New house

 

 

 

 

 

 

How many times did we move to a new house? 🤔 don’t count, please!

 

This is not because of me ( sometimes not always) but our circumstances change: having children, finishing studies, my husband starting a new job in a different city, problems in old house, …

 

When my children watched their old photos, they would say; how many times did we move mama? That house was the best? Yes, we remembered that doll’s flat, we cannot remember that one, we were too little, … it’s fun to talk about moving but it’s really a hard time: packing, unpacking, tidying, cleaning, changing address, and endless list of chores

 

Our new house key lock is so hard, it takes time to open the door, sometimes it’s stuck. My son gave up, every time texted me; open the door mama, I’m very close. I would have ignored his text and let him try till he open it, but it might end up with an extra charge for door damage.

 

 

Though different but this reminds me of our first flat at university accommodation which was like a maze; every time when coming back, I tried hard to open the door, and it refused, no way it insisted, until I gave up, raising up my face, oops It wasn’t ours. When we became friends, I told my neighbour about those countless numbers when I thought hers was mine; ‘ I have never noticed that,’ she said, ‘ and ‘ this is why we become friends,’ I thought.

 

Wishing you all the best,

 

Nahla

 

 

 

Advertisements

Children Imagination

Image result for children imagination

Children has a wild imagination which is really nice, good and interesting but sometimes this imagination, instead of being fun, turns your day or may be your week upside down. Here comes the problem!

One day, my daughter’s friend told her that a bone was stuck in her throat and she went to see her doctor, he got it out and she was fine, playing and happy; a simple tale (may be made up by her friend), but it wasn’t so for my daughter; she listened and imagined the process, stored the details in her brain for later which was not that far.

She imagined everything, she ate or would eat, would be stuck in her throat, vegetables in her soup, mashed potato, everything soft or hard; how long I explained and how she  listened carefully was good, really good, at least her panic was a bit relieved and she would eat little and go to play, but soon she would come back, crying, repeating the whole story.

Finally I explained how her body is very clever; there is a liquid inside her mouth (is it Saliva? I think so) helps her sharp teeth  mash and ground all of what she eats, some water or juice will do a great job to also help her strong tongue swallow and push everything through her throat straight away into her stomach. And it works.

‘Of course nothing could ever be stuck in my throat,’ she boasted.

‘Yes, and thank God,’ I prayed.

Wishing you all the best,

Nahla

ONIONS

Image result for ONIONS

 

Yesterday, I thought what can an onion symbolize? By the way, I wasn’t cooking.

At the beginning, I thought of onions and tears, they are close friends or may be relatives. Slicing and chopping more than one and my eyes would be like a hot water tap, turned on gradually, first shedding warm drops, and then in a second pouring hot burning tears. Not to forget onions beautiful fragrance that stuck in the mother’s hands when cooking dinner for her family. In short, the first thing came to my mind was: an onion symbolizes mother’s suffering in her cooking journey.

But what if we take this vegetable away from the mother’s hands, study its nutrition, health and economical facts, either on its own or in comparison to its family members, would this little herb-plant have a different connotation?

I think, yes it is.

Yes, it’s true, onions are humble givers, known of their abundant harvest and modest price; they are available all year, all over the world, in every kitchen, vegetable market and food store, and with different sizes and colours. And through the ages, onions have also been known as a natural preventive medicine (especially for cold) though this is mainly for raw ones as it’s said that this benefit is destroyed by heat. Onions can protect our bodies and help defend against those nasty viruses using its great natural power, so they are powerful too.

And can its swirly white layers symbolize unity, purity and beauty, may be!

It’s just an onion but it can symbolize too many things.

In Egypt we usually refer to that person poking his/her nose into others’ business to be like an onion found in every recipe; poor onions, meddling with others’ affairs connotes incivility,  but it’s just a saying!

Wishing you all the best,

Nahla

 

 

Reward or Support

There are still about 5 months left for the month of Ramadan, but today one of the songs has refreshed some precious memories into my mind and heart.

My boys started practicing fasting early and gradually. The hardest time for them was when we have this once in a year beloved visitor during the summer, days become too long,  the dawn so early, and the dusk so late.

One year, my middle son was doing very well though he’s always impatient, would have a hundred snacks per day, full of energy and never listen if I ask him to have a nap at noon or play indoor. One day when it was too hot, he came asking for money to buy a new mini sweetie juice that one of his friends was drinking and enjoying so much and ‘ I’ll have it after our Iftar (breakfast),’ he said. After he got the juice, he disappeared in his room and when his brother and friends came inquiring if he would join them, he shouted from upstairs ‘I’m tired, won’t play.’ This was weird, wasn’t it?

I went to his room, he was lying down in his bed, when I asked him if there was anything wrong; ‘ just tired mama tired,’ I sat at the edge of his bed,  my eyes were trying to find out where was that juice. ‘ Won’t you show me this sweetie special juice?’ I asked. He quietly got up and brought it from behind the curtains.  I knew that he was not tired but sad, deeply sad.  His fingers and lips and the juice were blue.

‘Did you drink it?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ he said without looking at me

‘ But why your fingers and lips are blue?’

He couldn’t lie anymore, he went to the mirror and stuck his tongue out, it was all blue. He told me that he wanted to smell it, pulled the lid up with his teeth, he accidentally squeezed the bottle and the juice splashed into his mouth. ‘I didn’t want to drink it mama, just smell it,’ how he cried and how sad he looked really broke my heart.

