The Pineapple Rule

About a year ago, I was out to lunch with my cousin at one of our favorite restaurants. I was starving and eagerly awaiting my food when I saw the waitress coming our way. To my horror, shamelessly placed next to the main course were sliced pineapples. How dare they ruin a perfectly good meal with this uninvited guest? See, for as long as I can remember, I've been anti-pineapple. It's got sharp edges, an odd scent, and an even weirder taste.

After staring at the fruit on my plate for a while and attempting (unsuccessfully) to pass it over to my cousin, I had a wild thought: What if I just ate them? People eat pineapples all the time. No one's died yet...I think. Before actually taking on this feat I prepared myself mentally. I decided I would like pineapples...But I hate pineapples. No, I would eat them and I would love them.

So, it turns out we are capable of manipulating our minds. Since that day, I've loved pineapples. I no longer eat them only when forced. I actually seek them out. I love how they look, smell, and taste. And to think, if it hadn't been for that sneaky restaurant, I'd be missing out on all that juicy deliciousness.

Since then, I've encountered many situations in my day-to-day life where the pineapple lesson applies. People have become very picky when it comes to their tastes, and not just about food. Being blessed with abundance has made us feel the need to have an opinion on just about everything. We feel we're expressing our individuality when we choose to like one thing and hate something else. I say "choose" because I believe that many of our preferences are arbitrary, not based on reason or logic, but on some superficial basis. Not only are we needlessly picky, but we're stubborn. We don't like the idea that we might be wrong or that our so-called preferences may simply be baseless personality quirks of our own creation, essentially figments of our imagination.

I admit I'm guilty of this quite often. For example, I am known to absolutely despise the singer Pink. If one of her songs comes on the radio, I must turn it off. If a friend says she likes her, I start to have serious doubts about our friendship. I will confess that this has nothing to do with Pink's talent or anything she's done. I just decided, long ago, that I didn't like her and that was that. Technically, I could apply the pineapple rule here...But I don't want to.

In truth, there are much more important lessons to be learned from my pineapple epiphany. How many times do we make our lives harder by refusing to get on board mentally? In my opinion, that's half the battle. A great example of this is work. People love to complain about work. It could be their boss, their coworkers, or a lack of passion for their field. Whatever it is, these people have chosen to hate their jobs. They drag their feet around day in and day out dreaming of the weekend, during which they will only complain that the start of the work week is fast approaching. That means that 5/7 of their lives will be spent feeling miserable and the other 2/7 will be spent anticipating the misery to come. Sounds just lovely, doesn't it?

What if you decided to love your job? What if you decided to take it seriously and commit yourself to nothing short of excellence? Needless to say, you would be happier and more content with your life. But the added bonus is that you would also be more successful. The same could be applied to just about anything. Living in Egypt, for instance, is not without its challenges. But moaning and groaning the whole way through, longing for the easy life won't make things better. Sometimes, maybe even most of the time, you have to make the conscious decision to like Egypt, to appreciate its charms and forgive its shortcomings. Again, not only does this give us peace of mind, but navigating life in a new place actually begins to feel easy and natural.

I believe that you can choose to love fruit. You can decide to love your job. You can decide to love a new, unfamiliar place. I even believe that you can choose to love your life. I know it sounds easier said than done. And in a way it is...But in a way it really isn't. It's simple: Love pineapples and they'll love you back.

"Take that thing off your head because no man will want to marry you as long as you're dressed like that!"

Any excuse to include a picture of chocolate

If I had a Lindor truffle (my preferred currency) for every time an older, "wiser" woman said this to me, I'd be a little more than pleasantly plump. I can't say that this kind of thinking comes as a shock to me. Nonetheless, I always find it disappointing. I think the fundamental difference lies in who you're trying to please. These types of women are aiming to please men, essentially people. I, and many others like me, are aiming to please God.

This post is not about religion; nor is it about wearing hijab versus not wearing hijab. Rather, it is about knowing yourself and avoiding the self-betrayal that often results when we look to others to define and validate our success.

Regardless of one's degree of spirituality, it cannot be denied that striving to please people is the quickest route to unhappiness, frustration, and very often failure. You will never make everyone happy. And what's more, even if that elusive feat were somehow possible, it would not bring along with it satisfaction. True satisfaction is the product of strong convictions reinforced by corresponding actions. In other words, you need to know what you want, what you believe and live in a way that manifests your principles.

Back to the point: If my goal in life were to "catch a man," I would have long ago traded my flowing fabrics for something a little less subtle. That is not to say that I intend to remain single for the rest of my life; but I refuse to believe that in order to attract a man I must make myself so irresistible that he has no choice but to marry me. (Anyway, that's a bait-and-switch if you ask me, but that's another story.) Furthermore, there are plenty of things men find attractive that have nothing to do with appearance. Yes, intellect and insight actually count for something.

