Everyone’s Trip Happens Secondly

I couldn’t believe I finally did it. It was too much to sustain my patience. It was bugging me all this time and I didn’t have the courage to stand up and do it. I had to rise up and confront it. It was a burden crawling all over me. I wasn’t going to sit any longer waiting on a miracle to make it happen. It made me anxious, frustrated and yes very irritated. After hours of tolerating the mind boggling it has done me, I carried my heart in one hand and found my weapon in the other. Torn into bits and pieces, hurt and ruined- I watched boldly over it while making efforts in reflecting the incident, I glared over heartlessly – proud of the accomplished victory over the weak, the defenseless, breathlessly still ‘it.’ GAME OVER YOU. You fly.

Yes, I finally found my peace without anything bugging me. I could finally browse online in peace, write in a bug-less living room, and sip my coffee without any uninvited stops over my favorite mug. Moments later, I had this feeling. The one you, me and everyone feels after knowing that you have shopped too much your credit card was screaming to you numbers you didn’t comprehend, saying no to a homeless man begging for change, and slamming your bedroom door because your parents wouldn’t let you go to your friend’s birthday party. That’s it, the one feeling called Guilt.

I am sure there are more times of guilt I have felt throughout the years than I could possibly count, but the moment I smashed a fly to bits and pieces was a wakeup call to my own existence. I recalled how it was annoying as it flew over me back and forth, like it was making an air force show, fondly knowing that I couldn’t be more irritated. But it seemed like the fly called for its unpleasant ending.  And I asked myself then and there, why then did it bother me that I killed the fly? I wondered how could a human possibly not feel guilty killing another human, of exact flesh and blood, whereas I immediately felt guilty murdering a miniature creature?

Guilt comes after committing a certain act of violence, hurt, disrespect, and abnormality to someone. I don’t mean that you should feel guilty after cheating on your diet or not making it to the gym six out  of seven times a week, to the extent that you are killing yourself about it. On the other hand, I want you to enjoy every bite of the dessert you crave and have yourself indulged in. The guilt is inevitable as it flushes through your senses and world of satisfaction, as it processes into your system.  What I mean is, I don't want you to trip over the guilt trip. Don’t exaggerate the blame because you owe yourself the pleasure and cheating every once in a while.

Then again, when you upset, cheat, put someone down, harshly insult someone, guilt is what you should normally feel afterwards. And it is alright to feel guilty; don’t think it is belittling any part of you. What I would like to bring forward here is what happens after you experience feeling guilty.

Guilt is the step following the hurtful act and the one that precedes our decisions post-guilt trip, which identifies it as the second step in the guilt process.  The decisions we make after feeling guilty are usually ones we take when our conscious and hearts concurrently cope to improve the situation. Everyone may have different intentions in taking the step for a ‘fix-up,’ but at least the deed is done and the initiative is there to be made. From my perspective, I believe guilt exists so that we could feel more humane. By all means guilt should not devastate you to the extent that you may decide to even kill the feeling in you. But should you not feel guilt after certain moments and actions you make, then you tend to lose one of the most important merits of being humane and a human- the possession of many different feelings, qualities and persona.  Guilt revives your senses and equips your actions into making the steps to apologizing, proving your love, confess your faults, and probably seizing the last words before it’s too late. After all, everything we feel is like building a kingdom: we develop and establish ourselves to expand, discover and strengthen our horizons, abilities, capacities, and our being. It is the only intangible establishment in which we invest so much in (with a possibility of witnessing a few, if not several losses), in order to reward ourselves and generate the largest margin of profit we may ever render: ourselves.    

What we decide on doing after experiencing this feeling is variable from one person to the other. But what we should be doing is what makes us substantially significant in our own eyes and hearts, and not necessarily or exclusively in the perception of others. Some find difficulty in admitting their mistakes- because of their age or their pride, which swifts them too far away that every apology appears as a point of weakness they do not wish to portray. Well, age is but a number because age in reality is nothing but digits and if you really consider age so much because you think of yourself as privileged than others because you carry more experience on your shoulders I advise you to reconsider this thought. Age doesn’t mean you are wiser, experience isn’t calculated in numbers and numbers do not mean that you are qualified for anything but for an annual birthday cake and a pleasant celebration amongst your beloved ones. For those who carry their pride significantly high, there is absolutely no justification for your obnoxious pride. Allow yourself to walk in harmony among the hearts around you and find bliss in finding equality, which the entire universe has continuously been seeking, fighting, and dying for until today.  Maybe this is the one time we may all find ourselves equal-when our pride doesn’t surpass our humanity.  This is the only time in which you should find shame; when you dismiss the forever sought for right throughout mankind’s existence.  

Guilt is supposed to make you feel hurt, but the next step after you make your action, is what beautifies and releases the feeling of hurt and pain, and unquestionably counts most. When you decide to mend the person's feelings you have offended and or hurt the sense of relief is irreplaceable. Yes, it does feel like a box full of weights is finally lifted off your chest and the world’s stress off your back. Correct me if I am wrong-but the percentage of times in feeling better after mending a situation and resolving them is much higher than when you decided to ignore it. When you ignore guilt, you are really ignoring no one but yourself. You deny yourself the moment of the real genuine feeling of ‘feeling.’ It troubles us greatly when we deny ourselves anything we aspire for in life-then how about considering self-denial; denying the feeling of what you really feel and what should be felt after committing a hurtful action. The action post-guilt is the interpretation of your true existence-apart from your physical one. It is the compassionate presence of yourself in which nurtures your soul and prepares you for life, allowing you to appreciate its most fundamental ingredients: people.

