Between the worlds

At the Office of International Students and Scholars, OISS, at Yale University, there I was picking one of each colourful Jelly of each flavour; strawberry, lemon and the golden one. I am not particularly keen on sweets, but they were displayed on a nice basket for students to help themselves and I certainly helped mine. I went home at the end of the day and started with the strawberry. I opened the packet to find something that didn’t look edible. Looking at the ingredients to confirm my suspicion, and Googling what it was, I learned the definition of condoms.. At the age of twenty three I learned something new.. Good. That was not how I felt at the moment. All I felt was a sudden shyness and shame of being watched by the OISS officer as I took the ‘sweets’, smilingly and innocently.

Jelly-Ignorance aside, at that age I used to be extremely shy when it came to speaking to men, let alone dating them.. to a degree that my face visibly blushes and my respiration doubles every time I interact with a lovely young man even in the work place discussing work-related matters. I decided to see a psychiatrist who later gave me an assignment to say hello to one stranger every day, whether in an elevator (the American lift) or elsewhere. I didn’t use the lift back then for a different type of a psychological problem, so my twisted version of the assignment was sending friend requests to strangers on Facebook. I made so many married and single ‘friends’. All men.

That evident shyness was not a newly acquired trait or one that became apparent in America. In fact, I had it long before. I often tried to hide my shyness by avoiding speaking to men as much as I could. The ones I like anyway. It was important for me to show and maintain a strong discouraging appearance in College and the sporting club where I also used to study. The rosy blushes and nervous voice caused by this kind of interaction would interfere with that strong appearance. I became hard to approach and enjoyed being unapproachable.

The inner me, however, experienced all the fun fanciful feelings of a teenage and an early twenties girl. Only between me and me, and occasionally not admitting those feelings to myself. Most girls in my High school class had boyfriends, but I didn’t and most girls in College had relationships and stories, but I didn’t. That made me, in a way, distant from my female classmates who accused me of being so secretive. They, annoyingly, wanted to know the secrets that I didn’t have and listen to the stories I didn’t live. I wouldn’t have shared any stories anyway, had they existed.

The lack of tellable stories did not entirely mean that there was none. My stories were scarce and always one-sided. I liked a few men over the years, with most of them not knowing my name or that I draw breath. The first significant feeling of attraction happened at the age of seventeen to a twenty-five year old man. At my mum’s best friend house, the little me was vivacious full of energy and humorous. So quiet myself, yet making everyone else loud. The door bell rang and I suddenly lost my energy, my humour and seemingly my voice. An attractive young man came in. I hid behind the cushions making a fist to avoid shaking hands with him. The nephew was introduced to us: a son of sister; a civil engineer; and that was it. I liked the way he spoke and the way he smiled, maybe even his lisp in pronouncing ‘weh’. Beautiful teeth and a nice smile were usually enough invitations for my heart to beat. Not with love, but with tendency for it. With my mouth shut and my eyes open, I continued watching him the rest of the evening.

I left with my mum and elder brother, who was there to teach the daughter of my mum’s friend, Rehab, an architectural piece of work. The three of us returned home with the image of Ahmed G. in my mind making me somewhat heavier still wanting to fly. Since then, I became more interested in my mum’s phone conversations with her friend hoping to hear of the nephew, but no, conversations were mostly about work and managing the new cities near Cairo while fighting corruption. Ahmed stayed in mind bouncing at times, resting at other times and jumping at occasions.. I waited for the engagement party of Rehab to see him and I saw him from a distance. Our table was not near his, but my eyesight could see him at full. He’s getting bigger approaching our table as my heart started beating loudly, luckily in a loud background of music. What if the music stopped? Or what if my heart stopped? I ran to the washroom before he landed our table. I had to wait another year for the wedding party to see him again, but I was unnoticed.

It had been five years since I first saw my first admirer; I was a fresher at Uni and now I had become a teaching assistant, enlightening second and third-year undergrads. Only seeing him less than five times during those five years, I hadn’t been always faithful. Now and then I got mildly and briefly attracted to other men, that is when Ahmed was resting in mind and out of memory. Soon after the wedding I heard of his own engagement, pretending to care nothing about the news. It wasn’t as dreadful as I thought it would be. Yes, five interrupted years of interrupted feelings but memories came down to a few moments easy to erase. What made it even easier, was that I was ready for my adventure to America to make some science. A white lab coat was a much more exciting fabric to me than a wedding dress.

