Tag: memories

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

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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





Just writing

When Silence is Better Than Talking

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Have you ever chosen to remain silent instead of speaking?

I do—most of the time.

Should I begin with critical moments or casual ones?
Hmm, I think it would be better to start with the annoying moments then climb step by step toward the pleasant—or perhaps even funny—ones.

It happens when someone asks you for a favour or makes a request, but you have your reasons for not getting involoved. You explain things once, yet they hear nothing but their own voice. Not to mention the blame they put on you, as if you were part of their problem.

Just tell me—what’s the point of arguing with someone who will never be convinced, never change their mind?  By the way this isn’t about stubbornness but egotism—the I’m always right mindset. Isn’t silence better than arguing back in such cases? But, of course, you can enclose some genuine prayers, hoping things will be fine soon.

Are you still climbing the long staircase?

Sure, by now, you must feel heavy and exhaused. I imagine you’ve already climbed most of the steps—apparently we experience lots of these critical situations in our lives— each one adding to a heavy load of annoying momories.

Now it’s time to switch to some pleasant moments. I guess there’re only a few steps before you reach the top step. 

Sometimes, as you’re hurrying down the road, someone looks, smiles, and waves at you with a bundle of flyers and brochures in their hands. They step into your path and ask for a a few spare moments of your time. Silence becomes your escape, and a nod with a smile— along with a quick gesture to your watch—is your way of communicating apologies, if you, like me, are not interested.

And sometimes, as part of socialising, you find youself among people talking about things you’ve never read about or even heard of—like dog food and breeds. Doesn’t it make sense to remain silent? To listen, but not really listen while thinking of cute cats.

And then there’s silence—a warm gesture of respect for elders. How many times did the younger you remain silent while your grandparents or parents talk about things you could neither understand nor follow? But, they always knew you were not listening. And that’s when your sudden, genuine laughter broke the silence.

Last but not least, there’s is silence and shyness— not only do they rhyme but they are also born together. Yet, that’s not as bad as you might think, because it’s neither a birthmark nor a curse. Can we simply call it a special personal trait?

Some talk loudly and nonstop, and some listen, whisper, and weave stories in their minds.

I think by now you’ve arrived safe and sound , and hopefully  happy at the top step.

With hope and peace,

Nahla

memories

Wives, Husbands, And Household Appliances

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One day, while mowing the long grass in my garden, the lawnmower began a weird noise, and then smoke come out of it. I ran to unplug it. Everything was under control with no serious damage caused.

The following day (or week) I seized the opportunity that my husband was working from home and asked him to go with me to buy a new one. Since, the store was not far from home, he agreed.

It was a hot summar day, and my husband, clutching the heavy box, was drenched in sweat.

‘That’s why one shouldn’t work from home,’ my husband grumbled.
‘That’s why one should work from home every now and then,’ I said, stifling a laugh.

We arrived home safe and sound. My husband left the box in the kitchen and ran upstairs.
‘Aren’t you going to help me fix it?’ I called after him.
‘I’ve got a meeting, but give me a shout if you need any.’

I opened the box, took everything out, and gathered all the emply packaging. For a moment, I thought whether to throw away the cardboard, but decided against it. I grabbed the manual which I always found useless. I tried my best to put things together, but that mower, though small, was more complicated to put together. After a dozen attempts, I managed to fix the handle, but there was some wires I had no idea where to place. So, I shouted for help and waited for my husband, who promised to come in as soon as possible. In the meanwhile, I dismantled all the pieces I had put together and made me a nice cup of tea.

‘Oh, you haven’t started anything.’ My husband wondered, and I knew he wished half the job was alreafy done.
‘I did, but things didn’t work. So, it’s your turn to fix it.’
‘At least you could have made me a cup of tea like yours.’
‘I will, but only after you fix it.’I said with a smile.

My husband crouched on the floor, trying to put things together, asking me loads of questions as if I was the one who had invented the machine.

”I’ll try later.’ He gave up.
‘But it won’t get fixed. Something is wrong. Can you just take it back to the store and ask them to assemble it.’

Grumbling and murmuring under his breath, my husband asked about the box and the receipt. I whispered a thankful prayer that I hadn’t torn and bin them.

An hour passed, and my husband neither came home nor called. I finally called him.

‘Why is it taking so long?’
‘They can’t fix it. They called an expert to check it, but he couldn’t either. I got a refund.’ My husband said, sounded both happy and relieved.

‘So, you’re coming home.’
‘No, I’m going to work.’

With hope and peace,

Nahla

P.S. I know the photo is not related to the topic of my post, but l love nature. Isn’t it better than a lawnmower?