So, what about those men that supposedly won't give us a second glance because the first was nothing to write home about? Well, needless to say, those guys aren't even on my radar. I do believe that it's possible for a man to respect me for my choice rather than write me off for it.

And what if he doesn't exist? What if the old women are right? What if I become a crazy cat lady? That's life. More than anything, I will be content knowing that I stayed true to myself and my beliefs. The outcome is irrelevant.

The Signs of Summer

I was recently reminiscing about those old Ball Park hot dog commercials that used to air in the nineties. Every year, around May or June, I'd get so excited the first time I saw one because that meant that summer was right around the corner. Whether its summer or devouring a fuul sandwich, I enjoy the anticipation of something almost as much as the actual experience. So, as I anxiously await the arrival of summer, here are a few signs that it's fast approaching in Egypt.

The (in)famous Egypt smell
That familiar scent that greets/assaults you when you first arrive in Cairo seems to be much more potent during the summer. It's that blend of dust, pollution, and the occasional burning incense. I won't lie; for some strange reason, I love it. 

The empty streets of Cairo
Did I say "empty"? That's correct. As the weather begins to heat up, all the vacations spots along the North Coast or Red Sea that have become ghost towns during the winter come back to life. Cairenes who either can't or don't care to leave just yet get to enjoy the city as it was meant to be. Traffic is lighter, lines are shorter, and parking is a lot less frustrating. My sister says Cairo should take advantage of this mass exodus and "lock the doors" and whoever is out is out...forever. We can dream I guess...

The first lizard of the season
Even though I'm used to seeing lizards back in California, something about the ones here in Egypt makes me jump every time. The unsettling sight of a tiny lizard scurrying up my building, making its way up to my house, has made me the door/window Nazi. No one wants to see the chaos that ensues if I hear that someone has left a window or door open in the house.

The great uniform switch
This is one of my favorites. After a winter of gray weather and black police gear, you wake up one spring morning to find that the entire police force has swapped out its winter wardrobe for crisp, white, scorching-Cairo-heat-friendly uniforms. I wonder how they synchronize that. I wonder if one guy ever got confused, or didn't get the memo and came out wearing his black winter uniform and got laughed off the street. Anyway, aside from the obvious practical reasons, the white uniform reminds me to get my summer wardrobe out too! (This year the change is particularly welcome, as all the incriminating images of the police during the revolution feature them in their black uniforms.)

That mysterious trail of ants
One day soon you will likely fall victim to the following scenario: Oh, there's an ant on the remote control...That's random. [Insert your method of bug-killing here.] Oh, there's another one on the vase. Hmm, weird. Wait, there are, like, five on the coffee table. You finally catch sight of the ashtray and realize you've left an empty candy wrapper in it and are now under invasion by about 36,84793 ants and their closest relatives. I can't count how many cans of Raid I've wasted because I can't seem to remember that when the weather starts to warm up, just talking about sweets will bring an army of ants right to my doorstep.

There you have it. There are probably many more, but I'm gonna go take advantage of the empty streets, right after I secure my doors and windows...

The Patriot

I love Egypt and I love being Egyptian.

I'm not sure why it feels like a confession, but for some reason, I feel the need to say it once and for all. For many of us who have grown up abroad, we may like Egypt for North Coast vacations and crazy taxi driver stories, but when it comes to committing we fall short. We say we can't handle the heat, the pollution, or the crowds. We make fun of Egypt, ridicule it and its people.

Then there are those who say they love Egypt, though they say it with a sense of vagueness, as if they're not quite sure why, but all their friends thought they were cool when they realized they came from the land of the pyramids and the Nile, so they figured that must be worth something.

Growing up, I had always noticed that Egyptians were intensely patriotic and deeply attached to their country. On several occasions, I have mistaken a patriotic song for a love song. I have seen Egyptians brought to tears at the mere thought of what Egypt used to be, and what it could be.

Strangely enough, even in my decision to move to Egypt, I never realized that I loved my country. To be honest, I didn't even really see it as my country. More like a country. But mine? It didn't feel that way. Needless to say, all of that changed on January 25th. Since then, I have seen why Egyptians love their country and why they love each other. What we have witnessed in the last three weeks can only be described as true humanity, selflessness, and faith in the face of what seemed to be insurmountable obstacles.

We are indebted to the men and women who have given us our country back, who loved Egypt too much to let it be neglected one more day. Thank you for reminding us why we love Egypt: You.

Shopping Etiquette

This is somewhat of a follow-up to a previous post about obnoxious, overly eager employees. This post is for my fellow shoppers looking for some non-neon-colored (read "colors that actually occur in nature") clothing in the sea of highlighter chic known as Cairo.

In this country, it is enough of a triumph just getting out of your house, into your car, and arriving at the mall without being killed by a microbus or sitting in hours of traffic because the president's second cousin decided to cross the street. If you make it to the mall, you are among a select few. And, if you are even more fortunate, you may actually escape the aforementioned harassing employees. There is, however, another silent killer.

