My name is Nahla. I am a wife and mother of three children. I have been living in the UK for so many years. My first degree is in English Language. I also earned two Master’s degrees; one in Religious Studies and one in Creative Writing. I started blogging because I love reading and writing; both are more than hobbies for me. I read to learn, to understand, and to improve myself. I write to tell stories, to express my views, and to share my thoughts. I hope you enjoy my blog, and thank you for visiting.
Have you ever heard this saying? It makes sense, doesn’t it?
Isn’t it odd that one can be your friend and your rival’s, your opponent’s, even your enemy’s? You can, of course, be kind to all, but not a friend to all. I am not talking about social media friends, for in this case you can be a friend to millions. Online frienhip is exactly what it implies “online”. I am talking about real, close friends who you can trust, love, agree, or even disagree with. Perhaps that’s why true friendship is a rare gem, too hard to find and too precious to keep.
In fiction, and in real life, true friendhip could take you by surprise. An old man might be a young child’s best friend, a man of the world might be a saint’s, a prisoner might be his keeper’s, and an animal might be a man’s. In all cases, its the quality, not quantity that makes unique friendships.
Wouldn’t it be better if this friend of all should be a passerby after all?
Perhaps you can change the saying and add whatever you like.
Honesty is a noble, human trait, and I believe that, along with kindness, it will never die out. But, honesty is truely unique when it is genuine and touches your heart. I am not referring to the type of honesty that comes with formal interrogation or businesslike settings; I mean honesty that simply slipped off the tongue when you feel you compelled to be honest at that moment, regardless of any costs or requirements.
Last summar, just before moving, my eldest son, my daughter, and I went for a long walk by the seafront. It was a clear, hot day, with overfed seagulls soaring and screaming all of the sky. They looked as much happy and busy as all the people walking along the parade.
What could be better than having a fish and chips meal on such a summary day? We headed towards a fish and chips takeaway restaurant which was so busy with long queues waiting to either make or collect orders. I always tell my family what I’d like to order and wait outside as far as possible becuase I can’t bear the smell of frying oil, especially on boiling days. However, on that particular day, my son insisted that I go inside with them. Perhaps that was becuase it was so busy outside.
I walked inside with them, and we were waiting for our turn to make the order. As we were talking, I noticed the chef glancing at me once or twice, as if he wanted to say something. When it was our turn, my son gave the order, but then the man looked from my son to me and said: ‘ I just want you to know that we fry pork, sausages, fish and chips, all with the same oil.’
The three of us stood still for a while. It was the first time someone had given us this piece of information without us asking. When we thanked him and declined the order, he said. ‘ I know you have laws, and I respect that.’
We stepped out hungry, but so happy.
‘Oh, mama, that’s becuase of you,’ my son said.
‘And what have I done?’
‘Your hijab, mama. It’s the first time you came in,’ he laughed. ‘You know how many times we ordered fish and chips from there, and no one told us that before. Such an honest man!’
‘But mama what about the other fish and chips we ate before? My daughter seems more interested in whether we had been making a big mistake.
‘We are allowed to eat fish, so we make an order for fish and chips. God knows that we don’t know it’s been cooked with pork, and in that case we are pardoned. But, from from now on, as we know how things are, we’ll ask every time before having any takeaway.’
I will remember that day forever. This is not only becuase, since then, we know about the frying process, but because of the honest man you come across once in a blue moon.
Have you ever promised someone something? Of course I have, we all do.
Have you been true to your promise? Hmm … sometimes, most of the times.
Have you ever broken any? Well… I can’t remember
Can you trust someone who breaks their promise, who couldn’t stand by their word? Never … but unless it was inevitable.
Would your answers be any similar?
You might forgive once, but when things happen twice or more, nothing can heal the wound of mistrust. It’s better not to give a promise at all than to give one with any possibility of being unable to keep it. It’s not only unethical to break a promise, but also heartbreaking, disappointing, and deceiving.
However, what if the promise itself is impossible, dangerous, or unethical? Would you blindly, stubbornly fulfill it? Or would you listen to your heart and reason, and break it?
That’s what the new book I am currently reading is all about. A girl, in her early twenties, gives her bedridden mother a promise to move and live with her aunt after her death. From the very beginning, starting with the cold letter she receives from her aunt, to the long, miserable journey she makes, to people’s fear and shock about her destination, to the first sight of her aunt and her husband, everything seems to be shouting at her to break her promise and forget about it. If her mother were able to rise from her grave, she would do, so just to tell her daughter to forget about that mistaken promise and flee from her Aunt’s house. But, the girl, full of curiosity and stubbornness, stuck to the promise all the same.
I once heard that an actor’s testimony can not be validated. I have no idea whether this notion has any reference, but I suggest it’s merely a point of view, likely as a reference to the lack of credibility.
