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.
Do you remember your favorite book from childhood?
Time: Year Nine
Place: Cairo, local state girls’ school
Class: Arabic
As far I can remember, a different Arabic Story was included in our curriculum every year.
I can mainly remember that book, though I’m not actually sure whether it was in year eight or nine.
Anyway the story was somehow historical, the kind of heroic epic with a gentle tug of innocent romance. They used to say that it was adapted from a real story.
That’s the first reason I still remember it.
As for the other reason… I’ll reveal later.
Just keep reading.
The story took place centuries ago in a small city near Alexandria. Though it was only a small city, its people, old and young, men and women, were among the bravest in all of Egypt. They had taken part in a heroic battle and made a memorial contribution to defeating and expelling the french invaders from Egyptian lands.
And so… this once -upon -a -time story unfolded during the Napoleonic Invasion of Egypt.
Within its historical, epical context, the book weaves the tale of one of the prettiest young women and one of the bravest young men in that small city.
They were cousins, deeply attached to one another, but each with a different dream.
She listened to the fortune -teller and believed she was destined to become a queen.
He listened to the cries of his country, the enemy invasion, and the duty to free his homeland.
She married the chef leader of Napoleon campaign and travelled to France, but she never became a queen.
He worked hard, fought for his country, and married an English girl who believed in his cause.
She returned defeated and humiliated.
He stayed, died, and was buried as a martyr and loyal man to the very end.
The end.
Isn’t it a memorable story.
Now, here’s the second reason which is a bit funny, and that’s why I remember it.
Isn’t memory selective?
Yes it is, and it always seems to swing between two extremes: the happy and the awful.
So then… here’s the fun bit.
During one of the classes, while the teacher was in the middle of explaining the historical events, a girl raised her hand to ask a question.
Strange how I still remember that girl, but not her name. Perhaps it’s because she was the tallest in the class.
The girl was leaning against the wall when, out of the blue, she threw her question into the room: What was the age difference between Zubaida (the pretty heroine) and Laura (the English girl)?
Our Arabic teacher turned and gave the girl one of those blazing looks that made the whole class freeze.
“Out of all the sensible questions we’re practising, you came up with the one that doesn’t relate. Why would you ever care about their age?”
The poor girl flushed, straightened in her seat, opened her book and flipped to a random page.
That was so funny how the poor girl, instead of keeping her dreamy question to herself, voiced it out loud.
Even now, I still can’t help laughing.
And that’s all about my memorable book.
Though it wasn’t exactly part of my childhood, my teen years will do.
otherwise she will be hooked out of her world; her big, secure home.
And then it’s over.
She will serve as a fresh dinner plat for a hungry stomach.
“You definitely, and by all means, shouldn’t open it,” the old wise fish advised her fellows.
“As delicious, fresh, and rare as the bait may be, it is as dangerous, cunning, and deceptive. You should remember that, and think twice,” the old wise fish warned.
We humans should think not only twice but thrice or even more before stepping into a zone that isn’t ours.
Whatever this zone may be;
social, professional, or even familial.
It isn’t advisable to open your mouth and swallow everything,
nor to open your mouth and pour everything out.
In both cases, you transgress your zone and fall into waters that aren’t yours; whether deep or shallow it doesn’t matter, again they’re not yours.
You sacrifice your self-respect, your peace of mind, and your time over trivialities.
Didn’t the old man repeatedly give this piece of advice?
Of course he did.
Psychologists , psychiatrists, and many books say and repeat the very same advice.
If you don’t trust humans because they’re the ones who invented fishing rods, then trust the old wise fish who has never transgressed its own territory.
By the way this post was inspired by a quote I wrote on my other blog; the one I’m trying to bring it back to life. If you’d like to read it, here’s the link:
This is the dentophobia; the fear of dentist visit.
Of course, I made this word up, but feel free to use it… just add me as the reference. Who knows, perhaps one day this word will be added into the encyclopaedia of odd words.
So… this is the main fear I believe most people have.
It’s the dentist, and the dental clinic.