Maybe this is a Western thing. In America, there is an unwritten shopping code that, if you have your eye on something that someone else is looking at, you pretend to be looking at something else nearby until the other person moves on, you swoop in and make it all look natural as if you didn't notice the item until just that moment when they walked away. We're all very good at this. Don't lie. It's absurd, but it's subtle and it works.

Sadly, subtlety isn't a very popular concept in Egypt. Here, the above scenario plays out like this: You're carefully considering an item of clothing, looking for your size, when you suddenly feel the eyes of another shopper burning through the back of your head. She steps closer and closer, hoping to make you feel so uncomfortable that you give up the item. You try to stand your ground, try to look unfazed, but eventually you surrender the item in favor of regaining your precious personal space.

And this is where you can always tell who is the real Egyptian, the one who wins the stand-off. The one who has no concept of personal space. She could stand there all day elbow to elbow with a complete stranger. I guess that counts as some odd sort of talent.

Between the employees and the other shoppers, shopping in Egypt is just no fun. What now? Minimalism?

The "F" Word

I have a confession to make. This may put some people off, but I think it's about time. I am a fob.

The word fob, which stands for "fresh off the boat," is a common expression used among immigrant communities in the West to refer to people who have not quite assimilated to Western norms, whether it be in terms of language, dress, or general demeanor.

In truth, we all know that being called a fob is not exactly a compliment. There is a certain stigma that comes with being cultural, a sense of not being fully evolved. To complicate things even further, there are many different kinds of fobs. Not only does it depend on the person being labeled, it depends on who is giving the label. To a very Americanized Arab (perhaps third or fourth generation), any Arab-American who knows a few Nancy Agram songs and can say more than "hello" and "goodbye" in Arabic is a fob. (In actuality, these "fobs" probably make up the majority of Arab-Americans.) But what I'm more concerned with is what these so-called fobs, the average Arabs living in the West, consider a fob. Naturally, Arabs who have very recently arrived in the West are "honored" with this title. But what I find odd is that Arab-Americans even go so far as to apply this term to Arabs who have never left their countries in the first place. How can a person be fresh off the boat if he's never even been on the boat?

In my opinion, it all comes down to racism. Yes, racism can and does exist among people belonging to the same ethnic group. Arabs who have grown up in the West tend to think of themselves as new and improved, almost superhuman. Having the best of both worlds, many are arrogant, pitying those left behind. Did it ever occur to them that an Egyptian living in Egypt may be just as educated, just as well-traveled, and just as enlightened as they are? Or even worse, did it ever cross their minds that this intelligent, forward-thinking Egyptian may have no desire to leave his country and may actually...like it?

And thus, we deceive ourselves again, assuming that our way of life is the way, which brings me back to my point: how can we refer to a person as a fob in his own country? Well, we can't, or at least shouldn't. Therefore, as much as I dislike the term, if we're going to use it, let's at least use it correctly. So, if a fob is someone who has recently arrived in a country and has still not fully assimilated, then I am a fob. I'll understand if you unfriend me.

Leave Me Alone!

For as long as I can remember, I have not been able to shop in Egypt without getting the distinct feeling that my privacy is being invaded. Whether it be a clothing store, supermarket, or fruit stand, Egyptian employees are programmed to follow customers around, watch their every move, ask unnecessary questions and give unsolicited advice in hopes of winning some "Obnoxious Employee of the Month" award.

Honestly, the invasion of personal space is enough cause for irritation. My cousin, Omar, and I used to think that they followed people around simply to prevent theft, but I've long since abandoned that theory. I now believe that they behave in this way with the sole purpose of getting on my nerves.

As a result of this harassment, a trip to the mall for me has become synonymous with cruel and unusual punishment. Who here hasn't had that eerie feeling of approaching a store that looks promising, only to see that it's completely empty, except for ten employees (even though the store is no bigger than your bedroom) eagerly waiting for the slightest hint of interest to swoop in and feast on their prey? Their first question?

"Are you looking for anything in particular?"
"Yes, I'm looking for a big yellow dress just like the one Belle wore in Beauty and the Beast."

Okay, so I usually just say "no," but maybe I should try that sometime. Anyway, since when is it a crime just to look at things without having something specific in mind? It never fails. It is virtually impossible to walk into a store without being asked this question. They seem to look at me like I came from another planet when I tell them that I'm just looking.

In addition to the annoying comments and questions, store employees also insist on fixing every little thing you touch within .03244856 seconds of you touching it. They'll go so far as to refold something that I've already folded and put back in place. I'm no folding extraordinaire, but come on, show some appreciation!

I've had about as much as I can take of this retail harassment. I'm thinking of starting a shoppers' union for those who have suffered and shopped in silence for so long. But until then, if you work in a store, run a koshk, or even if your kids just have a lemonade stand, leave me alone!