Acting is a talent before being a profession. How many actors are there in the world? Countless, right? But how many are truely talented? Just a few, wouldn’t you agree?
The talented will make you weep, scream, laugh, hate, love, and sympathise with them. Above all, they make you believe whatever they’re giving you. The untalented will make you neutral, if not bored.
Perhaps, this is why some think that a real actor’s testimony might be considered invalid. After all, the courtroom can’t be a stage, and truth can’t be dramatised. Truth has to be proved with competent, relevant, credible, and unbiased testimony.
Have you ever noticed how many writers make it clear from the very beginning of their novels that it’s all fictional? They don’t want to mislead their readers, to bear no responsibility if things were not accurate. While the story and characters may reflect something or someone in real life, it’s all based on imagination.
Truth can’t be imagined, but imagination cam help us see the truth.
What do you think? Are you still reading? Pray tell, you are!
By the way, there are many unknown actors who perform better in real life than on the stage. They are professional, but not talented. Ironically, they can’t be exempt from giving testimony. Hopefully, the judge, would never be one.
I wonder if obseission is a psychological, complex problem? In fact, I believe it is.
It is like idolization, you fall for something or someone and make them like air and water in your life. Both are desturctive, but I think obsession is even worse. This is because idolization, sometimes, is out of true love which can be blind or selfish. But, obsession is mainly about possession, fear, and greed.
In both cases, either in idolization or obsession, you can’t see the truth, you can’t listen to reason.
Perhaps, that’s why this quote makes a very good sense: “Truth was something intangible, unseen, which sometimes we stumbled upon and did not recognize, but was found, and held, and understood only by old people near their death, or sometimes by the very pure, the very young.”
Do you agree that only the old, the very young, and the pure can sometimes see the truth? Do you think that might because they are no longer obsessed or have not yet become obessessed?
My Cousin Rachel by Dephne Du Maurier can tell you more about obessission. Here’s a link for my review.
If you could un-invent something, what would it be?
Man-made inventions are part of artificiality, right?
Look around you now, wherever you are, how many things can you spot that are man-made, unnatural, or artificial?
As I am sitting at home now, I can tell you that most of my surroundings are artificial, except for me, my family, my birds, the dates I’m nibbling on, and the front garden I keep glancing at out of the window on my left side.
Do we need artificial things? Of course we do, but I believe extra artificaility become too much – too much to buy, too much to wear, too much to eat, too much to show off, even too much to go, etc.
Imagine making a simple homemade cake. All you need is flour, butter, eggs, sugar, and baking powder. You can add some natural flavours and fruits. Done. But why, that’s not enough. Artificiality implies more ingredients: icing sugar, marshmallows, chocolates, strange colours, and exotic flavours. Now, isn’t that too much. That’s just a simple example of how extra artificiality can turn from what we need to what we greed.
That’s not all with artificiality. I mean it’s become more than things and settings. It extends to human feelings, communications, and behaviours. You make a cake to eat, maybe to celebrate something, or perhaps you just crave it. Happily, you devour it at once or in two days. Your family might have some too. You might feel a bit disappointed if an unexpected visitor decided to pay you a visit on that special day and have the last piece of your almost finished cake. Those are simple, natural feelings.
With extra artificiality, you dress like a celebrity, take ten photo shots, add animation, emojs, music, tags, and finally share your special cake creation with the entire world. Then, you bin it because you are on diet. All the fun is artificial, short-lived, and forgotten in a split second
If there is anything I wish to un-invent, it would be this extra artificiality.
Perhaps this post will be your and my first step!
With all the best wishes,
Nahla.
P.S. Artificiality is the first thought that crossed my mind when I read today’s prompt, and though I didn’t write it all straightaway, I wrote down the title before it disappeared. It’s a recommended writing skill, I really appreciate.
Can you share a positive example of where you’ve felt loved?
It is to feel relief, comfort, and safe when crying into your beloved’s arms.
One day, just after the lockdown, I was walking home from school with my daughter. As we neared the end of a shortcut side road, I glanced at someone walking with a small child, about three years old. I immediately recognised the child as my new friend’s son, and guessed the person with him was his father. After brief greetings, the man asked if I knew his wife.
‘Yes,’ I replied looking down at the child, feeling uncomfortable. No one had ever stopped me on the road to ask whether I knew his wife before. If it werent for the child I was looking at, I would have ignored the man.
‘She died,’ said the man, and my head snapped towards him. Shocked, I remained silent wondering whether what I had just heard was correct.
‘Because of COVID,’ he added, and I stood there, still, all the convenient words ran out of my mind.
He added a few sentences, I didn’t hear and I didn’t want to hear.
