Tag: memories

Just writing

Never rush the customer

nhpureandsimple

I couldn’t help laughing when this idea crossed my mind today. It brought back so many funny memories in my homeland. 

But isn’t it one of the golden techniques for winning both customer’s satisfaction and their pocket?

It always feels more comfortable when the retailer lets the customer browse around, pick this, leave that, and go out and come back… or not. 

But things don’t always go that way, do they? 

Sometimes, retailers make you feel so ill at ease that you would think twice before stepping into that place again, or never at all.

So, instead of following the ”never rush the customer” rule, they rush you to choose, try, pay, and leave all in no time. 

Honestly, this doesn’t happen often in the UK as it used to in Cairo. Things might have changed, though. 

Years ago, most clothings and shoe stores in Cairo wouldn’t let a customer pass by without a warm greeting, a smile, and a hearty invitation to come inside and see more collections. Whether you were planning to buy something or not, the salesman or woman would give it a chance, trying to turn you into a good catch. They’d swear by God that they had the best qualities, the most reasonable prices, and that you would not leave without getting exactly what you had been dreaming of. The point is… you hadn’t been dreaming of anything except getting out of their reach.

This happens sometimes here in the UK. With a warm smile, they approach you and ask, “have you found what you were looking for?” Then, with another smile, they will suggest you to let them know if you need any help. That’s sometimes… because in most cases, you simply wander and browse around with no one following on your heels. 

But you know what? Sometimes, you really do need this nice, active seller to help you at some point, especially when you can’t find the right size or length.

Wouldn’t you ask for help? 

Well, I did.

But every now and then, I came across this person whose answer is as desperate as their looking. 

”We only have what’s been displayed.” A cold answer, without checking, for I might be mistaken, and without even trying to check the stockroom. But, no way, they gave you a flat answer that would send you out with no promise of ever coming back.

If only that old days Egyptian seller had seen them, he would have grabbed you before you made it out the store. He would swear to God that he would turn the store upside down to find what you wanted or at least something similar. He would weave tales about their colleague’s family or health problems just to win your pardon and sympathy. 

It’s funny to come across one seller who rushes you to buy and even spend more money, while another rushes you out with a silent “good riddance,” your money untouched. 

And, it’s even funnier when you remember those mements with a smile.

With hope and peace,

Nahla

Just writing

Please November Be Inspiring 

nhpureandsimple

Today is November the third, and finally I’ve found time to write. Honestly, so far, I have no idea how, or even what, this post will be about. Sometimes there are too many things to say, and other times none at all. It isn’t because you run out of ideas but because you just feel like… maybe later or after this or that. Or, perhaps it was the half-term break, and you wanted to enjoy it fully with family.

So, honestly the only thing that crossed my mind at the very moment was Napoleon. Of all the historical figures, he was the one who crossed my mind. 

Strange, isn’t it? 

I haven’t studied history in ages, and Napoleon, in my history schoolbooks, was an invader, who decided, out of the blue, to conquer the world through Egypt, to spread enlightenment and civilisation. 

But which enlightenment, and which civilisation? 

And who ever said there wasn’t any? 

And who decided that what he offered was better than what existed? 

I have no idea. 

But his project didn’t last long, and as far as I remember, for only three years, and then the whole expedition ended in a big failure.

Does this remind you of something else? 

Anyway, back to November with its dear winter. It has knocked heavily at the door, bringing the first hints of the season with strong gusts, heavy showers, and long, cold nights. Its company seems delighted to linger. This week, and the following week, are all grey and rainy and gusty. But that’s okay, we’re used to it, and we endure the visit with waterproof coats, warm homes, and delicious, hearty meals. Still, with a hopeful heart, I pray November and its dear guest have remembered to bring along some inspiring moments, not with more Napoleons, but with some… blue and white and sunshine thoughts. 

So, please November, be an inspiration of hope and peace, a gift of happiness, and a promise that beautiful dreams may come true.