‘It was a mistake, my son and I did dozen like this when I was in your age.’

‘ I’m still fasting,’

‘Yes, even if you do this when you’re a grown-up, you’re still fasting.’

‘Can I go and play now?’

‘But you’re tired.’

‘Not anymore.’

In another year, my elder son, was about 14 years old when he came back from school, telling me his news, picked up a large glass, opened the cold water tap, filled it up to the top, and drank it all in one gulp, leave not even a drop, I was looking at him, puzzled;

‘Couldn’t you fast today?’

‘Of course I’m fasting, it was too hot but I’m ok.’

‘Of-course you’re, you’ve just drank a full glass of water!’

‘Oops, I forgot!’

Was it a reward for patience? Was it a support from the Merciful? I believe it was both.

Wishing you all the best,

Nahla

 

 

 

Imagine

 

Imagine one day, you were sitting peacefully in the bus, watching people getting on and off and waiting for your stop, when an old woman, poorly dressed, walking step by step like a one year old child, dragging carefully her shopping trolley, got slowly on the bus. You decided to move back to give that old woman a space, but instead of taking that place, she went after you and took the seat just in front of yours, and placed her trolley on the way of other passengers, blocking them from going forward or backward. It was unavoidable within this close distance not to smell her coat fully soaked with sweaty smell of cigarette and alcohol, when all of a sudden she turned her head back and stared at your face. ‘Thank you,’ you would expect to hear but instead she whispered, ‘chaaaaaaange.’

 

Would you give her or would you not?

While writing this post, I remembered this story that I have read long time ago:

Once upon a time, there was an old kind man, he was well-off but not that rich. He was living in a quite village, just few miles away from the city.  One night, on his way to pray at the village mosque, a young lady stopped him and asked for  some money, she need money to feed her children who were starving for days, this was what she said. The old man gave her what he had in his pocket and went to pray. The following night, a young girl stopped him asking for money to get some medicine and food for her old poor father who had been sick-in-bed for days. And again the old man gave her money and went to pray. On the third night, the old man was walking with a friend to the mosque, a guest for a couple of days, when an old woman approached them wailing, telling that her son had left for a month and she had neither money nor food. The friend kept silent while watching the old man giving her what he had.

Did the friend give that woman any money? No.

Did he ask the old man not to give her money? No.

And did the old man ask the friend to give her money? No.

On his last night at his host’s house, the friend and the old man were stopped again by a woman with a different look, telling a new story and asking for money. When she finished, the man asked simply;  ‘where is your house?’ The woman with her eyes wide open looked at the man and suddenly ran away.

‘Didn’t you realise that this was the same woman you gave her money yesterday?’ The friend said, smiling and looking at the old man.

‘No, I didn’t notice that,’ said the old man

‘Last night I could tell at a glance that she was one of those impostors, known in the city of their tricks to get money.’

The contented, placid old man looked at his friend and said:

‘I gave that money for God’s sake whether the one who asked was telling a lie or the truth. May Allah accept it as a sincere deed of charity!’

This is just a story that shows two different attitudes and I believe both are right: The old man and the friend. I’m not sure if I can act like the old man but I’m more like the friend.

Wishing you all the best,

Nahla

 

 

One of the best

 

image

 

 

One of the best things I have started in 2017 was blogging or in other words writing.

Writing has always been my best hobby and though I didn’t keep anything of what I wrote when I was young, I remember very well that writing was not hard, boring or odd for me; simply because I love writing and I write what I love.

At university, I mainly studied English Language and literature but we also used to study Arabic literature and grammar as a main part of the BA programme. One day our Arabic literature lecturer asked us to write a free piece, anything we like, as one of our main tasks and promised that extra marks would be added to the mark we got at our Arabic exam. This wasn’t everything, he also promised that the best five or six (can’t remember the exact number) pieces would be published in his book which we would study that year (of course as appendix). So there were no worries about being marked down or getting a fail, just a page or half, but it had to be done before our next lecture; We all were so pleased and thought that was a brilliant idea, wasn’t it?

I did not care that mine would be one of those chosen pieces; honestly I believed that our lecturer would never read all of our writings; I just wondered what to write but finally I decided to write about my father.

At the beginning of that year, my father passed away, and so I wrote about death, the final fate that we cannot change or escape. I wondered if one has a choice either to die before or after his/her beloved ones, what he/she would choose. I thought of my father and believed that he would have willingly chosen that same time because he loved us.

Before the following lecture, and as promised, the book was available and five pieces were added at the end; mine was one of them. I was totally surprised, delighted and nervous, too nervous indeed; I was surprised because I didn’t make any great effort in that piece, and delighted because my writing was one of the best, and nervous because I became popular, everybody started asking about me, including our lecturer who hadn’t known any of our names before, and I wished I could hide under the desk for the rest of that day.

I have no idea how far my writing will go, but I believe it’s a wonderful gift.

Wishing you all the best,

Nahla

2017/special photos

At last we could take a picture of that squirrel.

Summer sunset

I was taking a photo of the bird, and I don’t know how the boat came in that photo.

Kite day, none of them is ours which couldn’t fly more than a couple of minutes.

‘The tree has three legs,’ said my daughter and i think it really has.

Wishing you all the best,

Nahla