Going to America was a big transition, both personally and science-wise. I recall asking my parents to transfer me to Alexandria University after my first-year of undergrad in Cairo, in order to study marine biology, but to no avail. I had never left my parents’ house to live anywhere else, not for education not for any other reason. Though it didn’t come as a surprise that my parents ‘gladly’ let me travel to the US to proceed with my studies. Perhaps they felt my passion for science as the years passed and trusted my capability of doing well. After all, I graduated first in my class and was the only student to obtain a cumulative grade of Excellent.. Without competing. It was merely the byproduct of studying for fun. Designing electronic circuits was my spare-time amusement and Chaum’s problem solving was my crosswords.

Science for me was like a dream I wanted to live. I had such passion to pursue research without caring about degrees or certificates. I started at Yale University a non-degree program as a postgraduate fellow in the Dept. of Molecular Biophysics and Biochemistry (MB&B), to allow myself researching without committing to staying forever and leaving home for long. I visited home repeatedly during the first year. I enjoyed my program and extended it for another year. My supervisor, Professor William Konigsberg, or Bill, advised me to apply for the Grad School. You’re doing the same science and not getting a degree out of it, he said. Even though I didn’t care about degrees, post-grad studies seemed like the natural progression of my career as a scientist.

Bill was one of the nicest men I met in America. He welcomed me with great kindness and generosity. I arrived on a Saturday, weekend, and there he was waiting to collect me at Phelps Gate. I was going to stay in a hotel until I find an apartment, but he insisted to take me home to stay with him and his wife. He seemed like a respectable man and a very old one, so I accepted his invitation willingly. I got into the car and he stopped at the Medical School laboratories, telling me that we were going briefly to the lab. On a Saturday, I startled! He still seemed like a respectable man and a very old one, besides I had learnt a few martial art techniques for self defense knowing what to do if needed while reading verses from the Quran on the way, preparing for nothing. I was introduced to Chang, a Chinese postdoc who teams with another group, and was relieved from the devil thoughts. I came to realise later that it was very common for researchers to work on weekends in such competitive environment.

Paulette, Bill’s wife, was equally kind and as welcoming as an Egyptian woman hosting her daughter’s in-laws. She embraced me warmly the moment she saw me. We had a small chat, and I went straight to bed after a ten-hour flight. Bill and I arranged to go to the lab in the morning, but Paulette whispered for me to wake up whenever my sun rises, promising to keep him waiting.. I was perhaps the only student who went to the lab with the PI (basically the boss) in his car coming from his house and returning back to it. More like a cocker than a VIP. I was being introduced to people in the Department as we walked and I was in love with work already.

The guy next door was actually in the lab opposite to mine in the same corridor in MB&B. Even though he was across the door I felt that he was the guy next door as my feelings for him coincided with the Egyptian concept of ‘ibn elgeeran’ or the son of our neighbours. He was short, sporty, likeable and slightly handsome. Thinking of my endless shine and beauty, I had hoped that he told me he was attracted to me but he didn’t. He must be a gay, I told myself. I had known all about the concept of alternative sexuality by then. I continued to like him, nonetheless, hoping that he wasn’t.

PhD viva day for Matthew, and I’m all equipped up with smile and excitement as well as with a fancy camera that I had borrowed from the Central Library for this occasion. Listening to science that I didn’t listen to, only focusing on his charm, here come the acknowledgement and generally most interesting part of PhD talks. It wasn’t interesting after all. A photo of his girlfriend, Carly, appeared on his worst slide. I was hurt deeply and never showed him my face again not even to share his viva photos with him.. That is for several months before he became no more than a friend to me.

On the way to the US during one of the trips back from Cairo — at that point it was hard to tell whether I’m leaving home or returning home, I saw a big man in the airport. I admired his physique instantly and looked away. As per usual, this is when starring stops and solo thinking starts. The airplane was loaded and it happened that he was two seats behind me. To avoid admitting to self my attraction to a mere body, I subconsciously drank too much water and went to the loo, passing by him. Formally, I was keeping myself hydrated to stay resistant to germs in a busy flight but in reality I was stealing a glance at just one person.

The flight was drawing closer to JFK airport as my ‘tale’ was approaching its end. I passed the checkpoint and went to collect my luggage. Let me help you, the big man came out of the blue to offer his hands. I was speechless. I only imagined that. In a busy flight what are the chances! He introduced himself as Dr. Ahmed T. (AT), an Egyptian surgeon who lived in California and was about to take another flight to get there. He asked me for my cell number and I coyly gave him my email address. That was not me-like at all. I wouldn’t normally give strangers my contacts yet I was tempted to.