With hope and peace,

Nahla 

Philosophical musings

I’m sorry

nhpureandsimple

Some people whisper it from the heart,

Some repeat it out of a habit,

some grumble it, 

some murmur it,

and some are too proud to let it slip from their tongue.

Aren’t these expressions of apology obvious to interpret? 

Both your brain and your heart can tell which is which, right? 

You don’t have to study psychology to distinguish a casual, fake, under-the-breath, shy, or sincere apology.

You know who’s the worst of all? 

Those who go round and round to avoid giving an apology;

as if they make no mistakes,

as if they don’t know,

and as if they are superior and above all reprimand.

They will tell you endless stories—fake or true, short or long—

just to evade what, for them, feels like the heaviest and most complicated word on the tongue: sorry.

But, those are hopeless cases. 

Do you know why? 

Because if you argue with them, they will explode.

If you go along and pretend things are okay, they will hurt you more.

The only suitable reaction is to play it safe, and smile not because they’re funny, but because they know you understand them.

Suppose one day someone comes to you with a warm, sincere apology— one touches not only your heart but also your soul.

Would you accept it? 

I think things depends on how close the person is to you. 

And how deeply the deed behind the apology has affected you. 

Right?

One day, as we usually do on special occasions, I sent an old friend a greeting message, and in her respond she asked me to forgive her.

The only harm she caused me was … disappointing me as a good friend— someone who was supposed to be there when I need them.

“I forgive you,” I texted back for I couldn’t find a reason not to.

To be honest, I was thinking more of myself than of her, thinking of how I would like to be forgiven too. 

But… you just can’t feel the same with the person.

Since then, she hasn’t sent any more messages, and neither have I. 

We have this famous saying in Arabic: Forgive and forget.

Funny how I used to teach it to my children, and they would wipe their tears, smile, and hurry outside to play with their friends again. 

But there’s another version of this saying: Forgive, but do not forget. 

The older you get, the more you understand why this version feels wiser.

It’s just a reminder that you, as a human being, need both to forgive and to be cautious.

To forgive is to purify your heart from anger, hatred, and agony, and to find this peace of mind that nourishes your soul.

To forgive is a noble path towards finding forgiveness yourself.

But, you, the same human being, have to learn from the experience.  It’s necessary, somehow, to remember the hurt, the lie, and the deception not as bitterness but as protection. Otherwise you may get hurt or disappointed twice. 

They say if something happens twice, it is more likely to happen again.

Isn’t that true? 

And people … they alway teach us important lessons. 

So grant your forgiveness, but remember why you give it in the first place. 

And, don’t close the door, just leave it a little bit ajar. 

With hope and peace,

Nahla

Just writing

I Know That I Know Nothing

nhpureandsimple

Have ever studied Socrates and Plato? 

I have, but that was many, many years ago in my senior school days. Honestly, I barely remember anything from my philosophy and logic classes save the names of these two famous philosophers. And, I do remember my teacher; she had such a sharp look and loud voice, which made no logical sense in a philosophy class. 

This quote crossed my path today and stirred some old memories.  

I don’t think I have shared anything before about my decision to join the humanities section for my final high school exams. Have I? 

Back then, my teachers, surprised by my decision, told me I was choosing the easy path because I was doing well in sciences. But, simply put, and with a bit of alteration to Socrate’s quote: I know that I know what I wanted to study. 

I could have followed most of my friends and joined the sciences section, but I didn’t share their dreams. Most of my school friends had their eyes and minds set on becoming doctors or engineers. Yes, those were the high aspirations for my generation, wrapped in glimmering prestige and the promise of steady, respected status. 

But I loved languages and literature. I didn’t bother so much about geography and history. I found philosophy and logic intriguing. Years later, I can see how I made the right decision. But that’s the story for another time.