If you decide to kill guilt, then you decide to kill the only living thing that truly throbs in your heart and molds you together. Don’t murder yourself with your own hands- you never know how and in what form guilt will run through your hands for ignoring or killing it. In a trial, when a villain is accused of a crime he/she has committed, the jury and the court’s judge simultaneously make the final say. When you feel guilty for non-criminal but hurtful actions, your only judge to your guilt is yourself, your conscious, your heart.  You are the only who knows that you are lying when you lie to yourself. And you will have to face living with that for much more to come. If you let go of judging your own guilt once, your conscious will keep on making the same visit to you, and then you enable them to cripple you and claim your surrender in becoming inhumane and heartless.

As you walk through your journey of life, I want you to spare yourself looking back into your past with shame, regret and dismay.  I wish you find yourself looking behind your back in at least finding remedies to uncured scars, that despite the challenges you face and the disappoints you endured which may have caused you weakness or loss, you find yourself embracing the past with the moments you seized in making the efforts to apologize to those you have hurt. This is one of the only true rewards you are indebted to yourself. Just like we aspire to find ways to face the challenges and obstacles encountered, you should be fond that even in guilt you were able to make a way to alleviate pain, cope with remorse and fulfill your satisfaction with a glorious gesture in pride.

As guilty as I felt for killing that fly to its smashed ending just to earn my peace, I am glad that it has raised the thought of guilt to my awareness.  I realized that guilt is a priceless feeling because it brings me into life with sincere feelings and people. I hope you agree with me when I say that I hope, at whatever age we may be, whatever situation we are put in, and wherever we shall be, we do not become one of the people that miss the opportunity in dutifully executing our role as humans. I wish we would be able to pay those whom we owe the love, gratitude, and apology.

Just A Little Bit of Me and A Thought

A few months ago, I lost my entire life. I lost all my photo albums starting from 2004. Eight years of my life have been deleted for life, from life and my hard drive. Every “first moment” has been demolished - the captured moments of every first time I ever had: my first years in college, relationship, job, project, trip, and many more. There are absolutely no ways to retrieve those Kodak moments except relying on my memory- which will eventually weaken with age. Sad I must say, but while I was writing this, I realized that as I am starting to write, there will be a new form of witness to my life. My words, my writings, my blog. And this time they will mark my second times around in my second chapter in life. Maybe this will be the way I will be able to recall the new memories, acquainted along with lessons learnt, the discoveries found and the emotions felt. As you read the words I write, you are reading right through me.

The thing with me is that I love everything the people offer in the world. I try every kind of cuisine and various platters of food they make. The arts, from music to literature to meditation, I find colorful wonders in. Risk taking doesn’t run much in the family, but I taught myself to enjoy attempting and experiencing, so that I could never look back and say there are regrets and I wish I could have tried this and that. I am enthusiastic about love and interested in learning about new sciences and technology. I find a new world in everyone around and many worlds in the lands of culture. I am excited about the different lines of fashion and subtle with my taste. Beauty lies everywhere and in everything we make with our hands. Messy and neat both at the same time, you could determine that through my handwriting-sometimes cursive, sometimes print and often in caps; I like to say that it's a flare reflecting my inner emotions. I am faithful and respectful to faiths whilst I hold my own. I find danger in contradiction yet have compromised with it. I fall as I firmly stand- there are many weaknesses in me as I learn to make myself stronger. I get lost in my thoughts and speak boldly when it comes to truth. Confident, yet sometimes find myself not believing my whispering soul. I have been exposed widely to diversity and yet I preserve my roots and culture. I am considered to be a very open minded girl and find myself still struggling with double standards, limitations and expectations I must abide to. Passionate about history and politics- I will always have something to share and a word to say. I am a determined woman and just recently learnt when to stop, kick back, relax and let go. I like to say that I am purely of nothing but purely a little bit of everything.

I’ve been asked what inspired me, or what the source of inspiration in writing is. It’s really quite simple. It’s life. In which I would also like to show gratitude to because without it nothing else could come into life. I usually observed people and heard their stories. I lived through my own life so far and went through my own share of experience. I found that humans in general seem to go through similar experiences and when we share our troubles, challenges and achievements, we all have a different version. We say it differently, we feel it differently, and we encounter it differently. I always said that people from all over the world say the same things everyday to one another. The only difference is the way we see it, the way we express it, the way we react to it. Maybe this is why we have quotes from famous people, not only to inspire us, but also to remind and teach those who are going through the same experiences the ways to face it, embrace it, overcome it, believe in it, learn from it etc. Life is the one common thing that lies between the diversity people of the world. The lives of others and my life are my inspiration. And it is really because of all the troubles I went through that I found my deep well of feelings and expression. It is through frustration in trying to figure it all out, understand why miracles aren’t happening to me as it seems to happen to others, and the fall of the last domino named “reliance” or dependence which really made me finally spill it all out.

There was a point I reached when I got tired of waiting for miracles to happen and exhausted myself in relying on others to make me feel happy. I always wanted to be happy and find my own happiness- which now lies within ink and paper. But until then, I waited for love to make me happy, money for stability, I was confused in how to satisfy my family and myself at the same time, I waited for a man to accept me with my faults, and marriage to start building a future, I waited for support to make it through and for the world to believe in me. I blindly leaned and depended on everything and anticipated to find balance. I thought my balance is split into two: my own stability in finding all of the above and the happiness of the people I am surrounded with in my life. I learnt it the hard way and was mistaken when I sought balance through others. Balance comes from within- between your mind, heart and body. All of the mentioned have to meet and agree to simultaneously make the next step forward. It is indeed a lot of effort and for someone who didn’t yet get all the pieces of the puzzle together, it seemed like I was starting halfway through – I was just wobbling in between ‘knowing it’ and ‘not grasping it’ all at once. But patience waited for me long enough to start taking action. And the past year of my life was eventful enough already that so much was ready to be shared. I was already sharing it with whom I love and trust. Never ashamed of my past, my thoughts, my weaknesses or moments of failure, I felt the unbeatable urge to finally announce myself to the world. I simply got tired of saying it over and over again, and time got tired of my idleness. I had it all bouncing inside my mind and playing melodies through the strings of my heart. I had what it takes to express, I just needed to start writing. I had to make the effort in untangling the knots of tangled thoughts swirled inside of me and ultimately liberate my soul.

