Tag Archives: psychology

Bride’s Sisters Need Attention Too

Far right is getting married. She’s a few years older now.

I saw my (triplet) sister in a wedding dress for the first time about 30 minutes ago, via the pictures my mother sent of the shopping trip my she and my sisters embarked on without me.  I realize I’m in Egypt, but would it be too hard for them to wait an unreasonably long time so I could give them advice to ignore when I came home for Christmas? Is that really too much to ask? According to my mother, it is. And so I’m left living the experience in 2-D, alone in my room in Cairo, looking at the beads and white fabric and wondering what the what is going on.

Seeing my sister in a wedding dress was surprisingly weird and emotional even if I wasn’t present in the flesh.  And thus the news of  “my sister’s getting married” continues its slow journey from theory to reality.

She really is going to get married. There will be a color-schemed wedding with lots of friends and non-friends and food and drink. Her last name is going to change. Eventually she’ll go off and live with her husband and there will be a life together in a place no one knows (hopefully not Oklahoma), and I’m going to be moving in with them after I get back from Egypt (probably not true). Her life will be permanently altered in a way that I won’t be able to understand until I myself am married, and there’s always going to be that weird guy hanging around at our house or at her bungalow, apartment, or shack.

All I can say is that if this wedding dress picture experience is any indication for the future, I’m going to be a complete wreck at the wedding and will alternately be using her dress to dry my tears or begging her to explain what happened over the past 21 ish years that brought us to this point. Weren’t we going to be kids forever? Can I please move in to the apartment next to them/spare bedroom to be a part of their married life? Are honeymoons really just for the couples or can sisters come too? How big of a deal is this? Can I handle it? Can she handle it? Can the caterers handle it?

She probably doesn’t realize this, but her wedding is a big life change for all of us, especially her. I wish I could be there as she picks colors and doilies, but I suppose the random blog post is going to have to do instead. And yes, she’s probably mad about me blogging on this topic. But luckily she rarely reads my blog, so maybe she won’t find out about it. Let’s just keep it a secret between you and me, okay? I’ll let you know how the wedding goes. I’m co-piloting, by the way, so it will be in safe but emotionally unstable hands.

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Six Stages of Packing


It is finished. I have moved and am now in a magical place called Mohandiseen, where the honking in the distance almost sounds like crickets, the sky has 3 more stars, and cotton candy grows on trees.

I don’t care if I have to eat beans and toothpaste for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and tea time snack in order to live here. It will be worth it to have this haven where I can literally cocoon myself away from the craziness of Tahrir, in order to appreciate it more fully.

While packing, I gleaned some impressive information on the emotional phases of the moving process. Allow me to elaborate.

Time to Go

The day has come. It’s time to move out of your apartment, the apartment where you have lived. You saw this day coming because you signed the lease and chose this day yourself. Still, it strikes you like a thunderbolt. You squirm in your shoes, you pace up and down nervously as your palms sweat and your eyes swim, but you can’t avoid what’s coming. It’s time to pack. As you begin the laborious process, you start progressing through the six stages.

Stage 1: Despondency

As you survey the grotesque bulk of your possessions, your heart is stricken with an iced lightening rod. Hercules himself would have trembled at the sight of what must be squirreled away…unworn clothing, laughably ambitious shoes, three partially used deodorant sticks, two cans of tuna, etc. You experience earth shattering, heart breaking, soul sucking hopelessness. “Might as well give up now,” you think, as you check to see what’s on television.

Stage 2: Elbow Grease

After weeping briefly, you pull yourself together and realize that today is the first day of the rest of your life, and that if you don’t pack your landlord will confiscate you and your possessions. You start puttering around the room, rearranging and evaluating things, and all the while hope slowly wells within your chest. “Maybe this can be done,” you think, “and where did those cans of tuna go?”

Stage 3: Sweat

You’re really moving now. The hot Cairo sun is beating down upon all the Cairene earth. In the AC-less room, your temples and back grow damp as the pile of material possessions is slowly organized and moved into seal-able spaces. You are happy in your delusion that things are actually going to get done. “I’ll even be able to fit in my cans of tuna,” you contentedly state to yourself.

Stage 4: Despair

Your bags are filling fast and you there is no end in sight. Your forehead is sweaty and you feel like crap for some reason, even though you got three hours of sleep and have only eaten chocolate. Emotions run high as you recall past loves and wonder where they are now. Are they packing too? Do they know what this is like? As you look at the miserable pile of crap your life has become, a mere anchor to a place you are no longer attached to, you begin to wonder what the meaning of it all is.

Stage 5: Rejuvenation

After looking at a tree, you realize things aren’t so bad. You decide to throw away the yards of velvet you wanted to make into a magician’s cape for your niece, and that makes you feel better. Now there’s just the odd shaped things like packing tape left, most of which can be thrown into your backpack. “Wait a second, ” you think to yourself, “WHERE ARE MY CANS OF TUNA?” You lay your eye upon them and a chorus of heavenly angels sings as you nestle them into the perfect spot in your suitcase. The end is in sight and it looks like a celebration at Pizza Hut.

Stage 6: Jubilation

After cramming the last pair of socks through the crack of your suitcase and zipping it shut before it could escape, you glance around your room and realize you have done the impossible. You have packed your life into measurable square feet, and you have done so with only a mild breakdown. Come hell or high water, one thing is for certain. As soon as you get to your new apartment, you’re unpacking everything and cracking open a can of tuna in celebration. Champagne is for squares and people who don’t eat enough protein.

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