How much do looks matter?

So, a friend came over to visit last night.

My friend is a civil engineer, and she is a very pretty girl. She is smart, and funny, albeit a bit traditional when it comes to certain schools of thought. I generally enjoy spending time with her, and find that we can mostly get a serious and an interesting conversation going. Anyway, she came over last night, and as we sat on the balcony enjoying an argileh, she told me that someone had just introduced her to a guy who is looking for a wife. A traditional way of proposing, which she is ok with, in general.

So as we sat there discussing the details, she told me that she had agreed to get introduced to the guy. They started by exchanging phone numbers, and texting each other, and a couple of phone calls. The guy finally asked her out for dinner. She said he was such a gentleman, had brought her chocolates, was very considerate and polite. The surprise, or rather the shock, though, was that when they met, she realized that he had had some kind of skin disease, (of which he told her he was fully recovered, now), that had caused ALL his hair to fall off, and it will never grow back.

All his hair meant the hair on his head, any hair on his body, and most importantly, no eyebrows.

Now, my friend was polite enough to go through the dinner with him, and she actually said that once you get over the initial shock of his looks, he really is a nice guy. She went home, though, and decided that she cannot go through with this, as his looks were just too difficult to bear. Her mother, though, gave her the advice to give herself some time, go out a couple of more times with him, and see if she still feels the same way about him. She decided to take her mother’s advice, and so, last night, she told me that they have gone out three times so far, as well as exchanging phone calls and messages.

She then mentioned that the more she spends time with him, the more she realizes that he is actually a decent guy, a gentleman, and that she feels comfortable around him.  Now, she asked me what I thought, and whether or not I believed she should give him a chance. She also showed me a photo, and yes, the eyebrows were a little bit too much.

I didn’t give her an answer, because there never is a correct answer if a friend asks you what you think of a suitor, and because that is a decision she needs to take on her own. But, it got me thinking: would I be willing to spend the rest of my life with a hairless eyebrow-less man?

In my opinion, it is one thing to fall in love with someone who has a medical condition, or who goes through one while you are together. But it is entirely different to decide to accept a traditional marriage proposal with someone as such. Or am I wrong? I mean, would a man accept marrying a woman, through a traditional proposal, if she had no eyebrows? I really really doubt it, and why should a woman accept one, then?

Also, if she got over his looks, would she be able to get over the looks of other people as they walk down the street?

I know I sound very very shallow, but it really got me thinking about what point does the compromise end? Are looks important? Are they more important for women than to men ? And when does a girl decide that it is too much to overlook?

I would love to hear your opinions on this, men and women. I would love to see if you agree to my point of view, or if there are other opinions out there, keeping in mind that it is a traditional marriage proposal, with no love story behind.

The 'joy' of cooking?!

I have big dinner plans tonight.

My boyfriend’s brother is in town, and we met (for the first time), last night. Being the Arab that I am, it was essential to invite, and insist and insist and insist, him over for dinner tonight. And of course, it is as equally important to impress. And although it I am generally a good cook, the striving to impress usually ends up in a disaster.

When I started dating my boyfriend, I made him a lasagna. It was the first dinner I had cooked him, and we were still in the ‘does he like me?/ is he just being nice?’ phase, and so, the pressure to impress was a million times higher. Why, oh why, do women think that the ability to cook a decent meal will make a man get down on his knees and vow his endless love? I mean, seriously, what do we expect, when we cook, and all our senses are directed towards that first bite he takes, just so we can make out whether we passed or failed that critical exam?! What is even more maddening, is the fact that 9 times out of 10, they don’t even notice what it is that they just placed in their mouth!

So, anyway, I was going to make a lasagna. The decision to cook that not random, of course! It was after detailed and careful surveys that I ran across every single person I ever served food for, as well as a week of browsing the internet for meal ideas for ‘the first big dinner’. You know, like Cosmopolitan would suggest something not complicated but not too easy, to show him you’re a woman who loves a challenge. Yes, apparently, what you cook, ladies, defines your character.