Inspiration played a role as the idea came into life like a miracle. The miracle happened in a moment of faith, passion and will. I trusted the unknown for once and am allowing it to lead me to wherever it may. However, I repetitively asked myself, “Why now and not later or even before?” Maybe the world wasn’t ready to answer another questioned person, troubled and weak. Maybe the world was waiting for one more person to find out the answer, slowly but surely. And maybe I wasn’t ready to face the world yet. The way I saw it was that maybe the world welcomed me only to its vast countries and failing disappointments. Unexpectedly though, it widely embraced me when I answered my questions to myself and by myself. The world may have wanted me to be chosen to become one of the people who really wanted to know who I really am, identify myself and start my life, satisfied that this answer would be sufficient. The long time search has made a discovery: the day I existed is not from the day I was physically born. It is rather a quarter of a century later after I made an entrance to the world, I finally discovered Noura. And just then she came to a consensus with herself; she will embrace it all at once, count them one by one, and show gratitude to both her sins and deeds. Just like a piece of writing takes time to publish, you have to edit, read, and minutely re-read countless times with precision to perfect it, it took me all those years to finally bring my voice to the world and be confident of my presence. I am in no form of perfection, but I am now the draft after many years of wondering, thinking, asking, answering the questions regarding my actions, words, and feelings, finding way to be more refined, graceful and accomplished.

I made choices in life, ones which were spontaneous, deeply thought of, impulsive, immature and calculated. I regret none of them. Throughout my depression, I realized that it’s not the choices and decisions we make that define us. It’s the way we handle and maneuver through them that reflects who we are. I have determined that distinct to the different natures we live in, undeniably, discovering life is a project always in progress. In life there seems a deadline for everything: nine months to have a baby, four years to earn a degree, sixty years to retire. And it seems unfair when a cat has seven lives to live (an old myth still narrated until today) whereas we only have one life to live and one shot to live. Although there are many lives to live in life we consider the end will always be at death. Death is merely the moment in which you stop living; it is not the end of life. Life will always live even after a person’s death. That is why I consider myself a guest in life. I have to live and accept life, as it is the host and I am the one who has to find a way to accommodate myself to life’s conditions. Just like we control the speed of a car, simply because man’s capacity exceeds his creation, life’s secrecy in being surpasses man’s control in events and manipulates most of our outcomes.

We tirelessly try to figure out the reasons behind, “everything happens for a reason.” I realized that nothing happens for a reason except that You are the reason, just so that you make sense and reasoning out of it. It is life, appearing as unanswered questions for you to find yourself, find your way to the pursuit of your own happiness and contentment. It is structured the way it’s given to us to discover the sources in belonging and touch the factors which make and break you. It happens the way it does so you confidently hold yourself as you preciously carry your heart, because whether you like it or not, life will throw things at you, good and or bad, it will then be up to you to in how to operate yourself accordingly.

Life throws the world right to our face so that we could learn how to receive. We are first taught by finding our sense of direction, knowing our way around, sorting out contradictions, accepting setbacks and coping with loss. And then we go deeper and learn guidance through our overwhelming pondering thoughts, wisdom in our exhausted reflective moments, and empathy from our unraveled feelings. During our lives, there are chances yet to love, there are reasons to have more babies, and there are urging objectives and countless opportunities to make more money. The world’s offers are limitless and there will always be chances in life. We have one life to live and many lives in life to live, yet the question still seemed incomplete. The only answer I reached to the remaining question is: the possibility to live with life.

Because I chose to live, I want to share with you what it feels like to live ‘with life.' I deducted that truce and peace are synonyms of each other but neither can fully happen without the other; they coexist. You must make truce with yourself and your inner combats, with the past, life and even the unknown so that you find peace within yourself and peace in your present time. Because I chose to live, live through life and live with life, as I walk through life and befriend the‘surprises’ and ‘challenges’ life introduces me to, I know that starting from today, I want to love the things I hate the most and save the things I love the most.

My source of inspiration turned out to be whom I just moved in and now live with everyday, who has taught me just enough to start writing about, whom has enabled my photos of my past to disappear so that my present words could shine on paper, and whom despite the falls of demise has led to the growth and the rise of my voice to a circle beyond those I know. And I thank life for it.

 

Matchmaker from the Byward Market

Just around the corner from where I live in Ottawa, at the heart of the Byward Market, in the middle of downtown’s strip full of bars and restaurants, where the only hustling and bustling happens of the small governmental capital of Canada, lies a hair salon named Niccio. The owners of the business have been buddies with my brothers since my brothers’ arrival to Canada-almost 10 years ago. It surprised me that both my brothers and I have a common trait in our selection of good friends- our hair stylists. And to a sudden surprise and by mere coincidence, they are both Lebanese. The only difference is that my hair stylist, whom I trust almost with my life and not just my hair, is in Egypt. Maybe the common trait in hair stylists around the world is that they are good listeners and that they value trust-because the integrity of their profession is based on the client’s trust they put in them for taste in color, cut, style and service. And I think they are good listeners because before, while and after the mission of the requested color, style, or blow-dry is that they just listen. They carefully listen and politely advise, sharing their opinion in respect of the person in front of them and within their expertise. I must also say that they are very patient.  They may never get the end of it if and when something goes wrong to the client’s hair; they respectfully know how to handle the situation. So bringing it all into perspective, hair professionals make good friends.

