Who is the most famous or infamous person you have ever met?
So… can we think of the most famous as the most infamous and vice versa?
In other words, why can a celebrity be the most famous, while the teacher, for example, is the last, or perhaps nonexistent, in the list of the most famous?
Can we swap positions, so the celebrity goes down the list and the teacher goes up to be the most famous?
I hope your head isn’t spinning right now, or is it?
Mine actually is.
But don’t you get it?
Some people can be famous but without big celebrations, shiny gowns, best-selling books, or seven zeros in their bank account? They can be the most famous because of something simple yet special about them—something that shines without glitter, something that resounds without raucous noise, and something that attracts with respect.
Wouldn’t it be a good change to think of the famous and the infamous in this way?
You may discover that you are more famous in your own surroundings than those in the media or politics.
This prompt is a bit hard… because … sometimes you have the thing and its opposite. And sometimes you think you don’t have the thing though others believe you do.
Got anywhere so far?
Simply, it’s like being optimistic with sunny spirit, but also having your own heavy, dark moments. Or being quiet with calm nature, but also having your own loud, rumbling explosions. Or when people see bravery in you, while you still hit the spider three times (or more) before moving it to its final destination.
But… what I appreciate in myself and what I believe is, indeed, a very valuable trait, is simplicity.
Complex, complicated and sophisticated feel too abstract, too demanding, and too vain to be part of my life. Even when I decide to make a change and welcome those fancy concepts for a quick visit, things go wrong, or boring, or fake. So, I’ve promised to grant them indefinite leave with no quick return.
Sometimes I wonder how the famous artist dared to use simplicity and sophistication in the same sentence: “Simplicity is the ultimate art of sophistication.” Of course he meant that it’s more complicated to live a simple life than a cluttered one. True. It really takes time to love simplicity especially if you are a complex person. But that’s the point. He should have used… elegance. Or better yet—modesty
What aspects of your cultural heritage are you most proud of or interested in?
The first thing that struck me as I read today’s prompt was something I truly like about Egyptians, something that can be a special trait or a characteristic that most of the Egyptians are known for. And you know what? Even after living abroad for so many years, I think I still have a bit of it.
Can you guess what it is?
It’s how they carry humour in their talk, how they simply crack jokes in passing comments, how they can lighten what is heavy and simplify what is complicated. To put it simply: how naturally most of the Egyptians can be both funny and witty.
They love to laugh, to spark laughter, and to cherish every laughing memory.
“Why aren’t you laughing? Afraid your skin might crack?” That’s how they react when visiting with someone a bit too serious
It’s always funny when we meet up with Egyptian friends and they try to joke with my children. My children smile which is a clear indication that they did’t get the joke. I stifle my laughter. I cough. I breathe. And then our friends repeat the joke.
My children turn to me: their faces wondering what’s so funny, and their eyes pleading for a quick explanation. I burst out laughing, not at the joke but at their reaction. And then they burst out laughing not at the joke but because laugher is contagious, just like yawning.
And this is one of the most well-known Egyptian sayings about laugher:
“Just laugh, no one’s taking anything from this world when they leave it.”
Share a story about the furthest you’ve ever traveled from home.
Back then in Egypt, many years ago, when I was just a child, my family used to take two different holidays during the summer. Of course, none of them were abroad; that wasn’t even in my dreams.
The first trip was always to visit my grandparents and relatives in one of the most beautiful cities in Upper Egypt. The train journey took about six long hours. By long, I mean really long, not like nowadays, when time slips through our fingers like water. Still, I enjoyed every bit of it.
Our journey didn’t end with those six hours for my grandparents were living in a small village about a two- hour drive from the city. Sometimes we stayed in the city for a few days to visit relatives, but then we’d head straight to that small, simple village where my grandparents waited for us in their big, old house. We usually stayed there for around two months, but of course, after the first week, my father would take the train back to Cairo for he couldn’t be off work for that long .
Our second long trip was always to one of the quietest and furthest seaside cities on the western coast of Egypt. We always headed there around the first of September, when the weather used to cool down a bit at that time of the year. We stayed for only one week, since school started by the middle of the month.
We travelled there by coach and always with a group of family friends from Cairo. The journey was just as long as our train ride to the south. Excited about the sea waves, colourful shells, and building sand castles, I always looked forward to this holiday, and I never minded the distance.
Strange how, many years later, when my husband and I took our first flight to England, we thought we’d be too far from home. But in the end, that journey turned out to be actually the closest of all.
