Category Archives: Life

Confessions

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For a while, I’ve been lurking through this Facebook page where married women post anonymously and ask the members of that group for advices.

Different women, same dramas, same problems. So, I decided to write my 428 cents in the hopes to enlighten, empower, and maybe, just maybe, put a little bit of direction to those who are lost.

Disclaimer: I am not Egyptian, and I know there is a massive cultural difference, but I still believe that love is universal, so, here we are.

This started out as a response to Confession No. 1661, but halfway through, I started writing about the common, recurring sentiments that most women in this group share. So, I thought I’ll post it here instead.

My problem with Egyptian standards is that a lot of people are blinded by noise and clutter. (Sex isn’t good, he’s not financially stable, I’m afraid his mum will make my life miserable, I don’t like his sisters, he had past relationships. I had past relationships. Blah, blah, blah.)

Ok, I’ve lived in Cairo for 5 years and I understand the culture, and how people think, and I respect it. But IT DOESN’T MEAN THAT I AGREE WITH IT.

Financial status is not an issue. Educational background and social class is not an issue. The issue here is how well you know each other, and whether or not you know him enough to actually say ‘yes, I love him and can accept him for who he is–both his good and his bad.’ Because that is what love is. Finding a partner is not about how big the stone on your finger is. It’s about accepting each other’s past, living together in the present, and working together to build a future.

I’m writing this in the context that we are all women in this group, and I can go on and on about how I think relationships work/fail. And honestly, ladies, WE TAKE THE LOVE WE THINK WE DESERVE.

Of course we shouldn’t settle for anything less, (we heard this so many times because if it was that easy, no one would have to repeatedly remind you.) But the problem that I see in most of the confessions is that it’s coming from women who are lost, broken, scared, insecure, and unhappy.

So, how about we start by finding ourselves and understanding who we really are? (In this case who YOU are.) Be the person you want to be (it’s never too late, I promise you. Even if you’re single, engaged, married, divorced, young, old, it’s never too late. You can still work on a goal and achieve that goal. Start over if you have to.)

Then, mature a little bit–meaning, understand what it is that you want for yourself, what kind of partner are you looking for? But most importantly, what kind of partner are you? Relationships will not take off if it’s one sided. Both people involved have to put effort and time to cultivate it. But before you jump to a relationship, ask yourself: if you strip this man off his educational background, social class, financial status–WHAT WILL BE LEFT OF HIM? Does he have values? Does he have respect? Does he have integrity? Because a good man is not defined by his family or his background, or the noise that surrounds him. A good man is defined by his actions, motivations, and intentions.

And for those women whose problems are about their husbands wanting them to strip tease or lap dance for them, or to those women who think they have a problem because their husbands don’t enjoy sleeping with them, or their husbands tell them that they’re boring, and not good and blah blah blah… First of all, I commend you, because you show dedication in your marriage and how you ladies are willing to move mountains for your husbands. But the same dedication is also breaking my heart because you are even considering that something is wrong with you. Let me ask you this, will your husband move mountains for you too? Will he go through that length to satisfy you? Will he put you on his priority list? Will he give you time and attention and dedication? Everything takes practice, sex even more. But it will not improve on its own. Just like everything else.

I’ve also read confessions about women in dilemmas, asking the community if they should be honest about their past. I’ve read comments saying, no don’t tell your boyfriend/fiancé/husband this or that because it will cause problems. I’m not perfect and I don’t tell my partner everything, but I make sure that when I’m with someone, my conscience is clear and that he is with me because of who I am and not because of who he thinks I am. I will always choose to be liked for who I am than be adored for who I am not. Stay true to yourself, woman. And if your bf/fiancé/husband can’t handle the truth, then he doesn’t deserve all the good that comes with you. Another way to go about this is making sure that you are honest with the other person before the relationship even starts. Like, SERIOUSLY, NEVER (and I say never ever) START ANYTHING UNLESS YOU REALLY REALLY KNOW THE PERSON, AND THAT PERSON REALLY REALLY KNOWS YOU. If you were both honest before the relationship starts, then you wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place. We expect men to accept our past–to accept us for who we are, right? Let me tell you this, YOU will also have to make peace with your past.