I heard so much about Chad and his brother George (the hair stylist and hair color specialist, respectively). I heard of the strong bonded friendship, the good old days, the crazy ones too over the past decade from my brothers. They weren’t the first ones I met when I came in town because I was surely going to see them one day for one of my hair appointments. And that’s exactly when I met Chad, a small sized good looking 30 plus guy, who doesn’t at all seem to be of that age. He warmly welcomed me to Canada and his salon just as I was gestured into the salon. All went well and I left satisfied from the friendly conversation and my hair. He mentioned his brother works with him but we didn’t have a chance to be introduced.

Weeks later, on one bright and sunny day, as I was sipping coffee on a patio near home, my brothers suddenly ran into someone’s arms. All of them hugging and greeting one another- I assumed, it’s just another friend out of the couple of dozen they have in town. When they finally introduced me to their friend, I discovered this was George, Chad’s brother. He was with his wife and I subtly greeted both of them. I wasn’t carrying my 24/7 smiling face; I just firmly smirked and confidently shook hands. Unlike with Chad, there were absolutely no words exchanged and maybe no chance in conversing. We all went back to what we were doing a few minutes later and George was just another acquaintance-one more added to the list of people I was getting introduced to from my brothers’ circle of friends.  

I made an appointment one day to go fix my hair color and get myself a trim. Both Chad and George would eventually work on my hair. Welcomed with kisses and coffee Chad seated me until my turn comes with George. I was asked what would I like to do with my hair and as I explained I found myself interrupted. George jokingly shut me out and said, “I love your hair and the color you have now, but I want you to make a statement-when you go out on those streets, I want your hair to tell the world, ‘Hello I am here!’"

The colors on my face turned into the mixing shades of a rainbow and I don’t know how I was able to keep my mouth shut, but those eyes stood out in shocking surprise. I advised to not play much with my hair because he would never ever get the end of my constant complaining. We finally agreed on trying a new color. The next two hours were the most interesting in my life's experience in a hair salon. I have discovered the mastery of interruption- consistently being interrupted by George was an exciting new fact to me. We exchanged jokes, ideas, feelings about many and various subjects. I guess deciding on the color broke the ice between us. The first time we met, we didn’t have much to say and not much time to really start saying anything. The first time we met, George thought to himself, “this girl is a snob.” Once I heard this coming out from him, I gulped a few times. It was the first time anyone would think or even say that to me.  I then couldn’t stop laughing. As fast as we bonded and indulged into our conversations, I knew that he quickly and mistakenly judged me. He even told me, “that day we met, you barely made an effort to speak or look at my wife and me. It was like you were waiting for us to leave. But who are you today? This super relaxed girl who talks about everything, you are different than your brothers for sure, and I must say you are one interesting girl. You’re single, right? Then I will hook you up!”  I couldn’t stop blushing and laughing at the same time, eventually giving him an explanation as to why I was like that when we met.

After years of repetitively hearing, “Noura you are way too nice,” I decided that I will have to find a way to minimize the way too naïve person I am. I wasn’t going to become bitchy, but I had to start choosing the way I approached people. I couldn’t be nice all the time, but at the same time, I wasn’t going to change my nature. It just happened that on that day, to George’s luck, I would be the cold person I wanted to try to become. And I guess it worked. As a girl, an Arab (with expectations of behaving within certain limits), and on top of all that a new comer to a new country, I figured that I had to bring it down-try the new person I could become and reduce the wild and uncontrolled energy from high to low, actually fairly subtle. This is why I was classified as a snob the first time around.

The attempt in ‘hooking me up’ with George’s friend didn’t quite succeed. A young funny lad, that when we got introduced by an arranged "coincidence," we bonded on the level of humor and friendliness. I am glad that there were no messy, ugly, or hurtful feelings. The best thing about it was that we both stopped talking and no explanations were needed.  I mean, who would need an explanation when you only talk for two days through text messaging?!

As much as I strongly believe in not judging anyone generally in life, I found it very entertaining in discovering that I was judged twice. And I was told about both of them. I guess I am lucky.  It is unexpected for anyone to tell you their first impression about you and not everyone would reveal the judgment they made of you the second time around.

The Second 'Aveda' Purchase

"I love your hair!"

"Yeah, but it tears from the roots, falls on everything, and sheds everywhere!"

Having hair is worse than having a relationship. Girls, more than boys, seem to always have 'issues' with their hair. They have to know how and when to maintain it. They book appointments and note it down as "Very Important" on their agendas to make the weekly, monthly and quarterly visits to their best friend-literally: their hairdresser. And usually those trips tend to be exactly what we call the “only real maintenance date.” We stride gracefully into the salon, like walking on a cat walk, make the "celebrity" entrance to make sure EVERYONE knows that we are there with our not too fond of hair we carry on, over or beneath our shoulders and jump to our stylist's arms, out of love and desperation- calling out for help in every single body language movement ever, seeking needy attention every corner we spot. SOS is the code that everyone communicates to the professional silently, knowing that this is the one secret that is really out there and everyone else knows it, but don't really boldly say it out loud. Girls love gossip, but don't like anyone gossiping about her. Especially her hair. If you insult her hair, you are out of her circle; I mean you are OUT- like never talk to you again OUT and OUT of her sorority which she fancies calling: the sick chick club.

We have to admit, she makes more effort with her hair than she does with her own boyfriend! She spends more time washing out the impurities that affects her hair’s health than she spends time figuring out the problems that her man bothers her with. She spends more time gently squeezing out the overbearing moist which will damp it instead of re-vive it than she does trying to understand the major miscommunication barriers that exist in the relationship. She has more patience sifting and drying it from top to bottom and through each streak as she strokes from one half of the mass to the other than she has trying to shop with her lover. She is calmer rubbing it for protection by adding the necessary products than she has sanity trying to decipher the language of men. She finds more sanity in collecting the fallen threads of hair she finds anywhere she goes than finding sense in why in the world her husband would call her to ask what time to feed the baby!! She will effortlessly make no interruption whatsoever as she gracefully lays and matches each strip with the other, unlike finding so much irritation and exhaustive trouble in making a call back to the seven hundred missed calls that poor guy made just to tell her, “I love you.”  And she will never ever make excuses to skip the sacred date she made at the salon. And those trips to the salon, they are costly. A month worth salary, a bonus and extra petit-cash unwillingly given by her partner is the fortune spent per salon visit. So yes, the biggest, ongoing, life-long commitment, a woman makes in her life is on hair investment. The fact that it yields to a fatter profit margin is variable, but the fact that the return on investment is promising is very doubtful and highly unlikely.

