الشاب ده اسمه وليد.
عمل تجربة قا.سية بس شريفة، عشان يشوف الشارع من زاوية المتحر.ش في مص.ر… ومن زاوية الست كمان. وهنا بخص المتحر.ش فقط...
��ول تجربة نزل بشعر وميكب ولبس واسع. النتيجة؟ اتحر.شوا بيه.
تاني تجربة لبس حجاب ولبس طويل وفضفاض، ومحطش أي حاجة في وشه. يعني لو المتحر.ش ركّز شوية ممكن يلاحظ منبت الدقن، بس المتحر.ش المص.ري “الأصيل” مش بيدوّر على تفاصيل… كل اللي فارق معاه إن الجث.ة دي مكتوب في البطاقة “بنت”، وياريت كمان متأكد.
وليد بيحكي ويقول:
عربيات وقفتلي، عربيات فضلت تتابعني أكتر من ربع ساعة، محاولات بكل الأساليب إني أركب.
رجالة تمشي ج.نبي عاملة نفسها بتكلم في الموبايل، ويقول: “هديكي في تلت ليا.لي ٣٠٠٠ جنيه”.
وده كله اسمه تحر.ش لفظي… اللي بعض الناس لسه مش قادرة تفهمه، أو مش عايزة تفهمه. وم�� عايزه تشغل الجزامه
التجربة التالتة بقى كانت المستوى الأعلى من الفجو.ر:
التحر.ش الجس.دي الصريح.
رد فعل وليد كان صادم وبسيط في نفس الوقت:
“أنا خو.فت… أنا راجل وخو.فت”.
أنا كراجل نازل مشوار، عمره ما حطيت في دماغي إي حاجه من دي ولا في حساباتي اي فعل زي دا .. بوصل مشواري وخلاص
لكن لما شفت الدنيا من زاوية الست، فهمت
الست بتمشي خا.يفة.
لابسة ولا قا.لعة عيونها في وسط راسها.
حاسّة إن جس.مها مش ملكها.
ممكن أي حد يلم.سها فجأة.
ممكن حد يتبعها، يضا.يقها، يجرّب حظه.
وألفاظ بذ.يئة وإيحا.ءات صعب تتخيّل إن ست من لح.مك ودمك تسمعها.
فلو إنت بتدافع عن التحر.ش، أو بتقلّل منه، أو بت��ول “ما هو لبسها”…
إنت كده بتقول برافو لكل واحد ممكن ينته.ك عر��ك.
بتقوله كمّل.
الموضوع مفيهوش نقاش، ومش راجل ضد ستات.
دي قضيتك إنت… كراجل حقيقي.
تحافظ على عرضك، وتحافظ على غيرك.
لأن التحر.ش مش صفة رجولة…
ولا عمره كان.
منقول
Rest in peace, Patricia Routledge 🙏🏻
In memory of her, I encourage everyone to read these words of hers from February last year.
Whether young or old, you're bound to get something out of it.
*****
"I’ll be turning 95 this coming Monday. In my younger years, I was often filled with worry — worry that I wasn’t quite good enough, that no one would cast me again, that I wouldn’t live up to my mother’s hopes. But these days begin in peace, and end in gratitude.
My life didn’t quite take shape until my forties. I had worked steadily — on provincial stages, in radio plays, in West End productions — but I often felt adrift, as though I was searching for a home within myself that I hadn’t quite found.
At 50, I accepted a television role that many would later associate me with — Hyacinth Bucket, of Keeping Up Appearances. I thought it would be a small part in a little series. I never imagined that it would take me into people’s living rooms and hearts around the world. And truthfully, that role taught me to accept my own quirks. It healed something in me.
At 60, I began learning Italian — not for work, but so I could sing opera in its native language. I also learned how to live alone without feeling lonely. I read poetry aloud each evening, not to perfect my diction, but to quiet my soul.
At 70, I returned to the Shakespearean stage — something I once believed I had aged out of. But this time, I had nothing to prove. I stood on those boards with stillness, and audiences felt that. I was no longer performing. I was simply being.
At 80, I took up watercolour painting. I painted flowers from my garden, old hats from my youth, and faces I remembered from the London Underground. Each painting was a quiet memory made visible.
Now, at 95, I write letters by hand. I’m learning to bake rye bread. I still breathe deeply every morning. I still adore laughter — though I no longer try to make anyone laugh. I love the quiet more than ever.
I’m writing this to tell you something simple:
Growing older is not the closing act. It can be the most exquisite chapter — if you let yourself bloom again.
Let these years ahead be your TREASURE YEARS.
You don’t need to be famous. You don’t need to be flawless.
You only need to show up — fully — for the life that is still yours.
With love and gentleness,
Patricia Routledge
*****
Once more, rest in peace. 🤍
We are taught:
- turn the other cheek
- forgiveness is a virtue
- be kind.
BUT millions of people are dangerous narcissists/psychopaths who don’t believe in these values.
Being kind & forgiving with everyone will likely get you unnecessarily, seriously harmed.
Be discerning.
What is often named as “too much“ is a person whose lived their whole life in survival mode. No room for mistakes because no one was there to catch them. People who are “too much“ soften when they know they’re safe. They know they’re safe, when they’re accepted for how they are.
There is a shift in the world, I feel it. Something is happening, the bad are getting worse and the good are shinning more. Something will change soon but it will not be easy or pretty.
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