Now back to Mr Socrates’ quote. Of course the great philosopher wasn’t talking about life choices. He didn’t mean to encourage us to go astray under the “don’t know” banner. Nor did he mean this casual “I don’t know” that children nowadays use as an easy reply for any question. The poor man might have abandoned philosophy altogether if one of his students had given him that “I don’t know” answer.

Simply, he meant that the more you learn and know, the more you realise there are still other things you haven’t heard of. 

In other words, be humble, be curious, and be ever learning.

With hope and peace,

Nahla

Just writing

All Sorts of Weather

nhpureandsimple

September is a dear, special visitor who brings all sorts of weather in a beautiful gift box. And come rain or shine, its visit is always welcome, always endearing.

Today, for example, is windy, sunny, and a bit chilly, with refreshing drizzles expected later on. But no one huffs or puffs. No one is lazy. No one hides. Why? Because it’s September, bringing gentle vibes at the dawn of autumn.

Do you know what the big dilemma in September is?

It’s something we set aside during summer and bring out in winter!

Can you guess?

I think you got it right.

It’s the coat.

Shall I put it on?
No, it’s warm.
Yes, it’s grey and humid.
No need, I’ll be back before it starts pouring.
But it’s already pouring.
This coat is useless.
This one is too heavy.
Grab it.
Leave it.
Why did I take it?
I should have taken it.

This becomes a significant part of my family daily conversation before stepping out of the house throughout September.

But, doesn’t it add a bit of change and fun?

At least, you have the option and the full responsibility for all its consequences.



With hope and peace,

Nahla

daily prompt

The Nearest, the Furthest

nhpureandsimple

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.

With hope and peace,

Nahla

memories

July 1999—More shocks

nhpureandsimple

As it’s the holiday season, I’ve found it a bit hard to write like usual. Are you having the same challenge?

Anyway,  I remembered that I had planned to complete my last post—so here it is, finally! Today, I’m writing it, crumpling  all my other first shocks from Jully 1999 into this one.

Have you read my previous post? I hope you have, but don’t worry if you haven’t. It was just about some funny memories — which you might not find funny at all.

So, the second shock was the rain—not just normal rain. No. It was torrential downpours that welcomed us on our first night in the UK.

Imagine leaving the blue sky in Cairo with its boiling 40°C heat, only to land in semi-sunny weather—and just before going to bed, hearing the symphony of heavy showers outside. There, in that dark night, fat drops of rain started smashing against the windows of our room. That night, I thought it would never stop.

Being a bit imaginative, I exaggerated and turned the typical English weather into an unexpected phenomenon— with yellow warning alerts. I wove scary tales about myself walking through a hurricane with a useless umbrella. My tales seeped into my dreams and turned them into nightmares. That night, sleep was hard to find or even to invite. I wept buckets all night.

The next morning, the sun shone and reigned over the sky, proud to have melted all the puffy grey clouds from the face of the earth. The day was so warm that I wondered whether the heavy showers from last night had been just a dream.

Can you guess what my third shock was?

It was the quiet nights.

Since there was no availability in student accommodation, we ended up renting a flat in a good area that was a bit expensive but so quiet. Not that there were no humans around. Of course, there were! But the thing is, they rarely crossed your path.

When night fell, life seemed to pause.
No open shops.
No family outings.
No dogs barking in streets.
No fighting cats.
No neighbours yelling out of balconies.
No children chasing each other on the road.
Nothing but quiet, dark roads stretching out into the night.

And then, one night, out of that dead quietness, our doorbell rang at midnight. Our friends were too far away to pay us a visit. And midnight visits? That was impossible.

My husband was studying, and when he saw me standing before him, my eyes wide open, staring at him. He told me it was a drunk man who had mistaken our flat for his own and had probably found his by now. But then… we heard keys jingling and turning into our door lock.

‘He’s going to break into our flat,’ I gasped.
‘No, he’s going away soon,’ my husband said, just as the drunk man began signing and laughing.