My hair has usually been the ‘talk of the town.’ In school, I was known for the long braids. In college, I was envied because my hair would never puff out like everyone else's. At work, no one understood why I made two trips a week to the hair salon. To everyone, my hair never needed nothing but to be itself. In America, it was classified as thick hair. And in Canada, it was too much hair. But what none of those people know is that my hair has its days and goes through its own phases. Much like everyone else’s hair, it goes from dry to soft, from damaged to thinner than thick, from shiny to tangled-up, and from normal to brittle. And you definitely don’t want to be around my hair during humid days and post work outs. Now that’s a different phase by itself.

When we have bad days, we say we wake up on the wrong side of the bed. But when I have a bad day, it’s because my hair woke up to the wrong day. But of course I don’t really tell that to people. My hair is my day’s fortune teller. If the baby hairs on both sides stick out, clearly stating ‘help put them back down,’ I know my day’s calling for challenges. When my bangs don’t find their way home, which is always on the right side, then I’m asking for trouble. And when the rest of my hair knots up in unsolvable doodles, I know that this is the day I have to face my fears. The first thing I do in the morning is step into my reflection in the mirror. I think it horrifies me more than the trembles my body feels before I see the figures on the scale. And once I figure out what my hair tells me, I start the day according to the meaning of that note.

I can’t really ever leave the house without making truce with my hair. I think every girl will say the same when I identify hair as one of the reasons we feel confident and that it is the source of pure confidence boosting; like a magnet attracting men and their flashy flirtatious complements. So to maintain and increase all that, and of course prevent any further disappointments, I made a decision. I decided to pamper myself and buy professional products. I never thought that shampoo and conditioner would be the remedy because it seemed like it was my hair’s texture, mood and surrounding environment that made it the way it was. But I guess I had to give in to my hair’s demands and make a trip to a hair professional store. Based on my friend’s recommendation, Aveda was the magical secret to getting back her hair and improving the relationship between them. It made sense to me- my friend had similar problems, she followed professional advice, I should follow it too. It didn’t matter how expensive, I needed to repair the damaged and hold on to what’s remaining when everything  seemed as it was on the verge of falling apart. Bottomline, I was on the tip of the iceberg.

I was so excited and couldn’t wait any longer to use the products and eventually see immediate results, like my friend after her first wash. Rushing under the waterfalls of my shower I happily washed and conditioned, enjoying the not so bad scent of natural ingredients lush through my hair.  I impatiently waited for the next day to come to see the expected results. Miraculously, none. My hair didn’t go through any changes. At least nothing that was definitively evident in texture or appearance. Disappointed at the result, I stayed calm until my next hair wash. I didn’t yet want to feel deceived. I easily blamed it on my weak hair strands unaccustomed to chemical free products, maybe. Second wash results-nope. It still didn’t happen- my lengthy, fluffy, dry hair remained the same. The two Aveda bottles went through experimentation as I juggled around with the amounts used, the locations and points of focalization: on all of my hair, scalp and on the roots.  Again, the results were just the same. So I blamed it on the water. I didn’t want to believe that it was my hair or the successful brand’s failure. It was the water.

But I still wanted to fix my hair. I was not going to stop at the disappointment of just one type of Aveda’s professional selection. After all, the representatives who were also consultants would surely advise me which would be the most suitable for my hair type, texture and specifically after such an experience. The second trip to Aveda was troubling to the hair specialists than it was for me. They were shocked at the unseen results that were promised from their company’s production. The odd looks were their source of communication while my frustration spoke on my behalf as I swept through the counters. I made the purchase of the newly advised yet skeptical about products, and reminded myself that my hair was indefinitely worth the extra bucks.

Both the first and second hair washes of the second line of products yielded exact results as the first. I was disappointed at disappointing my hair and putting it through the trouble and the dreadful experimentation. But I was sure that the effort was at least appreciated.

I finally concluded that North America, with all its expertise and researches, hasn't yet reached how to treat someone with ‘so much hair’ and ‘thick hair.’

I shifted to another professional hair production brand, which my hair and I finally bonded with.

The Ex's Second Love

The world is organized by following the clock. Time is the mean we value the passing of a day. It calculates the movements of the sun’s presence and the domination of night. Time passes by and the moment lived will not be re-lived or repeated. Yet what is so ironic about it is that as though we move forward with time, many events reoccur. It's as though the past holds on to the present and clings on to the future. Like history you may say-repeats itself. Although one day is 24 hours, time is determined by 12 numbers on our watches and on our clocks.  We observe patiently the hands of time strike over each hour; the same hands briskly touch each hour’s number every day. This brings me to conclude that the same events have been reoccurring throughout man’s existence: celebrations, feasts, births, deaths, etc. We even experience the same emotions and feelings throughout time. But every experience has its own context. For example, we all feel fear, but the sense of fear from one person to the other varies according to the situation they are facing. But the point is, just like the hands of time touch every number on the clock over and over again, from the start of creation until today, we repetitively feel the same feelings and for some or many, live through the same or similar experiences in our lives.

