriage material. I had to ask him to define a whore; he said he was referring to loose girls who wore bikinis on the pool. “If I am with her, she would let me rub oil on her body and touch her allover. How could I get married to one of those?” Khaled said that he would never get married to a girl who was known to have lost her virginity. I naturally assumed that he wanted to get married to a virgin until he said “but if it is a secret and no one knew, I can forgive her and marry her.” I was perplexed; “I would be ashamed if everyone knew that I was married to a girl who had experience; but deep down, I do not care less.”

Mayar caught my attention with her long blond hair, made up face, and perfect figure that showed clearly through her tight fitting low waist jeans and body hugging shirt. She was sitting alone when I approached her, introduced myself, and asked her permission to join her. I did not need to ask many questions; she did all the talking on her own. “I am 27 and, as you can see, I am very pretty. I date a lot and my rules change depending on the person I am going out with; if he is “efl” – narrow-minded – I will dress up less provocatively and will just let him pick up the checks. If he is one of those fake modern guys who wear cargo pants to hide their “galabeyas”, I beat him at his game too by showing everything that he cannot touch. I am never myself with Egyptian men; I feel that I am always seen through a microscope and my slightest expression of my feelings will be used against me. When I am with a foreigner, I am more expressive. I am not a slut as people call me.”

Surprisingly enough, none of the people I talked to said that they did something or withheld from doing another because they wanted to; it was never their innate choice, it was always a reaction to “people” - those who make up the double-faced fabric of society. Those "people", along with ghosts, demons, and spirits, are in the same category in my head - they are there but we have our separate lives and our paths don't cross. I don't fetch them and they don't come after me - end of story. “Our intense hatred, resentment, and envy towards anything or anyone, are all products of unacknowledged shame. We fall in the feeling traps of shame/anger. Acknowledged shame is the glue that holds relationships and societies together; it is the cause or the result of social solidarity and alienation.” concluded Dr. Scheff in his study.