The Tree

I am just like a tree blossoming and blooming. My principles are my roots dug deep inside a fertile good soil and cannot be shaken by trivial storms. Only Fall can shake my strong branches for a while and a few leaves fall off, but naturally I pull myself together very soon and become again the queen of all gardens.

Men; Those Big Babies

Men... every woman's enemies, have always made me wonder about them and their nature that is supposed to make them reign supreme in any society, especially our society.Yea, I know that men are much stronger and fitter than women according to the Quran. I believe in the Quranic verses, but I also believe that Quran is timeless and was meant for all people around the universe. My question here is are men in my society fitter than women?

Okay, I will start with my childhood. I went to school with boys and they were not as good as the girls in classes. I always topped my class and a couple of boys came second or third. This was the case in most classes and I guess most schools. I have a younger brother, and he had to struggle all his life because he was being compared to his sister. Surprisingly, he was not willing to exert much effort to prove people wrong and show everyone that he is better!

When I look at men and women when they get ready for their work, I have noticed that men who do half the work a woman would normally do on a daily basis, talk much time when they try getting out of bed. When they wake up, they cannot stand any single humming next to them. They just frown and give you the look and you know that you would have to tiptoe and keep on whispering till they are in the mood for some chit chat. 

The list goes on for childish attitudes from big babies whom we call "MEN". There is an Egyptian proverb that indicates that children are brought up while husbands are forced to getting used to this. Gradually, I become more convinced that only the first half of the proverb applies to all of us here.

When I look at little boys, I do not see a big difference in their attitudes when they grow up. They are somewhat the same. A child needs his mommy to wake him up so that he would go to school, and when he grows up, he would wait for his wife to do the same whenever he needs to go to work. A mother feeds her baby child and a wife feeds her hubby. A boy would try to upset his folks so that he would get some attention and he would do any mischief to feel that he is loved or pampered. 

Yea, they are human beings after all. They need care, passion and attention. But, men, if you want us to treat you as grown ups, start acting so. If not, then please don't be upset when we call you "babies" :P

The Old Dream

Today I was over the moon, simply because I got my first published article in a newsletter. This happened before, but this time I got paid for this. I was very ecstatic and thought that maybe I will find my way in the editing field especially because translation, which is my real passion, is a profession that is not so prosperous in Egypt.

I love writing and have passion for it since college. I have always got high grades in writing classes and topped my class several times. I grew up with no gtalent or a certain hobby and when I started writing, I felt alive. I thought that there is a room for my voice in this stifling world. I even felt more delighted and surprised when I posted my first so-called artistic piece on Facebook and casual friends who did not have to read or comment, read it and encouraged me to write more.

I started acting like Virginia Woolf or Anton Chekhov and writing abundantly once an idea pops into my mind. To my surprise, people read more and provided me with feedback. Some other cool friends helped me publish some stuff in local magazines and newsletters, but with friends fleeing away, so did my chances with getting anything published. I did not care at that point if I got paid or not, if people thought of me as artist or not. All I wanted was visibility and seeing my name published on paper and imagining that there is someone somewhere reading what I call a work of art. Egoistic as it may sound, but this is simply how I felt.

So when my chances were out of having anything published not just virtually, when I got busy with work and other stuff and maybe when I get frustrated every now and then, I guess I lost my interest in writing anything except for writing such posts on that blog where I let out all of my anger and other feelings that might seem trivial and insignificant to many people. But the point is, whenever the world gets lame, I know that there is always a litlle space for me where I can say anything without caring if someone hates it or not.

However, whenever I hear of an opportunity of working as an editor or a writer, my heart leaps up with joy and the old dream becomes vivid. "Maybe, things will come along and I will be a great writer," I keep on telling myself.

The thing is I have not known that making compromises and going with the flow aiming that one day I might get back to the old passion and make the dream come true, is just the biggest mistake ever. I should have known very well that making many compromises and taking so many chances that would get me closer to the big goal, is changing me. By time, I have stopped writing poems and short stories. By time, I have even stopped being so enthusiastic about writing my first novel. I get amazed every time I remember those many ideas I had once upon a time of a short story or an interesting piece of prose. I am not passionate anymore.

I was lying to myself when I got the check full of joy thinking that this would get me somewhere I want. I was wrong when I thought that in such a way of being alienated from the original me would do me any good. I knew that I was lying to myself but I kept on avoiding of the mere thought of such a horrific fate.

So, what bombed the shell? My lovely dear mom. When I gave her the article to read, I was thinking that she would be so proud of her little girl who seems like a supergirl for many people. She was like that for a while, but the poor woman thought that she was going to read another piece of my original work not some clumsy geeky article on a topic she has never heard of. Frank as she always is, she spilled everything out. Every single lie I was telling myself, she said it. I could not hide my anger or sorrow, but she has a point, as usual.

Making a living would do for a while and obviously there is nothing wrong with making compromises once in a while, but I have realized that once you let dream fade away before your eyes, it will slip off your hands whether you like it or not.