Last summer, me and my family went on holiday to Malaysia. I already wrote some bits and pieces about it in my summer holiday posts, but I totally forgot to talk about this piece of advice from a taxi driver.
He said: “Use the public transport to get to know Malaysia better. You won’t know us, the local people, until you communicate with us. Malaysians are good people.”
This advice is one of the best memories I will always remember from Malaysia.
And I totally agree with the taxi driver.
Yes, the best way to explore a city is to use public transport, to communicate with local people, to taste their food, to listen to their stories, and, of course, to learn a little of their language.
Did we follow that advice?
To some extend, we did.
So, in case you’re thinking to explore a new city on your next holiday, remember that piece of advice from the Malaysian taxi driver.
What’s the best thing you’ve ever found randomly on the street?
On familiar roads, streets, and cities, memories are often the first things to rise and flow one after another as you walk along and through them.
Have you ever experienced that quiet feeling of nostalgia?
I have.
As you walk along a familiar street, a memory of an old friend, a joke, or even a phone call might pop up into your head without any warning.
Those moments are actually the best gifts you may find along the road, and they may be the most precious too.
Whenever I visit Manchester and walk along Oxford road, where Manchester University is, the memories of our first days in the UK rush back into my mind as if it was yesterday.
Things have changed, though; with new shops, new buildings, and of course new faces, but I don’t mind. My first memories of this city always come back fresh and strong.
There, in the university accommodation which still has its unique name, Horniman House, we lived for quite a few years.
On this road, I walked with new friends from different countries.
On this road, I heard the Manchester accent that was so different from the English I learned throughout my entire education.
On this road, I knew how it felt like to be soaked by the British heavy showers.
On this road, I got my first sunburn under the British glaring, bossy sun.
And there are more and more memories, I find along this road whenever I go there, but that’s enough for now.
What’s a book you never finished but still think about?
Years ago, during the final steps of my wedding preparations, my mother insisted that I should have one of those well- known cooking books in my new home. She had already bought me one before I had even thought about it.
Before getting married, I used to help in the kitchen, but I had never been in charge of making full meals or anything complicated.
So my mother (may God bless her soul) believed that a cooking book would be a good help.
Honestly, I never used it, and I have no idea where I left it.
I might have had a look at it, though, but that was all.
Since then, whenever a booking book, with its colourful, mouth watering pictures and recipes, fell into my hands, I would give it a quick scan and put it back where I found it.
This doesn’t mean I don’t like cooking, because I do.
The thing is, perfection, consistency, exact measurements, are not on every woman’s cooking agenda.
By the way, would you really pause one day to think about a book that you never finished?
If the book was really of any interest to you, then you would have finished it.
Otherwise, you’d ruffle through its pages and quietly set it aside without anyone noticing.
What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received?
Actually, I’ve learned so many good pieces of advice over the years.
Right now, I’m wondering which one might be the best.
Perhaps by the end of this post, I’ll make up my mind and nominate one as the best.
The first piece of advice that crossed my mind is not to eat a heavy meal at night. Some say it’s bad for digestion, and others say it brings awful nightmares. I appreciate this advice, but I’m not much of an eater anyway, and I rarely eat at night unless we’re on holiday, when your routine goes upside down.
The second piece is to make full use of permissions and not try to play the big hero. I learned this one by heart, and I’ve saved it in my mind ever since, always tied to its miserable memory.
One day we were on our light back home from holiday. It happened to be during the holy Month of Ramadan. We are allowed to break our fast in some cases, and travelling is one of them. So my husband didn’t fast, but I did. Why? Because I thought it would be okay. I don’t eat much anyway, and I rarely enjoy the flight food. But of course, it wasn’t okay. A terrible headache struck me, and when I tried to eat or even drink, I couldn’t. This is why I appreciate this piece of advice so much.
The third precious piece is to think positively, to see the cup as half full in any situation. But sometimes the mood loses its efficiency and sensibility, and suddenly the table turns on positivity. Still this is one great piece of advice.
And then there’s this piece about kindness; do at least one good deed every day. This one is beautiful, and what makes it even more beautiful is its simplicity. Your deed doesn’t have to be fancy or expensive; it just needs to be genuine. I think this might be the best advice… but wait I’ve just remembered another one.
Stop following blindly, stop believing everything.
What’s something you used to worry about but don’t anymore?
Well… that reminds me of those old school years when I used to worry far too much about my grades.
Punishment, rewards, and competition were never the real reasons behind those childish worries.
A quiet, shy, dreamy child wouldn’t care much about such concepts, or would she?
But of course, somehow, they found a way to feed my worries.
I used to worry about my grades because I was hardworking and independent in my learning.
My siblings and most of my friends took private lessons to improve their marks.
I didn’t have any… well except for French, but that was only because I didn’t like my French teacher at school.
So a child and later on a teenager, relying on her own self-learning strategy would naturally worry about her grades. Right.
And I never disappointed my parents, my teachers, or myself.
Those old worries have now become good memories.
Years later, when I began my postgraduate studies, I didn’t worry much about achieving perfect results.
Perhaps because a mother has far more important family duties in her heart than the pressure of flawless grades.
And when her sons are in their twenties and her daughter is fourteen, her worries naturally turn towards their choices and decisions, accompanied by a quiet prayer that God always guides them to the right path.
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.
I think I once wrote a post about that journey, but I can’t remember which one.
Anyway, as hard as this trip was, it somehow turned out to be just as funny.
I think it was in 2005 when we took a flight to Egypt to leave my two little boys with family. I smile now as I write this post, but back then I wept buckets as we headed to Cairo Airport to take our flight to Saudi Arabia.
In this holy place, there is no place for brands or for showing off.
I wore a white cotton dress, a white hijab, and simple slippers, just like most of the women.
By the way, women are allowed to wear any colour but I preferred white.
Simple and modest, women put on their clean dresses and hijabs out of obedience and respect for the holy rituals. No one would criticise or even think about the quality or the brand of anyone else’s clothes.
Isn’t this a beautiful picture to be part of and a beautiful memory to treasure.
I reckon no one would believe that my husband and I didn’t take any photos during this trip.
Honestly, we didn’t.
Simply because, back then, phones were not allowed inside the holy mosque.
So no one would have taken photos to show what they were wearing, how they were praying, or how they were feeling.
Even outside, around the other sights, we didn’t bother taking pictures.
We lived precious moments that carved themselves deeply into our memories for years, and that’s more authentic than any captured photo.
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.
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.
