If you’ve ever been caught between two worlds—like a bilingual GPS recalculating your route between tradition and modernity—then you’ll get why I chose this path. Life rarely hands you a neat map, after all. But it does have a funny way of dropping you in situations where you have no choice but to figure it out. And somehow, navigating those crossroads brought me here: to the intersection of identity, relationships, and storytelling. Let’s start at the beginning, in a place where sand meets sea and stories always start over tea.

A Tale of Two Worlds

I was born in Alexandria, a city shimmering with faded nostalgia, where love stories unfolded between lines of poetry and plates of koshari. For Egyptians, relationships aren’t just about two people—they’re a family project. Picture this: you meet someone, but so does your mother, your cousin, and your aunt who definitely has opinions on his hair. Now, contrast that with my life in Paris after age ten. In France, love had an element of laissez-faire chic. Dating was individualistic, exploratory, and just a little intimidating. Nobody seemed to ask for a committee vote on who you kissed.

Growing up bicultural taught me that relationships are as much about who you are as they are about who you’re with. From cheeky flirtations to fumbling over cultural expectations, there’s a constant dance between who you’re supposed to be and who you’re becoming. That tension ignited my fascination with why we connect the way we do—and why it doesn’t always go according to plan.

Falling Into Relationships—and Writing

Like many good stories, my career path wasn’t linear. I studied International Relations at Sciences Po, mostly because I wanted to fix the world and, frankly, didn’t have a better plan. Eventually, I found myself working at an NGO advocating for women’s rights across the Middle East. It was rewarding, but something was missing. I felt a pull toward the microcosm rather than the macro lens—toward the stories of individuals navigating relationships, culture, and belonging.

During my downtime, I started writing short stories. They were snippets of experiences I lived or observed: diaspora kids sulking at meet-the-family dinners, young couples whispering half-truths in borrowed dialects, and the messy ways love languages can get lost in translation. What began as a creative outlet became my north star. Writing, I realized, was how I made sense of the human experience—and how I could amplify it.

Lessons from Cross-Cultural Love

Here’s the thing about growing up bicultural: You get a front-row seat to how hilariously different (and stubborn) people can be about the same things. Take dating advice, for instance. Egyptian aunties swear by “a man who calls his mother” as the gold standard for reliability. Meanwhile, French culture? My Parisian friends would swoon at l’air de détachement—the air of disinterest that somehow signals devotion. Are you starting to see the contradiction? Both systems seem to work… until life puts you in the gray.

My own relationships often felt like experimental theater. One minute, I was drawing from an Egyptian playbook of “Don’t call first; it’ll seem desperate.” The next, I was negotiating new rules in London, where casual texts like “You out?” (sans punctuation, for the love of all that’s holy) were supposed to suffice. Through trial, error, and yes, some spectacularly bad first dates, I learned a critical truth: Authenticity beats strategy, every time. Sure, you can pick up tips from the culture around you, but the only surefire matchmaker? Knowing yourself.

Why This Work Matters

Helping people understand how to navigate relationships is deeply personal to me. I’ve been the person second-guessing herself because her values didn’t align with the majority. I’ve been the one wistfully observing couples who seemed to glide through love while I tripped through it like I was wearing a blindfold and a pair of too-tight stilettos. Those moments taught me that relationships aren’t just about attraction or compatibility—they’re mirror reflections of who we are. And spoiler alert: that mirror can get messy.

Our connections are shaped by so many factors: where we’re from, how we’re raised, what we dream of. Writing about relationships—whether it’s a playful article on flirting or a deep dive into emotional vulnerability—is my way of handing readers a compass. People deserve space to unlearn narratives that bind them, embrace the quirks that make them wonderfully complicated, and show up as their most authentic selves.

The (Kinda Cheesy But True) Takeaway

Relationships, like the best cheese boards, exist in balance. A little salty, a little sweet, full of unexpected pairings. And sometimes, yes, they can be a bit much if not approached thoughtfully (or with ample wine). But here’s the real deal: No matter your cultural baggage or personal quirks, you’re capable of creating connections that matter. Humor and humanity go a long way.

So why did I choose this path? I think it chose me, in many ways. My upbringing, my blunders, my love for a good story—they all pointed here. To exploring the unspoken anxieties, the cheeky joys, and the universal truths of love and belonging. If just one reader walks away feeling less alone—or laughing at the absurdity of it all—I’ll call it a win.

In the meantime, enjoy the ride. Whether you’re navigating a first date, stumbling through cultural mismatches, or figuring out how to love yourself better, remember: You’ve already got what it takes. And if all else fails? Call your auntie—she’ll totally have a (long-winded but lovingly offered) opinion.