Your past makes you who you are today. And I know women shouldn’t be sleeping with men unless they’re married (in Egypt.) But if you had, (first of all, always practice safe sex) let me tell you this, the only thing that went wrong was you fell in love with the wrong person. And there is nothing wrong with that. Recognising that you loved the wrong person is not a sin, or a mistake, or a weakness, but rather a STRENGTH and a sign of MATURITY that you are taking responsibility of your actions, that you have learned from it, and that you are so much WISER now.

I can only hope that everyone here will be in relationships that are meaningful, and genuine, and devoid of noise and clutter.

Salsa DJ-ing For Dummies

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Dear Mr. DJ,

I am going to be honest here. And not just honest-honest, but brutally honest. So, if you can’t handle that, stop reading now. I don’t mean to offend, I just want you to improve! (And I’m doing this for the greater good because I’m so tired hearing the same comments again and again that you suck. It hurts because it’s true, and it hurts more because you are not doing anything about it!)

Maybe you’re not cut out to be a DJ, but don’t worry, we’ll try to fix that! Fake it until you make it, right? But you have been faking it since I remember you starting to play music at salsa socials and you haven’t made it yet. Boy, that’s like three years ago and we still have a long way to go!

I’m only giving you two options here: either give up, or do something about it, damnit!

If you choose to give up, you will be doing all of us a big favor! Thank you very much! I hope I don’t see you in the music booth ever again. But we all know that’s just my wishful thinking. Because you will be there at your throne week after week. So, for the love of salsa your career, please, do something about it!

1. Never play the same song twice. I mean come on! Too many salsa songs, an abundance of salsa artists and even remixes, and you’re playing El Nazareno twice? Really?!

2. Remember that you are a DJ, not an iPod. I know that after Baila Mi Hermano, you will play La Excelencia. And after that song, you will play that Prince Royce bachata song. I have memorized your playlist and I don’t even have a good memory! Why else do we have a DJ if you’re just going to be an iPod?

3. Give me an answer. Know your music, mate. You’re a DJ, music is supposed to be your best friend. So, when I ask you for a title of a certain song that you just played two minutes ago, you don’t tell me that you don’t know because I will throw Armageddon shit at you! You don’t tell me that it’s track 13! You. Just. Can’t. Do. That.

4. Entertain us. Stop it, I’m not going to ask you to do cartwheels or join a circus or start a belly dance. I’m not even asking you to be like DJ Tono La Conga or DJ Henry Knowles. Let’s keep it real. I just need you to give us variety. Spin music that will make us, salsa dancers, want to get up on our feet and dance. That’s not even a hard thing to do considering we already want to dance in the first place. Salseros and salseras already did 50% of your job. Now all you have to do is play good music. Surprise us with something NEW, something we never heard before!

5. Observe. Guess what, you don’t even have to know how to dance salsa. You just have to know your crowd. Are we sitting down? How is the overall mood? Is the floor empty? Do we look like we’d rather go home? Are we dancing because you’re playing awesome music? Or are we dancing because we have no other choice? You’re not blind, you can see that energy levels are dropping. Do. Something.

6. And lastly, but I think the most important of all, if you’re going to call yourself a DJ, at least love music. In your case, salsa music! Listen to it while you’re driving. While you’re having lunch, while in the shower. Research about new tracks. Read about famous salsa DJs and listen to their sets! Listen to Latin radio channels online. I do that everyday and I’m not even a DJ. Certainly, that won’t be too difficult for someone like you who’s getting paid to play music. That’s like the least effort you can do.

See, piece of cake. I’m not even going to ask you to have a nice personality. I don’t need your personality. What I need is your music and it better be good!

A True Story of Weight Loss

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If you met me four years ago looking like this:

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chances are you are not going to recognize me today.

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A lot of people asks me how I did it–how I lost so much weight. Well, there is really no tricks or magic here. It’s all hard work.

Most of my life, I’ve been overweight-borderline-obese. I’m short. With my 5’4″ height, I used to weigh a hefty 92 kilos–yes, I know that’s a lot.

I tried everything I could to lose weight. I would go on one fad diet to another. I tried going to the gym, cutting carbs out of my diet, I tried going vegetarian, then Pesco vegetarian, then I tried some weird soup diet, then fruit diet, basically anything I can find on google when I search for ‘how to lose weight.’ After a while though, I see no result happening and I would just feel heavily disappointed, thus, leading me to fall off the wagon.

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The problem was that I kept wanting to see results as quickly as possible. I kept wanting my extremely excess weight to disappear like poof, magic, gone!