How many times have you postponed your visit to this white, bright, ’healthy teeth guaranteed’ clinic?
Mine are Numerous.
The thing is most of the dentists look nice, talk nice, behave nice, but when their equipment, tools and shiny new technology start buzzing, nothing looks nice anymore. And that’s exactly when the first phase of fear begins.
So… once you lie down on that dental chair, your heart starts pounding hard and loud and nonstop
Then comes the eye shield, and with it your hands begin to perspire and tremble.
What follows, is opening your mouth wide, and that’s exactly when your heart almost forgets how to beat.
’Sorry, do you want me to stop? Just a few seconds more,’ your faithful dentist assures.
And your only response is to close your eyes and clutch your hands.
What else can you do?
Finally, you hear the long awaited phrase: ’All done’
You got to your feet, and thank the Lord you can leave safe and sound.
Then the second phase begins, as your kind dentist offers some warnings wrapped in gentle advice; ’Don’t speak, eat, or drink for at least two hours if not longer. And in case of any problems, call the clinic immediately.’
You listen and nod, your mouth numb and your head aching.
Last but not least, the final wave of fear arrives when you see that smiling face behind the reception desk waiting for the bill to be payed and the next appointment to be booked.
Later on you arrive home and, all of a sudden, you start craving a cup of tea. But then you remember you can’t drink.
So you gaze around the kitchen, looking for any snack, and again you remember you can’t eat.
A moment later, you phone rings, but you don’t answer it, because your ears are buzzing and your mouth is numbing.
Nothing is left but to try to relax somewhere quiet. You do, and with the mercy of God, you fall asleep.
’Congratulations… you’ve passed your dentophobia challenge with great success,’ you whisper in your dream.
And that’s when you finally realise you’ve conquered one of your fears.
As I was teaching my daughter her Arabic lesson, we came across the story of The Shepherd and The Wolf. She already knew the story, but this time were using it mainly for learning some basic grammar.
Before we started our lesson, I asked her if she remembered the story.
‘I think so,’ she replied.
‘Brilliant. So what is it about?’
‘Little Red Riding Hood,’ she said and added a few others as options, none of them related to the one I’d asked about.
I couldn’t help laughing at these multiple choice answers that this young generation seems to master so well.
Now… it’s your turn.
Have you or your children heard of this story before?
If not, here it is:
Once upon a time, a young Shepherd was getting bored of his daily routine with the sheep. Everyone had the same chores to do and finish before the sun went down. They would wave hi and bye, and then hurry off to tend for their duties.
Day after day, the level of the Shepherd’s boredom exceeded the limits.
Then one day, he came up with a silver idea, the one that would stir a bit of hustle and bustle in the small village.
That day, the Shepherd waited until the noon sun was shinning everywhere. He ran all the way to the top of the mountain and looked down at the people enjoying their noon meal. Then, he screamed and screamed and screamed.
‘The wolf is attacking my sheep. Help. Help!’ he yelled and yelled and yelled.
The people, old and young, men and women, left their chores, abandoned their meal, and ran up the hill all the way to rescue him.
Slippers, old shoes, sticks, pans, pots, and knives were their weapons.
Breathless and exhausted, they reached the spot where the boy stood,
but there was no wolf, and the sheep were calm and happily grazing around.
The young shepherd apologised and explained how terrified he’d felt, hearing swishing and swooshing around, and thinking it must be a wolf.
The villagers sighed in relief and left the boy in peace.
Excited, the boy repeated the same show three times, each one with a different lie.
But the fourth time, the fake story became a real one.
A real wolf appeared, ready to play its role for a real drama.
The boy screamed nonstop,
His screams were earnest. ‘Help. Help. Please Help. The wolf is eating my sheep.’
But this time, his show didn’t win any audience.
The wolf grinned and hunted more and more.
The boy’s voice broke, and he could scream no more.
He finally realised that no one trusted him any more.
Wouldn’t it have been better if the young Shepherd had thought of some other exciting way to break his boredom without lying.
At the end of the day, even if some people smile and clap for the lair, they will neither trust nor respect them.
Pure and Simple 