An Egyptian living in Europe but her heart stayed back home. Having some random thoughts about the before and after pictures. Ghawayesh means bracelets. In my context it symbolizes the cuffs of my culture. I don't know if I like them or hate them. Thanks for passing by.

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I started this blog in 2006 as a joke. Now that I look back, I have decided to take it seriously!

29 July 2012

True Love

So the handsome old man decides to board the train earlier, while I go slouch my way to the ladies' room. I mean, hey, I'm Egyptian! I have to make it late to the train and to arrive screaming and snotting and dragging my bags as if they are refusing to join me!

 A couple of meters ahead of me, there's this gorgeous-from-behind young lady, with long blond hair and an amazing artwork of an ass..

Until, I found out, what that ass is capable of producing.

 Two toilet cabinets next to each other, with just the two of us. Enter, fight the bags into the small cell, close the door with a mini-fight, lock, shake the booty to assist the pant-dropping process, sit, and get ready to let the flow go.

I start to be aware of the thought that I entered several seconds after her.  I decide to wait quietly. Now, out of courtesy, I'll let you start the symphony, hun.

.. Hun?

Errrr, hello? I could swear I saw you coming in to the toilet! Now, you start so I'd start! Yalla!

Silence as death.

Is this the toilet of the dead?

Never mind, I'm letting go now, OK?

Ready, Steady, Pee!

Hmmm, still no sound whatsoever.

Ok hun, maybe you're too polite. Are you German, hun? What if I push harder so my stream would be louder so you would feel relaxed-er? (never mind the Double Dutch for the sake of a rhyme).

Hmmm.. I'm all evacuated now, yet, no sign of life from the next-door hun. As my hand approaches the siphon, I didn't realize it was the secret starting sign for hun. Hun thought I didn't hear what happened while my toilet was flushing? Well, to put it down nicely (like she tried to put hers down politely); the hell broke loose in the poor toilet. And I started to run for my life imagining a big blue poo monster coming out of hun's toilet and holding my throat and smothering me to death.

Run, Forrest, Run!

As I go back to catch the train, I find the first class loaded like we're in India! Heck! And I choose for Sunday, of all days, because I hate people, and now this? You people travel en masse on Sunday mornings? What do you do for fun, huh?! Go fly kites or have sex or something!


So I end up spotting a compartment for four. O-oh. I just can smell trouble. And what do you know, before I could catch a second thought, there makes a grand entrance this expensive bimbo, loaded with a brigade of things that shout: look what daddy got me! And she lands across me like a plane crash, and starts unpacking the following in the exact order- all with an accompanying grand audio of the item: an iPhone, an iPad, and iPod, a Macbook (mind you, *air*), a Blackberry (vot? Little bitch got an iPhone AND a BB? That's like, like, like being Jewish and Muslim at the same time!), a milkshake, and last but not least: the earphones! And when you think the saga is over; and you've seen the worst for the day; wait till you hear who came next.

Now, next to me, the seat is free.. And across the isle, a woman speaking Spanish to her supposed son (as proven by the common nostrils that make me wonder, if God exists, was he drunk while creating some among us?). The woman started speaking as the train started moving, and I think that the first pause she took was when the train arrived, about 5 hours later. She was speaking in a semi-whispering tone that would make one curious enough to want to listen, but hell, I no habla Espanol ya habla! And nope, that is not the end of it. All of a sudden this always-so-stinking-familiar odeur falls over me. Sirens and alarms, a stinking smoker is approaching. Oh no, he's coming too close, moving on to plan B: claws out. With a voice that rather sounds like an old broken car's perforated exhaust pipe: "Is this seat fREI?". No you disgusting homoerectus it is not. Go away and take your stinking breath, stinking hair, and stinking clothes with you.

-"Yes it is. Please.". I harakiri myself in the ass a little.

 While nobody thought nobody was watching: Spanish nostrils family kept on annoyingly whispering, bimbo went on giggling at some video she was watching on her Macbook ( mind you, *air*), while BBMing and Whatsapping and SMSing and chatting and tweeting and Facbooking between, and Mr. Stinker was making endless phone calls in Italian with his tomato. Yes, he received around 50 ass-blowing missed calls from a person whom he addresses as "his tomato"! Oh, did I fail to mention that the dude actually spent 90% of the ride picking his nose? And no, it doesn't end there. You see it coming don't ya? Yup, buddy was eating his booger while he thought I couldn't see it with the corner of my huge-obviously-for-a-bad-reason eye. Yeah and he was, behold, making sounds as if he was immensely and tremendously enjoying the experience. Buddy, you make it look like a KFC ad!

While I throw up in my mouth a little every 5 minutes, I wonder what the second class is like at the very moment. I keep myself distracted with picking a fight or two on Twitter. That's what tweeps are for. To be there in the time of need where you can bitch to your heart's content, while you smile and pretend to be a nice gal.

As we approach the final destination, It suddenly hit me how I am walking into the city, (dare I call it "my city" now?), with a whole new spirit.

 Something falls over me. A familiar cloud of energy that made me totally shake off the train experience in a glance.

There, in a secluded corner, stood the giggly old man I met at the lounge in Germany, cuddling and kissing passionately with a woman his age. They looked so happy and in love, and their energy flew all around with music and flowers and birds and molokheya (I adore Molokheya, OK?). I should have known he was so extra very merry not only for the funny book- he was happy because he was going to meet his love. He sees through the wrinkles, and he adores despite the hanging tits and the varicose veins and the hip and knee replacements. He loves her soul, and that's the only true and eternal love I believe in.

 I leave the ZuriHB with a smile. Right in time to spot a parent I knew from N.'s previous school. He smiled at me like: "Hey, where do I know you from?".

But I don't stop for people who half-remember me. I only notice, remember, cherish, and hold dear (people for) one feeling, and that is: true love. The only scene that will stay from this day: is that of true love.

While the rest, as always, is click, dragged-and-dropped into the trash of my memory. With love.


Charafantah said...

Your sentence "They looked so happy and in love, and their energy flew all around with music and flowers and birds and molokheya" made my day :)

I can sleep happily now knowing that there are other people who appreciate molokheya as much as I do! :)

Ghawayesh said...

Charafantah buddy, are you in Zurich?!!

Tamer Sobh said...

Thanks for speaking your heart out loud. Saying I enjoyed it is an understatement! :-)

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