Take This Pink Ribbon Off My Eyes

Last night, while I was having dinner with my family in Porto Marina, was the perfect setting to have a random memory that has been pushed so far back in my mind climb its way back to the front of my brain (or whichever part of the brain the memory is located). The breeze carried the sound of a bad cover of No Doubt's Don't Speak to our table by the sea. My little sister, Sema Zaghloul, didn't recognize the slowed down version of the song and I couldn't blame her—while I was rocking out to Gwen Stefani singing about her ex-boyfriend as he kept the tune on his bass guitar, my sister's two-year-old ears couldn't possibly have memorized the melody.

Did I say I was rocking out to this song? I was lying. Actually, I wasn't lying; I'd just forgotten. The truth is that I was sitting on my dresser with Tragic Kingdom (one of my first CDs ever) in my first CD player that I had bought with my own money, with the pamphlet out so that I could read the lyrics while the song played. Also, I was crying. This is an embarrassing story to tell, like the anecdotes my mom loves to entertain my friends with about how I would bang my head on the floor if I didn't get my way or how I fell into the Charles River when I was six and had to borrow dry clothes from a boy until I got home. This is one of those stories, only no one knows it but me and right before I heard the lyric "you and me/we used to be together/every day together", even I didn't remember it.

Growing up, I loved my older sister more than life itself. (Menna Zaghloul, how long before your narcissistic tendencies compel you to Google yourself and find this?) My sister's favorite color was purple, so my favorite color was purple. My sister preferred Veronica over Betty, so I preferred Veronica over Betty. (Deep, deep down in my heart I always knew Betty was the right girl for Archie, but I never dared say that out loud.) Our relationship was not at all different than most siblings: we were the best of friends at the start of any Monopoly game, but I never hesitated to yank a fistful of hair when I'd catch her cheating or for any other everyday annoyance.

Like I said, I loved my sister more than life itself. I would yank her hair, scream out the worst profanities I know ("I will never EVER play with you ever again and you are no longer allowed to wear my sparkly headband!"), and throw as much of her clothes as I possibly could on the floor. Two minutes later, I'd be in my room sobbing because I didn't know how we would ever be able to make up.

I have always been one to appreciate the written word in any form. And from a young age I learnt that music always makes the process of scrunching up your face, letting out God-awful sounds, and feeling a salty liquid slide down your face a little more tolerable. So really it wasn't serendipity, but habit, that made me hear the lyrics to Don't Speak while taking frantic breaths in between one of the many aforementioned sobbing sessions. Nevertheless, it felt so good to hear Gwen's heartbroken voice say "I really feel/that I'm losing my best friend/I can't believe/ this could be the end".

My sisters and I have an amazingly strong bond, so it's hard to imagine ever having had to resort to violence and throwing precious dresses and shirts on the floor. Wikipedia tells me that the song came out in 1996, which is right after Menna and I endured a lonesome year of separation while I was in Massachusetts and she was in Egypt. We always attribute the torment we underwent that year as the reason for the formation of our unbreakable bond. But just like the authors of Freakonomics have taught me (and they have taught me so much!), upon closer inspection it seems that the year we spent apart couldn't have been the sole reason. That year was followed by many a-distraught days with my CD player and my No Doubt album. I guess it will just have to remain a mystery how my sisters and I transformed our regular love-hate relationship to become the best of friends. (What a lovely way to end, on such a corny note.)