Things depend on how you feel about a place. The furthest can be the nearest. The furthest can be the most exciting, the most unexpected. And sometimes, the furthest can be home too.
Well… that was the first thought that crossed my mind today.
But don’t you agree that writing is just like cooking?
Let me explain why.
Both writing and cooking rely on talent and taste. And, just like cooking, writing comes in different styles and varieties. Your first attempts at both are usually awful and funny. Day after day, month after month, and years later, you begin to master your craft and savour your own unique flavour.
Have you ever thought about how writing and cooking push all your senses to the frontline when you’re on a mission? Of course they do. Both need colours and flavours, moments of quiet and noise, and the ability to stir some emotions— just as much in your cooking pot as in your piece of writing.
Copy and paste doesn’t work in writing or cooking. Don’t people say the same recipe tastes different when prepared by two different hands? The same idea applies to writing—and what better example than our responses to daily writing prompts? Your dish, as well as your piece of writing, carries your own unique signature, even if you follow all the “should do” and “shouldn’t do” rules.
And then there’s time —this precious and the most needed ingredient in both writing and cooking. Keeping it light is possible in both activities: you can boil a few eggs or scribble a few lines. But when you’re really in the mood to enjoy a good meal or to pour your heart and soul into your writing, you take your time. You wait and, sometimes, you even pray for the right moment.
And, it’s normal … actually, quite common to fall under that lagging spell that hits you like a heatwave. It becomes too warm to eat, too lazy to write. You don’t feel like cooking or writing. This sluggish phase might last a day, a week, but hopefully not much longer. Of course, it depends on how much you enjoy your homemade meals and how much power you have over your mind to pull yourself out of that lethargy.
One more thing worth mentioning about this combination of writing and cooking: it’s the element of surprise. You start with something, but unexpected things happen, which might turn completely different. The rice smells like burning popcorn, the soup thickens like pudding , and the dessert looks and tastes like something from ancient times.
Writing is even more surprising. First, an idea pops into your head, just a mere idea. With sighs, smiles, and knitted brows, you let the thoughts flow and begin to write. When you feel satisfied, you stop. Then you scan your piece again, wondering how and when you wrote this piece.
But that’s what I love most about writing— it surprises you and challenges the writer in you.
And, don’t forget that both writing and cooking like company, love inspirations, and adore compliments.
It’s truly enjoyable to share food and blog posts, isn’t it? As long as both are edible and easy to digest!
Scour the news for an entirely uninteresting story. Consider how it connects to your life. Write about that.
This is the latest news on Pure and Simple Channel, which nobody seems to care a whit about. This is likely because the term “mail service” is no longer in use in today’s world.
Here’s the news; There’s a widespread complaint about mail service across the globe. It claims: “Since the postman left, there hasn’t been an honest message.
Have you heard this piece of news?
Well, it’s just come to my attention that the news was just a saying—or perhaps a quote. FYI, in case you decide to look it up.
Anyway, isn’t that saying or quote so true and insightful?
How is the postman doing in your place?
Well… in mine, the postman shows up once a week, if not longer, and delivers mostly ads, bills, and donation bags. Worse still, it seems no one looks forward to seeing him anymore. Oh, the poor man and the mail posts have become old-fashioned on the road to extinction.
Now, what do you think we’ve been missing since the postman left?
Perhaps the design of the stamp, the scent of the paper, the genuine affections in the words, the smile hidden behind those brief greetings, the longing in between the lines, the long details, the casual sentences, and the unique signature at the end.
In other words— when the postman left, the letter lost its pure and simple message.
What traditions have you not kept that your parents had?
I was born and raised in Cairo, Egypt, following a traditional meals routine. I still remember the mouthwatering flavours, the warm gatherings, and the funny moments. But, I no longer follow that routine—not because I don’t want or because I can’t. It’s simply because it just slipped out of my days as the years went on and on.
So, back then in Egypt, we used to have three meals a day: breakfast, dinner, and supper. But, of course, there were lots of snacks and desserts in between. Not to mention the roasted peanuts and pumpkin seeds during those long summer nights—whether out in the balcony or inside as we gathered around the television.
Our breakfast and supper were usually light and simple: tea, milk, and a cheese or jam sandwich made with fresh bread straight from the bakery.
Breakfast usually started early, around six or seven in the morning, since everything else began early too. We’d eat in a hurry so we wouldn’t be late for school, university, or work. Then, we had another full breakfast around ten during the mid-morning recess. Supper was usually by eight or nine at night.