It takes a lot and a while to understand that it doesn’t work that way.

I used to eat excessively to the point where I can finish two family size pizza, plus a tub of ice cream in one sitting. I binge on junk food and boy do I love McDonald’s. Chocolate and cakes were my best friends! And I didn’t think that anything was wrong with that. I honestly thought there was nothing wrong in eating whatever I desire. On top of that, I was a couch potato too, I spent hours and hours with my eyes glued on the tv screen, and I thought that it was ok too.

I think it was the beginning of 2011 when I found myself face to face with my weight issues. I just gotten sick of it and came to a decision that I wasn’t getting any younger. I need a 360 degree turn in my life, and full circle I did.

The decision I made three years ago has finally paid off. Now, I weigh 60 kilos and I am very happy with my weight. I plan on maintaining it as it is while I build more muscles and tone.

So, how did I do it? Obviously, It didn’t happen overnight. It took a lot of effort and hard work and a strong mind set. Every day is a work in progress. It is a part of me that has become an integral part of my everyday life.

It all started with me accepting the fact that I wasn’t healthy and that I was far away from looking healthy. When I started acknowledging this problem, I was able to do something about it.

I started going to the gym at least twice a week, for an hour and a half each session. I spend the first hour lifting 3-kilo weights and doing various squat positions since my arms and my legs are my problem areas. The last half an hour is spent on the treadmill.

Apart from going to the gym, I dance salsa three nights a week for at least two hours. That’s equivalent to six hours of cardio every week without me even trying.

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I started watching what I eat. I’m quite lucky that Egyptian cuisine offers a wide array of healthy options. Most of the food I eat are tomato based. I eat more spinach too. Whenever I eat meat, I make sure it’s lean. Another source of good protein is lentil which I absolutely enjoy.

I don’t drink beer. I drink fruit juices more. And WATER WATER WATER! I use skim milk for my daily dose of coffee, and skimmed milk with a scoop of chocolate powder for my after gym drink.

It sounds like a serious diet, but really, it’s all about portions. I still eat ice cream every week. There’s always a non-fat ice cream sitting in my freezer! I still have chocolates, but it’s about consuming one bar of chocolates as opposed to six bars in one sitting.

And yes, I eat potato chips, but I have to say that instead of finishing a whole bag of chips in one go, I actually divide it into three portions.

I eat anything and everything that I want but in great moderation. Every now and then, I indulge myself to cheesecakes and cupcakes!

Now, about my lifestyle, I spend a lot of time swimming during summer months in Cairo. Whenever I am in Sydney, I run on a 6-km path every weekends. I do windsurfing and kitesurfing when I go on my holidays.

Keeping yourself active really makes a big difference.

The good thing about exercising is that you can do it without feeling as if you are torturing yourself. Do activities you love doing. In my case, salsa really helped me a lot.

Also, when you are trying to lose weight, you shouldn’t be feeling as if you are depriving yourself. I didn’t feel that I was depriving myself by any means because I’m still eating anything I want, the only difference is that I go for much healthier options and I watch the proportions.

For instance, this tuna salad with sweet Thai chili sauce makes up for a good lunch and a tasty treat!

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I think everyone can feel beautiful no matter the size or the shape. Even when I was 92 kilos before, I still felt beautiful. But there is a fine line between a healthy weight and an unhealthy weight.

Right now, I am enjoying the benefits of being healthy. I can run on the treadmill for half an hour and still feel energetic. I can go six flight of stairs without heaving or feeling pain in my chest.

I feel much lighter and more comfortable, and shopping for clothes has become such a delightful experience! And actually, I feel much happier too with all the happy hormones I’m getting.

I don’t like it when people call me skinny because I’m not. I’m healthy, not skinny, but that’s a whole new subject that I will have to write about.

I support everyone who wants to keep a healthy weight. It will be a challenge but it is really doable. Set your goals and stick to it and find ways to make it easier and more fun by doing sports or anything active that you love doing or that you can be passionate about.

I guess, it is a gratifying feeling when you know that you have invested in yourself the way you never did before. We all deserve to have a healthy mind and healthy body, and remember that it’s never too late to start.

If you are feeling motivated to start today, add me on facebook for more dialogue, tips, and inspiration! Xx

Stop Lying To Yourself And Just Love

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I am not going to talk or write about love here, so you can breathe now. I mean, seriously, why would I do that? Ew. Gross. So cheesy, so high school. Who does that?

