Tag: Family

Just writing

Are We Long Lost Cousins

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I stopped at this question as I was reading my book last night, but I wrote it down before forgetting about it.

Have you ever met a person who looks exactly like your reflection in the mirror? Isn’t it scary to meet someone who look exactly your double, even if they are your lost cousin?

I believe that’s not only scary but can also be dangerous.

That never happened to me, or anyone I know unless of course they are twins. And, even the twins I met, were not identical.

However, there is what people call the bond of likeness which doesn’t solely imply physical looks. I think that’s somehow can be like blood bond or soul bond.

The blood bond is comon in families’ similarities because of inherited genes. In my family, for example, though my sons look totally different, most people believe they look so similar that they are confused when calling them. Later, when they know them more, they see how they are different. Although my boys always laugh at these incidents, they do the same with my daughter and me, even though we look different. But it’s the blood that runs in our veins and how close we are together that gives others this impression.

On the other side, there might be the soul bond. That’s when you share similar thoughts, dreams, sense of humour, or even fears and worries with others. They might be friends, acquentences, or complete strangers, but Fate makes you cross paths together even once. In this case, you feel relaxed and happy to be in their company, as if you were somehow related.

However, back to the one – in- a- million possibility of having your double image, it would never be exactly you. We can’t just have printed copies of ourselves because we are not just photos. We are human beings with more than physical shapes. We’re created to be different, meant to be different. So, just in case you meet one day face to face with your double, be one hundred percent sure that you would never be confused because they would never be you.

Many books might have the same title, perhaps similar front cover, but never the same author, never the same content.

With all the best wishes,

Nahla

Just writing

Apracity

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It’s cold today, but it’s also sunny. I love it when you feel the warmth of the sun on a cold day. You not only feel the warmth of the sun; you also enjoy the blue sky, the green grass, and even the brown bare trees. People, big and small, old and young, will either put on their coats or not, and go out for a walk or a run.

It’s finally a sunny day.

Would there be any surprises in such a beatiful day? I have a funny one.

It’s sunny and cold, yes, but what’s more refreshing and enjoyable than taking the clean laundry out to fly with the light wind and dry under the warm sun?

I did, but before I closed the door, my bird ran after me. He stood on the airer and kept looking at me. To my surprise, I didn’t panic, didn’t try to catch him, and didn’t feel sad either. He would definitely fly away, soar high, and forget about me, I thought and continued hanging the clothes. But he didn’t fly away. Instead, he flew back inside and straight into his open cage. I really can’t express how happy I felt and am feeling.

They say when you choose to stay when you have the full freedom to go, you deeply feel you’re belonged and loved.

That’s the apracity of my day.

With all the best wishes,

Nahla

Just writing

I Still Have An Accent

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‘I still have an accent,’ an acquentence said one day, as we were having tea and cake at a café.

I told her that I didn’t notice that at all, as her English was so good, but she didn’t seem convinced. ‘I can’t wait to get rid of it,’ she insisted, making it seem like a big problem. I couldn’t help but wonder why it was a big problem.

Do you think it’s a big problem to have an accent?

Honestly, I don’t mind. Why would you mind if your mother tongue is different from the language you’re using for communication in your new place? In fact,  I find it interesting, different, and even special. Isn’t it the same when a native English, or French, or any other speaker speaks Arabic with an accent of their own tongue?

Over the years I have found that it’s hard for English native speakers to pronounce the ‘H’ in my name because it’s followed by ‘L’. Therefore, they drop the H, and instead of Nahla, they pronounce it Nala. I understand the difficulty, and don’t mind. We are created with different tongues, aren’t we? Isn’t that encouraging to learn and understand others?

In another context, a few years ago, while we were on holiday in Tunisia, I found it so interesting how their Arabic has a French accent. I really liked how different and unique it sounded. This is the same reaction I have when I meet Arabic speaking people from the Gulf region. Sometimes, it takes me a moment or so to understand, but I like how it sounds. I wonder how common it is to find people speaking the same language with different accents. Isn’t that what they call the tapestry of linguistic diversity?

The only exemption from this phenomenon is children. They are so quick, so ready to become bilingual with a fluent accent. I’ve noticed that in my own children, as well as other bilingual children. Perhaps, that’s because children don’t force it or overthink it. It just slips off their tongues so naturally and easily.