Almost 20 years ago, during his years studying in college, he fell in love. He was from a good family, did well for themselves- highly appreciating and greatly proud of the prestigious and honorable earnings of education and academics. He was brought up in a home full of love, respect and warmth and was living the glorious days of youth when he finally found someone. Without many details given and as the story was briefly narrated to me, the couple was ambitious. He was determined to work hard and cooperate with time to reach their aspired goals of their love: to marry, build a home, and start a family. She was anxiously impatient for the results which led him to grasp the opportunity to leave his home country to follow the makings of the American dream. It was, during the time, the promising prime time in America to create and obtain the typical American dream; make money, have a house, have a family, a dog, with a car or two, all this of course by having a job and becoming an entrepreneur on the side. Doors were just too inviting and it was hard for a young man of his age with hopes of making his own personal dream come true to unwelcome such an opportunity. Although she had hurt him and was inconsiderate of the many factors that seemed to immobilize their ambitions, she indirectly pushed him to make such a decision. He left his family, friends, and his home. But he also left because he wanted to prove to himself that he could make himself by himself, and that he waited for no one, not even his lover, to underestimate his abilities.

He left to the unknown, vast, promising lands. He didn’t know where to start. He struggled in the beginning, but seized every opportunity he was given. He was homesick, he was lonely, he felt weaknesses which sometimes led him to want to go back home-but as persistent of a man he is, he was not going to gamble with his own life. He wasn’t going anywhere until he got what he came for. Two years passed in hard work, all in silence between him and his girl back home. He left her behind, without even saying good bye. Harsh you may say, but we don’t know how harsh she might have hurt him-after all he left his world behind and embarked into an indefinite life-alternating journey. She incessantly asked about him, tried to track down and trace his whereabouts until one day she got a phone call. He finally called her and said: “It’s me; you thought I won’t find a job, I did. You thought I will never own a house, I own two. You didn’t want to wait and I left to see how long I could wait to make it. I hope you are doing well.”

His first love hurt him. But his first love also made him. It made him the ambitious person who reached his goals, the good father he has become, and the great man of strength and patience, amidst holding precious conduct and ethos which he spreads humbly, and gracefully hands to others pure kindness and love. His first love made him discover himself and build his own empire of gratitude.

Two decades later, he fell in love again. He fell in love at first sight with a girl as she was walking to the vet, holding her puppy in her hands, after noticing her frustration in finding a parking spot in the street-packed full of cars in Cairo. He made an entrance with a young prince by his side while she was speaking with her veterinarian. And the sparks of a new love born was undeniable when all three animal lovers interacted. It seemed that the couple didn’t need time to get to know each other, because they already knew they did. It was a story like one seen in Hollywood movies. Two people meet, love at first sight and the story would continue to a happy ending. But the story ended too quickly, unfortunately. It ended because of the ways that life works around us. Although the couple were deeply in love and held all the qualities of a mature love, they separated because all of the world’s energy seemed to mystically deny their love’s existence and create the possibility of a future. The reasons, the events, the characters involved all prevented the making of their love a reality. The only true fact that does exist, is that they loved and secretly still do hold each other’s hearts inside another.

This time, the girl was devastated. She had lost all her hopes. She lost her dreams. She lost herself with this horrific ending to the one man who had truly respected her. She had been respected from many around her, but she always struggled in finding someone who preserved the true meaning of respect. Unlike love, respect is the value and appreciation of all the translucent things that one holds for another; respect of one’s thoughts, efforts, ideologies, opinions, characteristics, form, history, perspectives, dreams, visions, and present. They may be all contradicting at the same time, changing, modified, and or evolving at times, but respect is the secret to loving all those things at once. Loving these things in a person without respect will only cause disappointment when they change. When we fall in love, we tend to love what we see; we tend to only love what we feel comfortable with or relate closer to. We make excuses of failures and hurt because we love. We put the blame on love. But when you respect what you see in others, the obviously given and the ones unseen, the only expectation you have and know is that the possibility that change will occur, and when that happens, you respect that too. Your heart makes a call and has a say in loving a person or not by accepting the possible changes that will prevail, eventually. When you respect someone, you accept the results and the outcomes because you understand how this person thinks, acts and behaves. You know, value, and appreciate the way their mind thinks and the code of standards they live by. You identify the core reasons because you see the transparent things in this person-in which you have identified, touched and felt before you love, because you respected the person before you made a step into loving them.

The breakup led the girl to leave. Frustrated at her loss and defeat, she was lost in interlocking bubbles of confusion. She had always wanted a way out, to leave. But the reason she never made it out before through her failing attempts was because life kept her waiting to live through this breakup. There had to be enough reasons then for her to make a move out and far away. She left him in their home country and she flew away to the unknown, vast promising lands, embarking into an indefinite life-alternating journey of her own. Midway through her stay in America, she called him and said: “I haven’t forgotten you once. You are everywhere I go. I love you and will always love you. I miss you terribly and please forgive me.”

My ex’s first love made him leave his home and made him build wonders to his life. His second love led him to launch his own restaurant, making one of his silent dreams come true.  And the girl left her home to start making her wonders to her life.

The world as we know it is very strange. Two people met, loved and separated- but, ironically, the events over time reoccurred. Just like the hands of time sweeps over the same hours, over and over again.

The Second Snowstorm

I have always wanted to leave Egypt, my home country, for some reason or the other. I would continuously try to find ways to get out.  The reasons are endless but the ways to find a way out were very limited. No reasons, regardless how valid they were, would be approved of primarily from my parents. Except for education. The trips to embassies were made after being accepted to masters programs abroad, and for foreign policy justifications, my visa application would be rejected. Or the other reason would be that the program was highly expensive-too overwhelming for my family to spend for just one of their four children; which I could try to sensibly understand in some way.

