If Alexandria were a boy or a girl…

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the rooftop bar

When I just started blogging, I would go to places and try to envision them as human beings, the more details, the better. Sometimes, these people were totally imaginary, sometimes they were real. But then again, how do we know what’s more real, the dreams or the reality?

So, if Alexandria was a guy, his name would be Alex or Iskander, the Arabic version of Alexander.  He would be over 30 , at his prime age. Fit and relaxed at the same time. I would meet him in a private golf club on the shore, into which I managed to sneak in after flirting with a guard. I would go up to the rooftop bar and order a cappuccino and sit savouring each sip, looking towards the sea, saying grace for being, where I am.

Then he would come in, no, first it would be his laughter, bursting into the room, as he gets out of the elevator with his mates. He laughs infectiously. I would start to smile, even before seeing him.

He would come in and fill the room, quietly, on contrary to his loud laughter. He would wear a light blue polo shirt and simple jeans. Expensive, but simple. Highlighting his self-confidence. He would switch between Italian and Egyptian easily. His skin would be lighter than most people’s in this town and freckled. His beard and hair with touch of ginger, hiding a single dimple on his right cheek. And those piercing hazel eyes. I gasp, my heart dropping, hoping and fearing at the same time that he would look at me….

And if Alexandria was a girl, her name would be Alexandria or Nariyaah. It doesn’t really matter. She would be olive-skinned with almond shaped dark shining eyes. So deep, that you drown in them. Her eyelashes would fall graciously and slowly shadow her face, giving her extra melancholic mysterious look.   A piercing on her left nostril. A headscarf of some vivid colour. Worn each time with  in a new way. She invented plenty of new ways. That’s her way.

I would bump into her in a book-store. Diwan bookstore by the Alexandrian library, she would be looking at the colouring books for adults, as I bent down to take a book by Anais Nin. I would first see her sneakers- bright red, then her white and black loosely striped pants, a long charcoal jacket on a white blouse. A chic handmade necklace hanging of her neckline with pharaonic elements. White headscarf with delicate silver beads on it, tied on the side.

Her eyes perfectly outlined with an eyeliner, like Cleopatra’s, she is one of these unicorns, that are always perfectly made up, I smile internally. Then she sits on the sofa, makes notes. She writes poetry and she wants to travel the world. She loves the sea, but feels that this town is too small for her. She wants to see the elephants in India and study Hebrew. She wants to write her poems about people, she will meet on her journey. She wants to fall in love viciously with someone very different from her.  She smiles dreamingly, biting her lower lip. So  beautiful, when caught off guard. I sit and try to memorise each gesture and each detail, knowing I will want to write about her one day too.

It was a pleasure seeing, you,  Alexandria.

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