Disclaimer: I am going to talk and write about love here. I mean, seriously, why wouldn’t I do that?

I am convinced that no matter how we try to veer away from it or act like we don’t care, a lot of things, if not everything, still breaks down to love.

For instance, why do we have this lethal habit of checking our phones every minute when we know it’s not on silent? Why do we get a heart failure when we read that deadly ‘seen’ icon on facebook and receive no reply? Why can’t Friday come any faster? Why do we want to know their middle names, their favorite colors, and why do we want to know everything right now?

Wouldn’t it be a lot easier if we send that person an actual message instead of gouging our eyes out because they haven’t texted us back yet? It’s like complaining that you never won the lottery when you know you never bought a ticket!

Either it’s love or you’re stupid, and I refuse to think you’re stupid.

It is love. I’ve said that to about every guy who came into my life, to every shoe and dress that perfectly fit, to every paperback I actually read, to every single track I played on repeat, every movie that made me tear up. It is love.

And yes, I know it sounds too naive, too infantile to call all these ordinary, everyday things love when it should be said with proper caution and utmost care. Love is something–an idea, a feeling, an expression so massive and so heavy that we only dare use it when we talk about Titanic, or the epic love story that Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy had.

Love is the Voldemort of our vocabulary. It must not be named. As a general rule, we can’t just drop it like a bomb or we risk having a second Hiroshima.

No one ever say it anymore (with the exception of happily married couples and romcom movies.) I hardly even hear it (with the exception of anyone from my side of the family and almost every other pop song.) I hear friends refer to it as physical attraction. Some call it emotional connection. Others may have used the term pleasure or just for fun, or something casual and temporary. They call it an affair, a fling, a thing. A thing, that’s right. It’s an interest, a quest, a challenge. It’s the cat and mouse game. The impossible chase. I know a few people my age who still calls it a crush. Yes, having a crush still happens even now. Come on, you think late 20s is about maturity, and epiphanies, and wisdom? WRONG!

Different labels, different names. We call it everything else but. Because it’s safe. Because it poses no danger, because there is no pressure, no obligation, no responsibility, no nothing.

It can be anything else but. That’s why we put up this wall and keep people away. No one can be let in, no one is allowed to come too close. The door is closed, sorry. So, we try to act real cool. We pretend that we have our shit together when we’re totally uncool and freaking out within.

Why can’t it be? I ask. Because it’s too soon, they say. Because we’re only hanging out. Because it’s only two mature individuals on a date and nothing else. Because we’re just friends and nothing more. Because we want the emotional satisfaction minus the drama and complication. Yeah. Because, because, because, and heaps of other excuses we tell ourselves because it scares the hell out of us.

We are afraid to be the ones who say it first. We don’t want to be the one who does it more because the moment we do, we’ve already lost. We’re already on the disadvantage. Or are we?

No one wants to be the crazy chic. No one wants to be the creepy dude. And yet we crave for that person to say it first–for that person to love us more. But maybe love is treading dangerous waters. Maybe it is infantile, and silly, and weird. Maybe it’s about the boring, minute details. Maybe loving is a disadvantage. It’s an abomination. A bomb!

Ah, the irony, we might as well call it stupid.

I think I’m sooo stupid about him.

I think I’ve fallen madly stupid with her.

I really think this is it. It’s stupid!

Or how about ‘stupid means never having to say I’m sorry’?

Or ‘it’s better to have stupided and lost than never to have stupided at all’?

Or ‘stupid like there’s no tomorrow’?

Does that make it less scary? Does that make you feel more comfortable now?

Here I am using love haphazardly even if it’s scary and makes me feel uncomfortable, not for the lack of a better word but because it is the better word. It is the word that encompasses the entire spectrum of beautiful and ugly, of sane and insane, of right and wrong, of strengths and weaknesses, of every wise and dumb decision, of every victory and loss, of that first kiss, of that last touch, of the one who got away and the one who stayed.

We have to start broadcasting our feelings the way radio programs do. It doesn’t have to be the most creative, or the most unforgettable, the most brilliant or extreme. We just have to fucking tell them, damnit! I mean, seriously, you don’t go asking for tea when you really want coffee!