AT sent me a fine message from California, and gave me his brother’s number in case I needed any help; he was not going to be in the US constantly for some time due to travels and exams. That was kind I guess, but was not the message I was hoping to receive. He wrote again and again with no mentioning of admiration or attraction. He repeatedly mentioned how proud he was to see an Egyptian woman studying at Yale and as intelligent as myself. Then our correspondence advanced to become more often and to involve more topics that aren’t work related.. nor romance related. It was fun, mildly flirty and at the edge of sweetness. We were so in touch until he suddenly disappeared. I got worried about him and wanted to know if he was alive. Only one way to know. I called his brother to ask if he was OK to learn that he was. That was not an easy task for me; to call a stranger to ask about a stranger.

Long after learning that he was alive and genuinely not caring that he was, AT wrote to me. A long message explaining reasons for his disappearance; a car accident that he survived and business with his mum who went to perform pilgrimage. There was no mentioning of him getting engaged or married. I asked explicitly if he was married. He hesitantly replied that he was engaged and that he was not sure about his relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to his fiancé for him to give attention to another woman, whether they were terribly happy or in agony. I decided to stop talking to him completely, despite his several attempts, not least to not interfere with his uncertainty.. There was more events to the tale that took place over the time between Egypt, the UK and the US, leading to the first mutual and long-distance relationship I had at the age of twenty eight and lasting for less than one year.

Living in America for three years now, did not change me yet changed my perspective of the norm. I once went to see a GP to have my left ear checked. The nurse came first to see me and to do a quick screening for an STD, Chlamydia, that was popular at the time. I said no chance I have it just to save her time, but she didn’t seem to understand hinting that it’s always better to be sure. Strangely, I felt embarrassed at the age of twenty seven to declare that I never…. I felt embarrassed from myself for my embarrassment as this quality is the best back home. A source of pride not shame.

Matthew and I barely kept in touch after I left America and only met a couple of times in England. He was occasionally flirty but in a friendly, literally friendly way that I never thought he was actually flirting. I was surprised one day to learn that he was also attracted to me eight years ago since Yale time even though he had a girlfriend! With me being Muslim and a practicing one, he was reluctant to tell me. We were not friends enough for our friendship to be ruined had you told me, I said. Things progressed quickly that he asked his manager about the possibility of relocating from Pennsylvania in the US to Stevenage in the UK to lead a team there at GSK. We exchanged flirts and memories and we met again in Cambridge. He asked if we could hold hands and I refused. It’s innocent to do so he proclaimed and I still refused. Those post-refusal moments were fiddly, me walking him back to the station in silence.. I was too conservative for him I gathered. He got in touch again soon after, asking to marry me, by which time my heart was already someone’s else.

As I’m writing it feels warm to mention the relationship with my awkward friend, Jonathan, whom I loved enormously. He, himself was not awkward but our friendship was. When with him I lost my articulation and found my imagination, such that our conversations often became a host of Freudian slips. He was saying things at the Varsity roof and I was lost looking into his what appeared to be dark blue eyes. The boathouse was our favourite spot for meeting, that had become now a nostalgic geography. We met there the first time and I saw him off, there, when I decided to return home with no vision of returning back to England.

I loved his love for nature among many other things. He wanted to live in the woods so did I. He was the only man who managed to stimulate my mind and theological thinking. He held similar values as mine. He was almost a match except that he was not compatible. Loving him made me learn how to foster a plurality without compromising any of my principles or beliefs. There was a lot more to that and I may elaborate later.. Just want to cry and resist my tears when I think of him.

The West has become my dating pool, whether I like it or not. I often got attracted to Western men and in the whole I don’t get easily attracted. From as far as I could remember. After Jonathan, perhaps the only man I truly loved, vanished at least from sight, I became more willing to strengthen my heart and casually date the compatible and take the easy path, hoping to either fall deeply in love or better not. It was odd to think that way, especially that I like a challenge.. but I don’t like a broken heart.

Who do I ask to match me with that extraordinary man?! I had to set the criteria for the matchmaker before setting them for the match. Would it be someone whom I can’t possibly marry to save myself potential unease of misunderstanding? Like my Egyptian Christian (and married) friend, Mina? Should it be a close friend to whom I can open up and trust confidentiality or would it better be a shallow acquaintance whom I wouldn’t care if they judge? In the end, I decided to tell every being I knew.

My Saudi friend, Noha, always matched me with the wrong men to a degree that her recommendations never left our table at the Grad cafe. She once intruded my table while meeting a friend, Stuart, who works at Cambridge University, to introduce herself and advocate for women rights. She clearly admired my friend. After he left, she asked what I thought of him as a potential. I mentioned that he is married, older and more importantly I didn’t think of him that way. Well, she said, if he left his wife and converted to Islam, that would be better for him. Serious or jesting, I decided to save my energy and not comment.