I still have an accent, and I like it.

With all the best wishes,

Nahla

daily prompt

A Craving Hobby!

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Are there any activities or hobbies you’ve outgrown or lost interest in over time?


Some hobbies can depend on mood, taste, company – and, more importantly, the moment. Have you ever noticed that? I have.

I love colouring with pens and pencils, but I’ve rarely tried using brushes. I believe all children enjoy colouring at different levels; it somehow captures their attention and relax their mood. Colouring is the hobby I crave, like special things at special moments, shared with very special people.

So, in my childhood, I loved and enjoyed colouring. But as we grow, some old hobbies are pushed aside and eventually  become abandoned. But, they don’t completely vanish.

During my pregnancy, I craved colouring. A month after my husband and moved to the UK for his postgraduate studies, I bought children’s colouring books and pens.  I coloured them all in no time, selected my favourites, cut them out, and decorated our walls with them. They added life, beauty, and much fun to our small flat. However, I didn’t crave it in my second pregnancy, and it was pushed aside by the demands of life.

My faded hobby revived and was full of fun when God blessed me with a daughter after my two boys. We used to colour together and challenge each other to see who could make the best colouring. However, as we discovered other favourite hobbies, colouring was once again pushed aside.


They say colouring is an effective alternative to meditation, and it truely is. It extends time and makes every moment more enjoyable, putting all your worries and fears at the back of your mind. Perhaps that’s why you might crave it at special moments with special people.



With all the best wishes,

Nahla

Just writing

Endearment

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Is there anyone who wouldn’t like to hear or receive some endearment? Genuine ones. Pure, simple ones. Endearments that are not related to flattery or hidden self-interest.

Although people are different,  I believe the possibility that one’s heart will not soften at receiving an endearing word or gesture is small. Even those with rock – solid hearts, or worse, dead hearts, should have a spot of tenderness hidden deep whithin them that would respond to a genuine endearment. Why, even animals and plants can be affected by endearing behaviour.

Now, can you think of the opposite? Instead of being the receiver, being the transmitter. In other words, can everyone instead of receiving endearment, be able to give any? I don’t think this is common because not everyone has this talent.

Imagine two people watching a singing robin at their windowstill.
‘Hello there, sweet, cute, little friend,” one says feeling so happy at the sight of the bird.
‘He’s just a bird,’ the second says, not in bad way, but he simply can’t add any more, believing that a robin is one of so many birds.

Can there be special, irreplaceable endearments? Of course there can, though nowadays, I doubt if people really care about that. A year or two ago, I noticed what I believe is an odd phenomenon. Either on social media or at social gatherings, I heard children calling their parents by their given names. In the beginning, I thought they were just joking or it was a game. Mine make the same joke at home, somtimes. But what I saw, was not for joking, playing, or disrespect. It was like a new fashion taught by parents, like a new, modern parenting style. Honestly, I find it odd, and disliked it. What could be a more special endearment than hearing “mama” and “papa”, “mum” and “dad” from your children? Who else would call you “mum” and “dad” from their own hearts?

Endearment isn’t only about sweet words.Nicknames and your own name can be just as endearing when uttered by a special person, or even given genuinely by a stranger. It is something that can warm the heart and fill it with happiness.

With all the best wishes,

Nahla

memories

The honest

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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.


With all the best wishes,

Nahla

daily prompt

To be loved

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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?

With all the best wishes,

Nahla

daily prompt

A flight will do, right?

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Think back on your most memorable road trip.

A year before the lockdown, during the Christmas break, my family and I went on holiday to a beautiful country in North Africa.

Can you  guess which one?

Excited and happy, we headed to Heathrow Airport, had a light meal, browsed around the shops, and finally completed our check-in and boarded the plane.

The flight was full. Passengers, as usual, were talking, laughing, yelling, and some were dozing off. The clicking of seat belts began, and as my husband tried to fix his, he realised that his seat was swinging. I stifled a laught, watching him trying to stablise it, but it was no use. It was broken, but the hostess assured him that it would be fine. No worries!

But worries I couldn’t avoid especially when the plane started taking off. It was the worst, and most violent takeoff I have ever experienced on a flight. The night was clear, and the weather was calm, so I couldn’t understand why things were not smooth. Once the flight disappeared into the sky, and dived into its deep dark waves, announcements of air bumps and turbulences didn’t stop. The plane started shaking, not slightly, but harshly, as if it was a toy in a spoiled child’s hands.