Jack loved Rose, and we all know how that story went down but that’s not the point. My point is they were able to recognize and acknowledge love in a ship. In a fucking ship! Amidst icebergs, and disaster, and difference in social class status, not to mention Rose’s vengeful ex-boyfriend. So, unless you’re in a ship that is bound to hit a massive iceberg, just love.

Let’s do ourselves a big favor and just stop playing it safe. For once, love. And love proud. Love even when it’s inconvenient. Love in small doses, love all at once. Go nuclear! Love like you did when you got your first puppy. Love the way you want to be loved. Love intentionally, love unintentionally. Fall in love with that guy like you did with Nick Carter when you were nine. Love that girl like you loved your first edition comic and know that you might actually have a shot at it this time. In the grander scheme of things, it’s really simple, maybe all we need is a little bit of crazy and a lot more of love.

You Had Me At Fresh Blueberries

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I’m not writing about you because I did that with old flames, past flings, and forgotten loves, and you are not forgotten.

On the contrary, I think about you every fucking day. It gets annoying, thinking of you. It disrupts my daily routine and lures me back to the unknown. Quite terrifying, honestly. Believe me when I say that I try hard to keep things at bay, but the universe has its way to reel me back like an unassuming fish swimming carelessly towards the bait. And I find myself hooked to your line and sinker before I can help myself.

I don’t want to write about you because you’re not just some character who comes and goes in my life only to leave a fascinating story that I will tell at parties or night outs with girl friends when I had too much to drink. You know I can’t even finish half a cider, and there is no Mad Mex in Cairo to sober me up for the story telling to even get started.

Now, don’t fright. Don’t run away. I am not going to profess my big, massive, colossal emotional outbursts to the high heavens because it’s too early for that. I will not even mention your piercing blue eyes because they are a light shade of green to begin with.

What I would, if I may, is say out loud that Leonardo DiCaprio is not a good distraction because seeing his hair parted in the middle instantly triggers a recent recollection. And it’s not just my fascination with DiCaprio’s fine hair but yours. It could also be a photo on my newsfeed of friends trying N2 Extreme Gelato for the first time. As soon as I hit the ‘like’ button, I am immediately taken back to you–to that exact moment I had salted caramel and you did not deny yourself cookies and cream.

Ah, the inevitable beginning. You said we’ll go where the wind takes us and that’s exactly what we did. You burst into my apartment with fresh blueberries and printed photos of Abu Simbel. You are charming and told me stories of your contiki tour. You had me at fresh blueberries. You had me the moment you walked through that door.

You had me at dashes, and semi colons, and IMHOs and IRLs that don’t mean a thing to anyone else reading this now. But the subtext is there.

Sometimes, I wonder if eating all the felafel in the world will make you appear in Cairo even for a fraction of an apparition. What I do know is that sharing a cheap imitation of baba ghanoush with you is much more satisfying than any authentic middle eastern deli I am eating on my own.

I could be watching episode reruns of Dexter, I could be listening to the music of the 90s, I could be seeing disposable paper plates in the grocery section, and then telling my friends that ‘I am going to the drink to get a bar’ when you become most palpable. Most people won’t get it. They won’t understand try as they might, but I’m sure you would.

The Star has a different meaning because of you. To most people, it would mean those shiny, sparkly bits of twinkling bodies in the night sky. To me, it’s black jack, the roulette, the pokie machines, the pretend bets and pretend winnings and pretend drinking! It’s New Year’s Eve and everything else that followed after that.

Fourteen bottles of wine, wogs, office pranks, 9,000 steps around the cbd, endless cigarette breaks, glow sticks, Berangaroo, even the little mouse in a corner on Pitt St.–these are things I consider mine because of you. It’s the inside jokes and bits and pieces of anecdotes that would make perfect sense to no one but you.

It’s all about the overpriced bottled water you bought, the pigeons crashing in your apartment, the old man that got bitten by an aggressive dog. It’s the way I now have nightmares of life-size dolls and day dreams of plane crashes.

It’s all of these nuisances–the accumulation of inane snippets that lead me back straight to your bait and hook. I don’t know why it matters, or why your presence and absence is more poignant than the rest. What I do know is that the details of that summer weigh heavy on my skin that it is enough to last the whole fall. Maybe it’s the fact that we didn’t say goodbye but see you later.