‘May Allah rest her soul, and make Eden her eternal home.’ I finally said and walked away from him, clasping my daughter’s hand tight.
‘What he was telling you, Mama,’ my daughter asked as she always found it hard to understand different dialicts of Arabic.
‘Will tell you later,’ I told her as we hurried toward our house.
I knew my daughter guessed what he said, because the word died was clear and harsh as he said it. We went home, and my daughter ran to her room. I knew she did’t want to know anything about the man or what he said.
There, my eldest son had just come home, and after one look at my face, he knew something was wrong. My tears flooded down my face as I leaned against his shoulder.
‘I can’t believe she died …I had … known her … for … a few months … and her children …. they are … still young.’ I wept and wept, and my son listened, patting my shoulder until I had no more tears to shed.
‘But her husband had no sense. I just want to punch him in the face. How could he just throw that heartbreaking news at someone he doesn’t know, and on the road.’
‘Yes, Mama, but now you’re better.’
Can anything else be better than crying into your beloved’s arms?
Last week after finishing an interesting book, I decided I wouldn’t write a review about it. But since then, I kept thinking I had to write down my thoughts about it, otherwise my mind wouldn’t rest, wouldn’t stop replaying it in my head.
Can you guess why I had this conflict?
Actualy, this conflict was what inspired me to write my “Villians” post, a few days ago. In that post, I was reflecting on my own conflict on how to feel about the book. I enjoyed it, but mainly because it was full of suspense and adventure, but I couldn’t sympathise with the characters. Perhaps that’s what the author wanted from the reader, to not sympathise with the characters.That’s what exactly I meant when I wondered whether you, as a reader, would enjoy the adventure for its own sake, or the story that touches your heart with a moral message.
If you want to know a bit more about the book, have a look at my review. Here’s the link:
While reading, I sometimes come across mentions of authors. Immediately, before I forgot, I check their brief biography and pick one of their books in my want-to-read list. Occasionally, though rarely, the book is a suggestion or a recommendation.
Honestly, I am not always loyal be to my want -to- read list. But the good thing is that once I make my mind to read a book, I will read it all. It’s something like challenging myself, or out of curiosity to discover what this book has for me.
How long does it take to finish a book? That depends on how I like the book. If it is boring, and I feel like I won’t enjoy it, I read it when I am bored or when I don’t bother interruptions. For example, at a café or when I am waiting for my daughter to finish her clubs.That’s why some books take much longer than others for me to finish.
On the other hand, I will read the books I like when it’s all quiet, espcially at home. I will finish them before I could even know it. With this strategy, I might have two books to read at the same time, one like a player on the bench waiting to be in action, and another scoring a goal after goal on the pitch.
Sometimes I wonder, you might too, why I just don’t return the book I don’t like, or keep it unread on the shelf? Honestly, I just feel there’s always something hidden there to learn. The only exception, when my mind won’t work this way, is when I’ve watched its adaptation which, for me, means all the fun of reading is blown into thin air.
I am sure you haven’t heard of this strategy before, or have you?
Have you ever, even somtimes, sympathised with those villians who are dramatised in movies and fiction, as kind hearted people with noble deeds? Something like, they rob banks but they also give plenty to the poor. Worse still, especially when it’s a love story with handsome characters, you go ahead and analyse their cases from a psychological point of view, mainly to make them victims not criminals.
Your analysis would suggest that, perhaps, it was the hard circumstances, the upbringing, ignorance, injustice, and sometimes even boredom, that forced them to follow the devil. Of course, that suggestion doesn’t entirely destroy the goodness inside villians.
And, in conclusion, you would also suggest that villians need a chance, an open door, or a relocation to shed their devilish skin. Then, with a new brand of skin, they would be able to listen to their nagging conscience and pump some light into their dark heart. Things might work this way, but it might not becuase there might be other scenarios.
What if they don’t have a nagging conscience? What if they block the light instead of letting it penetrate their dark hearts? What if repentance wasn’t in their dictionary and power and egotism are their main, sole creed? What if the devil himself was just an apprentense in their handicraft? And finally, what if they want to always play the villian, the highly qualified egonist?
Would you still sympathise with them, and cry at the end of the story because they were hanged, prisoned, and didn’t have a second chance?
Why don’t you, while reading the story, consider that God surely hasn’t assigned villians to rob the rich to feed the poor?
Have you ever thought that, with all excuses, all masks, and all pretences, vilians can’t erase their malicious achievements from their resume without adding a pure, repentent heart to it? Of course that does not mean that a villian would straightaway turn into an angel, but they, probably, would turn straightaway into a human with a living heart.
Would you, as a reader, prefer a story that makes you weep for joy after the lost soul finally starts seeking light? Or would you just enjoy a story for its adventure regardless of the route it takes, just the journey for its own sake?
Pure and Simple 