Soon, he disappeared.

These first shocks turned into funny memories later on, and whenever it is July again, I remember those first days in England back in 1999.



With hope and peace,

Nahla

 

memories

July 1999 — First Adventure, First Shock

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It was in July 1999 when a young couple boarded a plane for the first time —full of hopes, dreams, and a touch of fears. That was me, accompanying my husband, flying to England for an academic adventure.

Those first few days after landing safe and sound on British soil were so dramatic and unexpectedly funny.

Our first shock was the heavy burden we had to handle once we left Heathrow Airport. It wasn’t homesickness— of course, we were emotional before, during, and after embarking on the journey. But, it was another kind of burden that pushed our emotional drama aside: our two heavy pieces of luggage. That was the worst action drama one might experience while travelling. Shocked, my husband and I stared at them, couldn’t believe how and when we packed these two big beasts, and managed to get them onto the flight.

Oh my… May God forgive our families for stuffing our suitcases as if we were flying to Antarctica. And, we just let them—how we could not? The most common and “sincerest” advice we had received from my husband’s colleagues abroad was to pack as much as we could because “life was incredibly expensive in the UK.” By the way, that was a bit of exaggeration.

But, there’s a funny bit after every shock, right?

From London, we travelled to Manchester, and after a short stay there, we headed to Birmingham. The train journeys across these parts of England were hilarious—mainly because of our two bulky companions.

It was a miracle not just to get our two pieces of luggage onto the train but to find enough space for them. Actually, the two bags, lying in a straight line, were like a massive crocodile that swallowed most of the space in the carriage. My husband did the whole job; pushing and lifting. I was blessed to be excused from taking part in that embarrassing show, for I had just discovered I was pregnant.

Looking around at the cute suitcases and backpacks, we couldn’t help but wonder: why on earth had we packed so much? I did my best not to laugh, but I couldn’t. It seemed that my pregnancy hormones were getting the best of me. Thank God they were pressing on my sunny side.

So, whenever my eyes fell on our luggage, I burst out laughing. My husband wished we could push them off the train. ‘Let’s pretend we forgot them somewhere,’ he whispered, and my tears rolled down my face from laughing.

To be continued…

With hope and peace,

Nahla










daily prompt

When to Bother Becomes Why Bother?

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What bothers you and why?


Ignoring—that’s one of the most bothering things.

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.



With hope and peace,

Nahla

daily prompt

Re and Tire

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How do you want to retire?


I’ve just checked the dictionary to know more about the various meanings of  ‘Re’ when it is a prefix attached to  the word with no hyphen—just like retire.

So, one of the options is that Re can mean back and away or after.

And, of course, tire is about exhaustion and your need for recharging, right?

However, with the combination of both syllables, ‘retire’ can mean it’s time to step away and start afresh, anew after years of hard work, stress, workaholism, wins and losses, and possibly a permanent medical prescription.

Therefore, the word ‘retire’ itself is actually not as pessimistic as some people think—or worse, fear. If only you ponder its other positive possibilities, your retirement could turn out to be the best phase of your life.

I still remember how my father’s health and mood deteriorated after retirement. In fact, he was not even open to announcing the news outside our family’s circle. He didn’t tell me as I was the youngest not to upset me with his “sad” news. I did know, though— how could a teenager back then not figure it out? Three years after his retirement, my father passed away.

Retirement—the end of life— felt like a motto in the nineties, and, of course, before that. The sadness and isolation my father experienced were so common that almost everyone in their sixties withdrew into themselves.

Now, after sharing my thoughts and memories, it has just crossed my mind how full‐time mothers are blessed not to worry much about retirement. When children grow, mothers usually become more relieved—yet their position and influence remain strong. Don’t you agree?

But, of course, with my positive interpretation of retirement, I’m ready with a handful of chores for my husband’s retirement when it comes ( still years to go).

With hope and peace,

Nahla