On the day of my doctorate graduation, I met with the Saudi Prince Sultan Bin Salman, who was in the Senate House lawn for his daughter’s graduation. I humbly introduced myself as Mona on a day everyone called me doctor. Noha, in a blaming voice, kept reminding me to use the new title, especially when meeting a Royal. The man was nice and chatty and I was put on the spot. He asked me to join KAUST in Saudi Arabia. First job offer on the day of my graduation before taking my gown off and without applying! I didn’t give him my contacts as apparently I don’t do to strangers unless they are young and muscular, so Noha said she would send it to him. That was not it. The Prince asked me if I can cook Molokheya (a traditional Egyptian dish). Knowing how to cook is a good qualification to look for if you’re matchmaking not when offering a job, I replied. Do you have someone in mind? I asked. Noha tried to shut me up and excused us, not sure if I stepped the line with HRH or if she was anxious that he might steal her job.

The most serious and unarranged matchmaking deal took place in the Grad cafe, looking over the river and shadowing the ducks. I was sitting with Sameera and her husband Mas’ood, a British couple with Pakistani origins. They both work in Cambridge University, although I first met Sameera in the Mosque. The couple was going to or coming from a cousin’s wedding and they told me all about it. The talk somehow drifted to my own wedding and their discovery of my singular status. Mas’ood, already on his laptop, started writing to his close Egyptian friend, Hussein Farid, who is married himself but who could introduce me to other Egyptians. On the very same sitting Hussein was already recommending some suitors. Three of his acquaintances; a cousin, an in-law and a friend.

It was a hilarious day and Sameera was very much enjoying the activity, commenting freely on each of the three potentials. The in-law was short and picky we were told and she wondered mockingly why he would be picky if he’s short. No one knew why though much later I did. Not sure if Mas’ood was still having the same level of fun when she started to comment on the good looks of the cousin and the wavy arm of the friend, telling me that she expects to be invited to a wedding soon. The husband was a lot wiser and more realistic to envision that there was a possibility that none would match.

Obviously the idea was for Hussein to take the initiative in putting the selected one in touch with me, but that was not obvious to me. I directly wrote to the good-looking cousin, telling him that he was recommended by a friend of a friend and that I liked his looks. I added that I might potentially want to marry him if he was as good as he appeared. His response was nice, but he told me that he was already seeing someone. He asked me though if we could be friends and meet when I’m in Cairo. Several months later, Hussein told me that I was too forward and so he lied to me, which turned out not to be true.. or was it.

I wrote secondly to the friend, Ahmed M., telling him truthfully the same. He actually admired my bravery and I appreciated that. We had a brief conversation, after which I knew it would not work. He is as tall as me and I prefer taller men. In addition to the essentials from good nature and manners, looks and physique are important to me. There was further something he mentioned that added to my reluctance and what made it terminal was that he rote lik zat.

After some convincing from Hussein who advised me to be more flexible, I tried more than a conversation to conclude that Ahmed M. and I are different except in being argumentative. One time he called me a black comedy walking on legs to which I replied defensively ‘On very long legs. With a perfect body mass index, this makes me a model. I just tend to take pride in other things that aren’t obvious to a normal set of eyes.. like yours’. He spoke often of dating models and often, wrongly, assumed that I was jealous over him when in fact I was oversensitive to his critiques. I didn’t need to be this self-justifying but the feminine side of me wanted a pause from the confident nature.

I went home and stayed there for about two months and half, the longest visit in ten years. It was not meant to be a visit. The intention for it was an open-ended return. I have not met any from Hussein’s shortlist, but I met others who were introduced by my dear friend, Mai. Even after initial declination from my side based on brief online communication, they pursued the arrangement of in person meetings successfully. Overall and after about eleven years from living abroad, I felt some sort of a gap or a huge cultural difference between me and most Egyptian men — at least the ones I met, both online and in person. This has nothing to do with traditions or accepted morals — I would think I’m even more conservative than an average Egyptian these days. I don’t know how to describe that gap which made me more keen again on British men. That said, most won’t be compatible for another sort of cultural differences and more importantly religious beliefs! This is just one level of complexity. It adds to it that I’m not easily attracted to ordinary people. Nonetheless, it seemed right to keep trying until I find a unique man, who is a gap-less Egyptian.

The initial enthusiasm, excitement and hope to meet that Egyptian man who is perfectly compatible and icing on the cake or maybe the cake itself being Muslim had disappeared into oblivion. By that time, I had already missed my English lifestyle and decided to get back to researching, right to say for reasons that aren’t related to my disappointment in meeting the mismatches. Being home always feels warm, yet I couldn’t stay longer than I did. This was not because I became too independent to stay with my family. Identify shift had played little role there. Yes I had become independent, but that didn’t change a tiny bit of what I call ‘the home effect’.