After work, I passed by the grocery store to pick up the ingredients I need, got home, took a nap (to ensure my beauty is also well looked after), and then decided it was time to start cooking. Little did I know that I had run out of gas. So, after starting my music in the kitchen, trying to get the mood right, all hell broke loose, not only because I ran out of gas, but because I have NO IDEA how to change a gas cylinder. The clock was ticking, and what if I don’t make the meal in time? What if I lose the possibility of a life changing heart melting everlasting love, because I ran out of the stupid gas!

So I texted a friend, and not-so-patiently waited for them to come over, and then we both went out and got a gas cylinder, and changed the stupid thing, before I literally threw out  my friend, to try and focus again on the big meal. I had lost a lot of time, and the thought of not getting everything ready in time (and thus, according to the theory above, losing all hope left in humanity), only added to the pressure. So, I get started with the white sauce, and without unnecessary embarrassing details, and despite having made lasagna at least 150 times over the past couple of years, I failed not once, but TWICE, in making the damn thing represent anything other than a slimey white water with chinks of flour floating on top. Not once, I tell you. And because the clock was REALLy ticking now, I had no time to deal with the mess, and so, my beautiful guest room housed two big pots of that slime, for the night.

And I locked the door to that room, of course.

Thankfully, the third time was a charm, and miraculously, a white sauce presented itself. By the time my boyfriend arrived, the lasagna was ‘safely’ in the oven, and everything looked normal.

Over a year later, we still laugh about that story, and we mostly eat out nowadays, or ‘modestly’ cook some meals at home. And if it is ruined, we throw it out, and we laugh.

I am looking forward to tonight, and I know that the stress is way less now. And as a last piece of advice, let me tell you that my boyfriend says that stress or no stress, lasagna or a cheese sandwich, if he loves you, he loves you.

So enjoy cooking, normally. Oh, and do what I did, and move to an apartment with gas pipes :)

Re-starting!

So I decided, or rather, I was made to promise that I will write again, today. 

Why have I stopped? I sometimes think that writing can be a bit too real. I mean, listing down your feelings, facing them and analyzing them, deciding how to label a certain situation, because your writing will always lead the conversation into a certain direction.. This all had made me believe that it is somehow difficult, especially on the not so good days.


On the other hand, there are the disappointments sometimes. You start a story, you know, like ‘The Good Story’ and then it is over, in a way that derives it from all meaning it ever had, and that is normal, I suppose. That is how life is, like it or not (Ah, the wisdom of being 33!) But still, you  don’t want to read, (and in my case re-read and re-read and RE-READ the story, the hopes, the prayers, a million times!)


Then, there are the good times, in fairness. The good times that are so drunkenly good that it seems you don’t want to turn your attention from, for a single moment. You want to be there, in that moment, and everything else just falls in the background. You have no time to even share the good news, or write, or even contemplate. You just want to keep going- and never ever stop.

But I have always wanted to write, I wanted to express the person I am, and I have always been best doing so in writing. I like telling stories, and listening to them, and analyzing them, and thinking of different scenarios. And it is time for more stories, God knows it is.

 I am in love. 

Simply put, and straight to the point. I am a woman in love, and for that life seems to be a much nicer place these days. Love balances me, and holds me still- in a good way, and pushes me forward, in even a better way. I am in love. 

What is the difference, then, between being in a relationship, and being single? Do we stop being who we are? Do our insecurities become less obvious, and do you share them, all of them, with the person you love? 

I must say that I am blessed with being in love with a reasonable man. A man, who looks at me, and I kid you not, from that one look, he can know exactly what is in my head. That truly is a blessing, because I am unable to hide anything from him, even if I ever wanted to do so. 

But I do still have my insecurities. I think that it is not about sharing them or not, but it is more of whether I want to think about them, or not. Because most of the times, I don’t want to think about them, myself. 

Well, this is a start, or rather, a re-start. I have had a good 22 months away. I have quit smoking a little over a year ago, I have lost all the weight I wanted to lose. I have travelled more, read more, got to know myself more. I have met an amazing man, and for the first time in my life, celebrated a one year anniversary, in a real relationship. Like grown ups. Honest to God. 

And here I am again, ready to share my diaries, again.