Praying, I did and tried to look cool like the other passengers. My daughter’s seat was next to mine, and we were both full of  fear and worry. When things calmed down a bit, she asked me to swap seats with her eldest brother. I did, and moved to sit next to my middle son.

‘What a great flight,’ he whispered, looking at me, and we both burst out laughing, but just as we started to calm down the plane suddenly dropped. Our hands locked as we sat back, clothing our eyes. A moment later, the drop stopped.

‘Are we going to die?’ He looked at me, laughing.
‘No, we’re going on holiday’.’ I smiled, taking a deep breath to get ready to the aircraft’s miraculous landing.

Thank God, we arrived safe and sound.

‘You have been making this trip quite a lot. Why didn’t you tell me how horrible this flight is? I asked my husband, as we hurried out of the plane

‘You know I fell asleep once I took my seat.’ My husband said, just as simple as that.

With all the best wishes,

Nahla

daily prompt

Blue and Sky

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What are your thoughts on the concept of living a very long life?


I have two cute parakeets for about three years now. Their story at my house started when my son’s colleague asked him if I could take care of her bird while she was away for a week. Of course I welcomed the tiny creature. Since it wasn’t mine, I never let him out of the cage but it was a torture watching him inside. Though, I liked him, I also couldn’t wait until he would go back to his friend. His short stay visits became frequent, and one day my son wondered if I would like to keep him for ever. Of course, I agreed, but I asked him to get a companion for my little friend. He did, and since then we have two: Blue and Sky.

‘How long do you expect birds would live?’ My son usually asks, teasing me.
‘Why does that matter? Today, they are alive, chirping, fighting, playing, eating, and flying around.’ I answered, making a face at him.

Do you think birds care about how long they are going to live? I don’t think so. But they do, of course, care about their life and take good care of it.

There is a common saying in Arabic:  “The soul is so precious.”

Every breath counts, every day counts, and every moment counts.

That’s my concept of a very long life.

With all the best wishes,

Nahla

daily prompt

Fun time

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Do you play in your daily life? What says “playtime” to you?

Children are, or used to be, always the best at having and enjoying their playtime. But this doesn’t mean that grown-ups can’t have any.

But things change as we grow older. As a child we usualy play to have fun, to enjoy the company of our friends whether in the neighbourhood or at school, and time would stretch before us as if it would never end.

But then, we grow up, and time becomes more precious as it slips from our hands faster and faster. Still, we can grab some fun time, steal some special moments of playtime.

Years ago, we were living in Scotland, and I really loved it there so much. My boys were around ten years old. We were living in a two- bedroom flat with an open kitchen-lounge. Sometimes, no honestly most of the time, just before dinner as we waited for my husband to come home from work, my boys and I would start a funny game. You might wonder why and how I could join them?

My boys at that age were too distant from one another. They would rarely talk or play together unless other friends were around. But since friends aren’t always available, my husband and I became the magnet that would pull them both to each other. That’s the main reason I joined most of their playtime games. The second reason is that I really enjoyed it, the child inside me wanted to play as well. It didn’t  matter to me that I was a full – time postgraduate student with loads of studying to do. I also wanted to have fun and make my boys happy.

One of our best and funniest games was racing around the small wall that separated the dinning area and the kitchen. Sometimes the race would cover the whole flat. The three of us were so light and little that we didn’t consider being any annoyance to others, especially we rarely saw any neighbours in the two – floor building we lived in. But, actually, there was one or two.

When my husband came home, and as we were setting the dinner table, the doorbell rang. My husband opened it, and there was our elderly neighbour. All I could hear from his brief talk with his thick scottish accent, at the door was; ‘It seems like it was raining cats and dogs.”
“What have you been doing?” My husband asked after finishing with the man
The boys told him about the game.
“Where was your mother?”
“Joining us, baba.”

We sorted things out with our neighbour. The following day the boys and I picked a nice card. They explained that they were sorry and promised to be more careful and considerate while playing indoors. Since our neighbour had two, big jumpy dogs, we delivered the card through his door mailbox. It didn’t take long until he paid us a neighbourly visit and brought my boys a nice lego game.

Playtime is when you let the child inside you play, laugh, and enjoy the moment.

With all the best wishes,

Nahla