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Al-Ahram Weekly 22 - 28 July 1999 Issue No. 439 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 22 - 28 July 1999 Issue No. 439
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Culture Profile Features Focus Interview Travel Living Sports Time Out Chronicles People Cartoons Letters Perversely yours
By Fayza Hassan
An old friend of mine taught me long ago all the reasons why I should consider myself happy, why I should enjoy every waking moment. All I have to do is listen to her incessant complaints. Her own glass is chronically half empty. She has more problems than she can handle. The world is a mess, she gripes: why doesn't someone do something to put it right? As a reaction, I automatically count my blessings. One could be surprised by her morose disposition, as she often has many reasons to celebrate. Nevertheless, I cannot remember her ever responding to a greeting or an inquiry after her health with a simple positive statement, or informing a casual visitor that she is actually fine. She usually purses her lips and, after an instant of reflection, wonders aloud if no one has noticed how hot/cold the weather has been lately, or how ineptly things in general are being run. Accustomed to her discontent, I have always assumed that, by sheer luck, my own grass was always greener.
In the course of our long relationship, I have known her to have many enemies: shopkeepers, craftsmen and servants top the list of those who excite her deepest wrath. She believes that they are all out to get her, each in his/her own mysterious way. She has to defend herself simply in order to survive, she tells all and sundry, and, having uttered this sentence, believes that she is thus entirely justified in exhibiting a generally aggressive attitude toward those she perceives as unable or unwilling to stand up to her. Second in the firing line of constant disapproval are her own children; she does not think that she should ever spare them the bitter truth regarding their poor aspect and/or performance.
Priding herself on a total lack of hypocrisy, she is always prompt to let them know that they look like death warmed over, dress in clothes that a self-respecting maid would have long discarded, or, more to the point, are a constant thorn in her side with their various problems, mundane as they may be. She insists on informing them that their best friends are cheap frauds and their life companions a cut below anyone she has ever met. Of course, she never puts it exactly that way. Her criticism is robed in apparent concern. Typically, she inquires about one's (poor?) quality of sleep, or asks whether one's entire wardrobe was late coming from the dry cleaner. She asks with apparent interest if one's hairdresser has gone on holiday or if one just had a fight, the outcome of which was decidedly unfavourable. Firm denials only bring an enigmatic smile to her lips, through which, to my knowledge, no words of heart-felt praise have ever passed.
She is in the habit of making lists of all the slights she ever suffered, from the day of her birth on. She remembers every spanking she received at the hand of her mother, every (unfair) deprivation she has suffered, every punishment meted out at school. Invariably, she plays the part of the helpless victim, who never suspected that there could be so much evil in the world, entirely directed against her.
Normal happy events are special occasions for a particularly vicious bout of bad temper. Presents she receives are never up to her expectations, and are analysed succinctly to reveal the donor's true (hostile) intent. Outings organised especially to please her invariably end up in bitter disappointment. Food that she has not cooked herself always has a funny taste, and tableware is never polished well enough to pass her inspection. People she meets are generally affected with halitosis, obesity, bad manners, unpleasant speech impediments, or a below-average fluency in foreign languages. Furthermore, they are bores, an unforgivable shortcoming which permits her to ignore them completely.
Strangely enough, she is firmly convinced that all her acquaintances and relations, whose lives are on such a rocky course, are simply meeting their comeuppance; but she never applies this brand of logic to her own case. Whenever she hears of someone's bit of misfortune, she asserts forcefully that s/he must have done something to deserve it. Others' misdemeanours are always capital; hers, on the other hand, are endearing traits of character. She is genuinely surprised when told that she has hurt someone's feelings. She is emphatic in stating that her heart is pure and that she is solely moved by an overwhelming desire to help her nearest and dearest improve their appearance, nature, or quality of life. "People don't like to hear the truth," she says sadly.
Oddly enough, over the years she has succeeded in drawing the best out of me. I have striven, against all odds, to please her. In a world where mediocrity reigns supreme, her vigilant eye is a constant reminder that, even now, there are summits waiting to be conquered, and that I have to get on with it. I still harbour the illusion that, one day, I might for a brief moment deserve her approval. All my life, she has been a true best friend, one I could rely on to tell me the naked truth. I don't think I would have wanted her any other way.
