On the 26th of september i had 5 spontaneous thoughts.

Ω On the 26th of September at 1:08 pm and after spending a couple of hours earlier thinking of going to the beauty salon a place i don’t enjoy going to at all because it’s always associated with "FAKE"...

1. Fake euphoria. it’s when ur female natural instincts urge u to take care of all the little details concerning ur image and u do it lovingly intoxicated by a (not always) Fake state of excess happiness and very high spirit.

2. a down moment where u feel really bad abt urself so u decide to go and cover it up by a "FAKE" partially beautiful image so as to boost ur confidence a bit

3.FAKE: "ohhh... masha2allah enty gamila...ohhh mash2alllah sh3rk te2eeel ohhh mash2allah enty zoboona amaraya and all that crap! And u have to (an inescapable "have to") be sweet and thank them for their fake sweetness!!!

The thing is this is the very first time i thought of highlighting my hair...
A thought that makes me stop and ponder deeply into what has happened to me, i have never thought of doing such a thing (not that it’s bad or anything) but it’s just not me! And that very fact scares me.
i might sound like am exaggerating when i say that highlights in my case is a sign of weakness... it first started out with a little makeup touch ups and now a thought of going "highlights" and who knws later on i might add some artificial lashes and put on a pair of "grey" lenses for god’s sake!!!


Ω i just phoned up a friend telling her that there was a theatre work shop today at 6, and that i hve no idea who those ppl were... but i just felt like going and doing something a bit out of the ordinary.


Ω Adult hood disgusts me! It’s too fake, i guess because ppl force themselves into it they don’t let them sleves naturally reach it.


Ω The last day of Ramadan on my way to ras el barr particularly somewhere near Ismailia it rained so hard for abt 3 amazing minutes while i was behind the wheel :)


Ω In Portsaid i saw so many old men on old fixed gear bicycles they were too many of them they passed in front of me in such harmony, their posture on the bike was so beautifully intact, like they were made for each other... the old arched back the arms laid on the handle bars in a semi 45 degree angle so comfortably.

The perfectly ironed shirt and trousers the combed hair the smoothness of the pedal the sound of the bell when it rings.
You could feel the man holding his bicycle with love and riding it with appreciation.

my dad told me that there was a day when Portsaid was mostly bicycles... i thought to myself " no wonder i fell in love with it from first sight :)".

Ω I love my dad :)