And when the soon meets the later and my want outweighs my fear, maybe then I will speak up. Maybe then I will know. Maybe I’m waiting for winter–for things to freeze and thaw. But perhaps I won’t write about you even after then because I don’t need to remember. I am reminded every day no matter the season. You are alive and real, right here, right now, in my mind’s little cinema, where I see you in colors that don’t exist.

Mr. Nice Guy Versus Mr. Too Cocky For You

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Mr. Nice Guy

Last Tuesday, at a salsa social in Bellini, I was sitting in my usual corner, having a cigarette break, when this familiar-looking guy, took the empty seat next to mine.

I have seen him at salsa parties on many occasions and yet I never danced with him. He never asked me to dance either. I remember him because he is one of those few guys that I always see at salsa socials, but never on the dance floor.

Between puffs of cigarette, he managed to catch my eye and pull a little smile. I smiled back. In my head, I was counting how many seconds it will take for him to say something.

One. Two. Three–

“Hi, how are you?” He asked after the fourth second.

“I’m good, thanks.” I said. “I think we’ve met before, but I’m sorry I can’t remember your name.”

“It’s Mr. Nice Guy.” He said, as he reached his hand out.

I immediately put my cigarette on the ashtray even though I was only halfway through.

“Jennifer.” I said, taking his hand, and making a mental note of how his hand feels warm and comfortable against mine.

“Would you like to dance?” He said in a nervous tone as though he was already sure I was going to say no. “I’ve only started taking classes, but I will really appreciate it if I can try what I learned with you.”

My heart melted with his honesty.

“Of course.” I said without hesitation.

He pulled me to the dance floor the moment Como Tiemba El Alma started playing in the background. It was a good start, and a good finish, and just like most of the beautiful dances, it was beautiful and unexpected.

Mr. Too Cocky For You 

Last Tuesday, at a salsa social in Bellini, I was sitting in my usual corner, having a cigarette break, when this familiar-looking guy, took the empty seat next to mine.

I have seen him at salsa parties on many occasions and yet I never danced with him. He never asked me to dance either. I remember him because he is one of those few guys that I always see at salsa socials, but never on the dance floor.

From my peripheral view, I noticed that he looked away from the dance floor to look at my direction.

“How are you?” He said in a very casual tone.

“Good, thanks.” I said. “I think we’ve met before, but I’m sorry I can’t remember your name.” I said feeling embarrassed.

“I can’t remember your name either.” He said in a very condescending tone. It was the kind of tone that was screaming are you kidding me? You don’t know who I am?

“It’s Jennifer,” I said reaching my hand to his direction.

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot that for a second. My name’s Mr. Too Cocky For You.”

Of course you ‘forgot that for a second’ because there is heaps of asian Jennifers who dance salsa in Cairo.

I immediately lit a second cigarette and rolled my eye.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” He asked. “You don’t look ok.”

Well who are you to decide whether or not I look ok? For one, you are crossing the borders of my space.

“I’m alright, thanks.” I managed to say instead.

“Are you sure?” He asked, raising an eyebrow that probably meant he was so sure that I wasn’t sure I’m ok.

I think I would be ok if only you can stop talking in your fake british accent for Christ’s sake! And that’s a big statement coming from me considering I don’t even believe in Christ!

“I think I would know if I’m not ok, thanks.” I said as politely as I could.

“What is the problem?” He probed.

That was just the nudge I needed.

“You want to know what’s the problem? You’re strange. And you’re so in my face.”

“In your face? I’m not too close, I don’t think.” He said defensively.

His arrogance only proved his ignorance.

“I didn’t mean it literally.”

“So, what do you mean then?”

“You suck at small talk. Usually, what happens is that you ask how I am and I say I’m alright. And I ask how you are and you say you’re fine. And that’s the end of the story. I keep my mouth shut, and you keep your mouth shut. Or you get up from your seat and move on to some place else where you can stick your nose in someone else’s business. You asked me if I was ok three times, and I gave you the same answer three times. Which is more than necessary. Usually, after I lit up another cigarette, you will take that as a hint that no, I don’t want to talk to you. And yes, my cigarette is a much better company. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m gonna go dance.”

Burn.

A Dance With A Boy (A Novel)

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In an underground salsa bar in Cairo, two dancers cross paths. Two dancers who are very different from each other find their lives intertwined to the same playlist. Will their passion for salsa dancing keep them together on and off the dance floor? Join Pamela and Tamer in a center stage romance as they dance under the spotlight.