Dinner was the main meal with traditional Egyptian dishes. We always had it by half past three when the whole family was home—father back from work and children from school. Back then, my family never dined out or ordered in. But of course, we did have dinners with relatives and friends — especially during the holidays.
When I moved with my husband to the UK, that traditional routine changed, not immediately, but gradually. So, instead of the two breakfasts, we have just one. Then we were introduced to lunch at noon, followed by the late afternoon dinner that kicked out supper from our routine. Still, we remained faithful to having snacks and desserts in between.
Now, food is another story in my break from the traditional meal routine— please understand that was entirely unintentional. It began with cornflakes and toast, which (thanks to my children) became part and parcel of our daily life, just as essential as water and air. Praise the Lord, they no longer crave any.
I love cooking and baking—and, of course, I love Egyptian food. But… though our dinners are usually home –made, we dine out every now and then. Besides, our traditional food is not one hundred percent traditional. Perhaps because the food and flavours are not the same. But, that’s also because I’ve started creating new meals, following my own simple recipes.
Thank God, my food, in most cases, turns out delicious, and my family devours it all.
When it comes to food, there’s some sort of flexibility to change your traditional routine.
If you could bring back one dinosaur, which one would it be?
I don’t know why, but I’ve never been interested in dinosaurs—perhaps because of their scientific names, with their long, complicated spellings and pronunciations, which could give one nightmares.
Thank God they went extinct millions of years ago, for we literally have such an abundance in human clothing across the world.
Don’t you believe me?
But of course you should.
Haven’t you heard of the most advanced cloned versions of dinosaurs?
The Powersaurs, Moneysaurs, Scienceosaus, Mediasaurs, Idiotosaurs, and others from the Humanosaur family. Actually, the Justosaur is also part of the family, but unfortunately, it seems quite powerless and alienated.
See, it doesn’t make much sense to bring a dinosaur back. But… maybe a sample of the cloned version could travel back in a time adventure set millions of years ago. Back then, they might learn the truth—the scientific lesson they seemed to have missed at school: dinosaurs and humans didn’t co-exist.
Now, which is better: to bring one back or send one over?
Ignoring others, whether in preson or online, through physical interaction or unansewred messages and calls— that’s one of the most annoying experiences.
One can differentiate shyness from rudeness, right? And what I am talking about is rudeness—the art of ignoring others on purpose.
Years ago, when I was ignored, I would become upset, emotional, and even depressed. But things change— and we change too.
So, nowadays, when things happen, I whisper to myself, “Why bother?” But… I don’t actually say “why bother” nonchalantly. I mean … in the past, I would burst out crying at home. Now, I’ve made up my mind; if someone ignores me once, I will ignore them ten times. That’s not all.
Sometimes, I explode— out loud at home or within in my head. I will call that person every name my anger dictionary dictates, from every book I’ve read. Then I breathe and repeat: “Why bother?” (Please don’t reference me as a guide in similar cases.)
On the other hand, it happens when your mind, sometimes, plays back some unpleasant memories from the past—a misunderstanding, a loss, missed opportunities, unfulfilled dreams, a hurt, etc.
Other times, your mind recalls good memories that make you wonder how time flies and how much you wish you could relive them.
In the first case, I say, “Why bother”—let bygones be bygones.
In the second, I smile and pray that what’s coming will be much, much better.
Privacy. That’s the most valubale thing I believe we should all worry about.
Privacy. A precious virtue that was once treasured— before the madness of social media, before having cameras on smartphones, before homes became more glass than brick, before fashion meant wearing less than more, before movies and dramas with different ratings became not that different at all, before crude language and obscenity were regarded as comedy and entertainment. The list of “before” can go on and on, and it is really scary.
No boundaries mean no privacy, and no privacy means no morality, and that all leads to chaos and madness—just like our today world. The more you expose, the more popular and ‘normal’ you become.
But, don’t we feel sorry and sympathise with the insane because of their mental deficiency?
Of course we do. We would never blame, judge, sue them for their wrongdoings? They are pardoned by both divine and human laws because they can not differentiate right from wrong, private from common.
Isn’t it strange how sane humans feel pity for the insane, yet behave the same— and even worse, expect the same pardon?
You know what? This kind of contradiction doesn’t even exist in the animal kingdom.
Isn’t your privacy something to value, to protect, and to worry about in this all-open, all-permissible digital world?
Without privacy, you are just like anyone, but with privacy, you are yourself.
Pure and Simple 