A couple of weeks ago my sisters found a spacetoon playlist of cartoon intros on youtube. We used to watch all those back in KSA when we were children, and the part of us that loved those songs never really grew up. I listen to it in the background while I write or read. At work even. I never thought it’d make me that relaxed and more productive at work..
Don’t judge me.
I was in a doctor’s waiting room, sulking in the kind of sadness that is itself irked by worry about my strange condition lately, whatsapping my sister about calling another doctor for my diabetic dad, when two 18 or 19 years old girls entered the waiting area carried by their own cheerful air, in full Islamic attire, the simple kind. Their attitude was as simple and down to earth. And I still remember the greeting one of them chose to say to the old receptionist who was as fatigued and weighed down as I was.
That was it. In long tone. Full of zest. With a genuine smile. Especially peculiar to such a place. My heart actually skipped a beat. I wish I had that recorded. Women can cure broken men with their voices; some of them don’t know about that superpower, though.
My mood can be judged by the amount of unfinished books strewn on my desk, over my shelves and on my devices. That’s a time when a new book gets started with no bookmarks, because then they are busy keeping all of my pauses for me elsewhere.
I started to notice, though, how different it feels to read a book that was recommended to you, compared to a book that you singly picked. I can’t put it in words now, but it’s a sweet feeling.
My youngest sister has this thing where she’d finish the iPad battery and then go sit on a small chair besides the charger to continue her game. That iPad has the best photo so far taken for my niece, who turned out to be a divine mix of me and my sister when we were her age!
I love my sisters to the bones.
New learned lesson: having common interests doesn’t mean your marriage will be any more successful. Empirically improved. Remember Jane Austen‘s quote (it’s even closer to our Islamic culture).
I wish Jane success with all my heart; and if she were married to him tomorrow, I should think she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were studying his character for a twelve-month. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation, and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.
Which reminds me, the conquest of my father’s life these days is to have me espoused. That man doesn’t know that I’m not even worth the few gray hairs in his home of a beard.
I am thinking about fictional characters again, even though I am thinking less about many things..
Old news: my cousin passed away to cancer more than a month ago. My condition started the very next morning after her burial. Maybe more on that later.