So the time has finally come. After being turned away from my masters program in New York and after a horrendous, traumatizing, and deeply dramatic emotional experience, I insisted on leaving. I had to leave the country that seemed to close its doors on my face, day in and day out, and that has caused turbulence and deterioration to my emotional state.  My destination this time was Canada. And as expected, there had to be something that had to blow that plan, too. But that happened after I arrived to America, which was quite relieving, because at least I made it outside of Egyptian soil. America was just a mini-transit before I go to Canada. But for various reasons, whether I liked or approved of them or not until today or back then, and needless to mention them, my move’s destination altered. I was to stay in America for a while. So technically, my first stop, my first move was to New York-precisely Hoboken, New Jersey.

Shocked at the sudden change, I got lost in my emotions, my mind, and my actions. I lost the reasons, the objective, and got lost along the way in the experience itself. As unpredictable life is, the most predictable thing I knew about me is that nothing in my life goes as planned. I think it was by then that I learnt my first lesson during depression: never plan. And if I do, know that the chances are strongly high in taking a different direction, undoubtedly. Although I lived by the wise saying, "the only constant is change-" it seemed that I forgot that it applied to me and my life. And that along with all that, I was just purely unlucky back then, as I was before in my life as I am unlucky today. But things change, and they happen the way they do, and I wish I could say that they happen for a reason. No one will ever know, no matter how hard they try, why things happen. It takes more than time, reasoning and precise studying to decipher life’s sly ways of shifting things the way they do. We could only try to understand- that’s about as much as we can reach. Until we give up, or give in to God’s will, fate, destiny, the unknown written, or the sciences, even zombies (whatever you believe in)- there will be a time where we just stop thinking and stop trying to figure it out because we then realize it is beyond us.

Depression seemed to be my best friend at the time. And it just got closer to me in every sense and every way, and to every body part in me. As extravagant the city was with its massively energetic people, its breathtaking lights and infinite skyscrapers, the unlimited beauty that’s unraveled each day through art and creativity, nothing seemed to fix what was broken, bring back the person lost, or mend the torn heart. I felt defeated and smaller than normal people as I weaved through the busiest corners of the sleepless city. The luminous effects around me didn’t shine on me and reflect on me hope to a more promising future. Instead, I found comfort in counting everything that resembled the person I lost and the moments that felt very similar to the ones we once shared.

My stay in America was entitled to a title, according to my family. It was, “a cleansing period.” I didn’t approve of that, for reasons that were logical. But I knew that they were right. I just had to accept that this is where I reached to and had to accept that I did need time to myself. I needed to collect the time I have always yearned for to find in my busy schedule back in Cairo-time to reflect, cleanse, purify, get away, be alone, cry, scream, yell, and even smile freely. Find time to enjoy the actuality of reading a book, take long showers without feeling pressed with time, enjoy long walks, take my time in indulging into my meals, find pleasure in smaller things, and take as much time as I wanted to figure out the Sudoku puzzles. But my heart and body felt so sore – they were too heavy to lift to make any move, improvement, or any sign of life.  I already had my heartbreak and my long years on my shoulders -the unprecedented events hadn’t yet been behind me.

To crawl out of depression I think I needed to be in a warmer place. New York in November is far from warm, and it only got bitter cold with time. It was my first encounter with snow, ever. It should have been joyous, flurries of snow drifting from the skies, making snowballs and building snowman whom I grew up drawing on my childhood sketches- but it personally meant nothing to experience it. And to my luck, it was the first time in 50 years since snowstorms, harsh snowstorms, have occurred. The first snowstorm which I didn’t even know would happen, took place while I was sleeping. Towers of snow took over the domination of the city’s skyscrapers; it seemed like they were competing, inhabitants unwelcomed them and felt threatened by the unexpected comers that took over their streets for some time.  It took days for the city to come back to life. To me, it didn’t really matter how long it took. I was just looking over the window-observing the arrival of any signs of hope.

The second snowstorm, I walked right through it. I walked side by side its sharp winds as its snow flurries accompanied my footsteps through the dark, soulless night. For some reason, I had no fear, even though the residents were all warned and pre-alerted of the upcoming storm to stay at home. My frustrated furry and disturbing thoughts directed me outside my apartment building instead of within my warm cozy layered covers. Yes, it was a crazy experience, and you must say I am a crazy person. But the beauty of life happens in those crazy moments that not so many are given. And coming from a depressed person who had almost suicidal thoughts, it doesn’t sound as crazy as it really was.  The experience was actually soothing- it was comforting knowing that while people found comfort at their homes, escaping harm, I was right in the middle of action, in the heart of it, and found myself enjoying the fearless heart I held. This snowstorm helped me come out of my fear zone. I finally stepped out and enjoyed realizing that I could take myself out of harm. I could prevent myself from harm as much as I possibly can, and the means weren’t limited to staying at home. Wherever I could be, there will be potential risk. But the place where I am put in, I have to notice the harm that could be done to me. I have to accept being present in the rushing winds and the stormy sharp blazes. I just have to realize how I could protect myself and walk myself away and out of harm.

I went home, safely. I knew I had maneuvered my way out from storm’s harm. If I hadn’t walked through the second snowstorm, I would have never been able to step out of my fear, which I held throughout my entire depression period. And that night, a gradual lift of relief and a reward of triumph have been experienced. It was like a key to the first door of hope was being handed over to me.  It was a moment of realization: I have to start recovering. The first step to recovery had to start in accepting the given events, forgiving everyone including myself, and start helping heal my trembled heart, fearlessly.

Acknowledgements

For any idea to come into life and make its way through, there are always people, after God, to thank and recognize. The acknowledgement of those people may not be enough, but it is after all the biggest and the only way of sincerely thanking them for inspiring and believing in me.


God-Allah
My source of sanity, strength and hope comes through Him and Him only.


Farah Kabbani
My long time best friend and sister who knew my ability in writing will find its way to write down about my life.


Randy Banna
My great friend who always said one thing: be patient, and I know you will do it.


Elena D'Angelis
The lovely Italian woman I met during my stay in the States, who yet I have known very shortly, strongly believes in me.