Growing up, I always relied on my family. I never had to think for myself or carry any responsibility, maybe because I didn’t need to. All I did was playing sports in the summer (basketball, karate, and swimming one at a time) and doing well during school terms. I used to be my family’s little girl- perhaps I still am. Apart from University, the farthest (and the only) place to which I could go was the sports club, less than seven minutes walk from home. I almost never been anywhere else alone.. I never found that controlling or overprotective. In fact, I asked for it and loved it. The home effect is that up until now whenever I’m home I need to be dependent on my family; I don’t drive in Cairo, can’t take a taxi alone and don’t manage to go places by myself. I was very traditional from a very young age, way more traditional than my own mum. I admired her love for work and devotion for family, but I imagined myself a housewife looking after my children and establishing a team of basketball players with whom I have the most fun until my husband returns home from work.. That changed eventually and I became more open to the idea of working after graduation.

It was my first exposure to anything other than the little world I used to live in. I went to America for the sake of science, but I found the experience to be empowering at many levels. I was introduced to the then new concepts of responsibility and independence. Some aspects about me had changed and others remained untouched. I lived alone in New Haven (the home of Yale) in a rather large apartment near campus after leaving the house of Bill and Paulette. It felt nice to be single and to have the opportunity to look after myself. I became more bold and daring and wanted to explore more places. I traveled to fifteen countries including Australia and traveled within those countries by myself. I witnessed the effect of the seven benefits as the years passed, especially in becoming more tolerant and less conventional. What might sound the norm now was absolutely a big deal back then. That transition enhanced my confidence and sense of responsibility. It also made me value and esteem my alone-time, a notion that I didn’t previously know to exist.. To cut to the chase, I returned back to the UK to start working as a postdoc.

Osama, my Egyptian friend at Imperial College London, sending me a link on Facebook to an Egyptian man who is tall, rich, and with a PhD. According to him, he has got everything a girl could ask for! I saw the man’s photo and I said thanks, but no. I wasn’t initially attracted to his looks. Looks are irrelevant, Osama emphasised. If you keep seeing someone repeatedly for a number of times, you don’t feel the looks anymore. He said it in such a scientific way so much so I almost thought he was right. As an engineer who recently submitted his Master’s thesis in optics, he must be right. I agreed to speaking to the man after some forth and back with Osama who insisted that I give it a chance. They don’t know.. “every chance you give yourself to become another changes you.. you give little to what remains of you with no chance to retain what’s taken”, I found myself writing on my timeline, a rare change to my silent status. I didn’t want to change and I didn’t speak to that man in the end.

The lack of success from volunteering and appointed matchmakers, made me want to take their role in searching for my significant other. After all, I know what I want only can’t find it. Also, my incompatibility with most Western men, especially in their expectations with regard to living together and similar before marriage, made me more inclined (again) to date an Egyptian man with a vision of marrying him if all goes well. I am not short of offers. Never been. I had to keep that in mind to make the task less discomforting. Why would I limit my right to accepting or declining proposals when I could also pick and choose?!

From these brief and profound experiences, mentioned and unmentioned, I came to realise that I’m not just falling between the two worlds; Western and Egyptian worlds of men. It turned out to be three at its minimum account. I had thought that being extra virgin was an attractive quality to my people, but that wasn’t necessarily the case. Apparently, I am too bold yet too conservative even for some Egyptian men whom I found slightly attractive on the whole or very attractive on a few aspects.

It’s either things have changed in this day and age for some in the society, or maybe my boldness invited those some to be equally bold and wrong. It doesn’t interest me to know the reason as I have the best of intentions. I was only bold and plain in showing my marital thoughts to avoid confusion about intentions, in this day and age, however, confusions and misconceptions arise regardless. What interests me though is how people think differently within a rigid society, what caused the changes, and why the standards became no standards anymore. An idea of making a documentary or a short film about that came to mind.. My Egyptian friends at Imperial College laughingly agreed to participate.. on one condition, their faces (and voices) would be masked in a ‘behind the bars’ programme-like fashion. We laughed about it and never proceeded.

No more missions for searching in the right world. If any mistake, is thinking of two worlds when there could be more and where there are aspirations. Men are different within the same culture and all I want is one. Let my mind and heart open for the right person who could be the guy next door or thousand miles away, and until he isn’t being I will have as many beautiful worlds to imagine as could be.