Which languages do you speak and how did that impact your life?
Apparently, we all talk to our pets, right?
You can’t have a pet without finding some way to communicate together.
Anyway, at the moment, I don’t have any.
My sons say, “ please no more, Mama.’
Simply because I got so attached to them, and you know how hard it feels when you lose them.
Over the last few years, I used to have three pets.
No wait… actually, they were two and the third came only for a short visit.
First was Fish; those colourful tiny creatures in a small water tank.
Me and my daughter were fascinated by them.
But real, tiny fish are mute, not like those talkative ones in movies or in fictional books.
Yet, you still have to find some kind of language to communicate with them. Otherwise, you will end up sending them back, either to the big open sea or the store where you got them.
Thanks to my daughter, we found something simple by just tapping gently on the tank glass.
They would drew near and start staring at you through the glass.
Perhaps… we can translate this as hi, how’re you doing.
Second came my birds: two cute parakeets, Blue and Sky.
These two were so talkative, but their birdie language is easy to learn.
So they would start the day with loud “morning prayers” followed by nonstop discussions about their daily routine. Sometimes, later in the day, their chatter would change into a thoughtful, lyrical kind of sweet conversation before having a catnap.
“Please, Mama make them stop this noise.” My sons complained when they came for a visit.
‘They’ll be quiet at night.’ I replied, laughing.
Whistling works so well with birds, and my daughter found the idea very interesting.
I’m so bad at whistling, yet me and those cheeky birds used to nod, yell, and whisper at one another.
Then came the cat, with those beautiful eyes and soft meows.
Since we were only having her for a short visit, she spend most of the time hiding.
But cats are clever, and easy to communicate with.
Their meows, purrs, and little winks not only make your heart melt, but they also don’t need any explanations.
If you had to change your name, what would your new name be?
Since we were created with different tongues, I find it very interesting how names sound different in other cultures.
So though my name has just four simple letters, in English it can’t be pronounced the same.
In Arabic, the h is pronounced clearly, like the h in hello, but it is dropped in English because it’s difficult to pronounce when followed by an L.
And things don’t stop there as the other three letters are also pronounced differently… more stronger.
But I’ve been used to it, and I actually like the change.
When my husband and I chose Arabic names for our children, we tried our best to make them easy for English speakers to pronounce. Still, they never sound the same.
Different tongues, right.
And then, years ago, more interesting things happened.
One of my friends told me about her attempt to correct the pronunciation of her name for English speakers, but none of them worked.
Her name is Eman. Oh… how I love this name.
When I was young, I wished my name was Eman, after one of my favourite teachers.
And If it wasn’t already used in my family, I would have named my daughter Eman.
By the way, Eman means faith.
Isn’t that a beautiful meaning.
One day, as we were walking together, she suddenly started talking to herself.
‘It’s E and man. If they can easily pronounce man, why can’t they pronounce it in my name?’
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.
Pure and Simple 