Nneka Ike Prince
The Nigerian-Canadian family friend who has striked the idea at me and waited for it happen.


Linda Venerte
A friend I met through the meet-up site; met her once, threw out my ideas and labeled me as flow of energy and a promised to be businesswoman. She also believes in me and was waiting for some idea to take form and shape.


Rachid Fes
Another friend I met through the meet-up site.  During our second meeting, the idea of the second time around was born. He too believes in me.


Ramy Kamal
A dear colleague and brother who loved my writings, who knows that I am strong to face the challenges and create a better life for myself.


The Family
My parents and brothers who know that I have a talent that should be shared..how, they didn't know, but they knew I would find a way.


Haissam Ibrahim
An old friend in university who when I once told him, "Haissam-I want to write a book about my life. I have much to tell the world." He answered, "Who are you for the world to read about?"
Those words are engraved deep down and have been defeated. They are witnesses, now to prove that I am someone the world could be interested in knowing.

Nanouchi's Note

By the second person that suggested to me to start blogging, I actually finally started to take in action by jotting down ideas. And by the second time one of the two people who suggested to really start blogging, I am finally starting. The idea behind motivating, or pushing me to write were for several reasons. The first was finding something I do best. Second, doing what I love doing being put into action and into words, which I already secretly do through journals, poetry, notes, or even reading. Third, was the love of food these people knew I had, which might be the starting point that initiates my blogging project. Fourth, was to find some activity that would keep me busy and then maybe then, other doors would open up to me along the way.  And finally, the art of expression is free: materialistic, or let me say cost-free, and it is an act of liberation to the soul, mind, heart and feelings; after all, we are all free in expressing, sharing our thoughts, opinions, experiences and engaging others in our lives.

Just like we know it, life is made in pairs. Humans tend to think they are opposites, but sometimes miss the point that they were also made in “two.” God created Adam and Eve to complement each other.  The world finds balance in the form of Ying and Yang. People are defined as ‘nice’ or ‘cruel.’ Nations have found peace and have struggled through war. Hate is what we hold for each other when we can’t find love. Having twins is double the pleasure. And having two kids is ‘just about right’ or ‘just about enough’ to have a family. There will be no act of donation from the rich if it wasn’t for the poor. One is too lonely, and two is just perfect company. We find beauty even in the most unattractive and uninviting scenes. One bite off of a cookie is too little to indulge yourself in, the second bite always marks the true taste of how delicious it is. Because of death, we appreciate life. And because white is too light of a shade, maybe boring to some, black found its place as the royal color of fashion. Of course the given: we have two of our most functional organs- eyes, ears, nostrils, lips, hands, legs, lungs etc. There is always light at the end of a dark tunnel. Water is formed with two molecules of hydrogen, and it needs fire to oppose its serene purity. Love as we know it, needs two to tango. And as I strongly believe, we are all famous during two major events in our lives, when we are born and when we die.  We opt to believe that you either ‘make it’ or ‘break it.’ We go for a second round during delicious dinners.  A boy makes a move or approaches a girl after he takes a good second look after the first glance he has of her.

Some of us don’t know that there are second chances in life. Some of us can’t try more than once, and maybe some of us can but we don’t want to. There are those who learn from their mistakes the first time, so that the second time around they perfect the experience, bringing out its rewarding sensation and elevating the experience itself. Some of us marry the second person we fall in love with, because usually first-time love hurts, which is accompanied with inexperience. Some of us enjoy ‘anything’ the second time around it happens to us because the first time we couldn’t recall it or haven’t deeply cared to feel it. Usually, the second time in sex is the most ‘fun’for girls, because by then the pain will not be as bad and you discover the joy of intimacy through physical action.

I believe that my second chances, my second time experiences are more fun, more painful, and sometimes harder than the first time I have encountered them. In this blog, I hope you realize that the first time will always be acknowledged, but the second time usually marks the experience’s beauty, success, joy, hardship-whatever it is.  There are certain things I have just been acquainted with, and I am now much more conscious in not making a judgment or a decision without going through it a second time. Yet I have noticed that this has been a trait I have been naturally following all my life, because I have always wanted to ‘give it another shot,’ and ‘give him/her another chance.’  

The first thoughts of starting to blog were very vague. I found it too common to write about food. And while living on a fair budget and a strict diet, low sodium, high protein, low carb, minimal intake of sugars-no one would be really interested in my daily tuna salads for lunch and snacking on protein bars. I figured that though I am a highly gourmand person, there would be nothing to write about. Then I thought that I wanted to share my thoughts, perspectives, feelings I have, which keep banging on the doors of my head every day. But that too is common. I thought I missed out on a blogging idea when I found myself saying, “I wish I could have written about my first time I had my Canadian beaver tail!” And it snapped right then and there: why don’t I write about my second time I have it? I noticed then that it meant something to me: the second time around. It falls right in alignment with my principle: I never judge anything or anyone as much as I possibly can the first time. I strongly think that in general, we can’t judge anything the first time. Usually, it’s after the first time we meet the person, we visit the country, we try the food, we fail, we hurt, and so much more that we could truly make a good judgment of the situation.

After all, we need to read the book so that we don’t judge it by its cover. And that is usually the second thing we do after we purchase a book we are interested in.

Nanouchi's Invitation

Hello!  I would like to virtually invite you to my blog: "The Second Time Around."

I really hope you find pleasure, humor, and common emotions towards certain stories that will be shared, which you could find some relation with or find comfort at during your long working hours, boring days and sleepless nights.

Should you find yourself unattracted to the blog, please do tell me! We all have a right to our opinions to be shared, and just like we blindly jump in and say yes, we could virtually say no to a blog or blogger as well- you are entitled to say no as long as there are no feelings hurt (which we must acknowledge is less painful virtually than saying it face to face).

So, off I go to post your first time read to my first time blogging experience (technically my second blog now...!).

Cheers!

Nanouchi