Morning: When Ritual Meets Chaos
I always imagined that mornings would become calmer when I transitioned from writing about women’s rights at an NGO to full-time storytelling and features, but I was deeply wrong. My mornings are a carefully engineered mélange of culture clashes, existential musings, and caffeine dependency—equal parts Alexandria nostalgia and frantic Parisian speed.
The day begins early with a ritual I inherited from my grandmother: brewing Turkish coffee in my tiny cezve. I watch it bubble and rise three times, a process that feels steeped in meaning, even if I’m just trying to wake up. Somewhere between the smell of cardamom and the quiet hum of the stovetop, I find a rare moment of stillness. That is, until I reach for my phone—a move I know I’ll regret but do anyway.
It’s hard to resist the pull of group chats pinging with memes, dating horror stories from friends, and lingering work emails. But one never really knows how much existential dread can be packed into an inbox until you open an email that begins with “circling back.” A quick scroll through Instagram reveals colleagues posting their sunrise yoga routines and “intentional breakfast bowls.” Meanwhile, I’m debating whether I have time to eat a croissant or if I should just carry it—unwrapped, shamefully—on my way to the bakery for a second cup of coffee I clearly don’t need.
But coffee isn’t the only thing keeping me up and running these days. Every morning, I pause between my sips and physically jot down three things I’m excited about for the day. It feels a little Oprah-esque, but honestly, it works. This habit forces me to notice the small things: the joy of wearing kitten heels instead of sneakers, the excitement of emailing a friend I haven’t spoken to in years, or the sheer magic of crisp autumn air in a London park.
Midday: Work, Interrupted
By late morning, my day takes on the form of an Egyptian baladi bread: structured if you glance at it, but full of air pockets and a bit unpredictable once you poke around.
I juggle deadlines with pitches, flipping back and forth between writing something meaningful and searching “best candles for focus” for no particular reason. In moments of procrastination, you’ll find me cooking up something unreasonably complicated. I might start a stew with the kind of ambition that evokes Julia Child but end with a burnt pot that vaguely resembles a culinary breakup. Food is love. Food is chaos. Food is my second-best muse.
What keeps me grounded here is another habit I picked up when living in Paris: lunch as sacred time. It might look different each day: sometimes it’s a simple cheese baguette eaten in the park, other days it’s leftovers I’ve zhuzhed up into a misfit salad. Either way, it’s about stepping away to remind myself that life, especially in relationships—with others or even oneself—is better lived when you honor the little rituals.
And speaking of relationships: midday is often my time for replying to WhatsApp voice notes from friends scattered across the globe. Friends are the real lifelines, and some of those voice notes build the foundation for my writing—mini stories about navigating crushes, decision paralysis, and the strange, perpetual tug-of-war between the heart and the mind.
Afternoon: When Romance Meets Reality
If anyone ever tells you that being a writer is all sweeping ideas and tea-fueled musings at sunset, run. A standard afternoon for me is half trying to dissect my thoughts on belonging in my second cup of coffee, half wondering why I’m incapable of drafting an invoice correctly.
Once the coffee wears off, I retreat to the softest corner of my living space to wrestle with a draft of whatever I’m working on that week. Some days it’s an essay on long-distance relationships, pulling threads from that year I spent in Istanbul feeling like an outsider everywhere. Other times, it’s fictional love stories shamelessly set in cafés à la Nora Ephron, but with extra drama and a side order of fresh mint tea.
As much as I lean toward imagining sweeping romance and intimacy in the lives of my characters, my own afternoons are often an internal dialogue about connection. Here’s the truth: sometimes, the depth of connection with yourself and your choices in life is more romantic than anything else. The daily grind of self-reflection may not be candlelit, but it’s just as authentic. And somewhere between rewriting a scene with too much exposition and staring blankly out the window, I find small revelations about love—for others, for myself, for the winding path I walk.
Evening: Flirting With Intent
When the sun dips and London’s chill lingers in the air, I stretch my tired fingers and decide what kind of evening it’s going to be. There’s no typical answer. Some nights are for dinner with friends who manage to effortlessly pair deep conversations about crushes and capitalism with good wine. Other evenings are for solo adventures, where I try to recreate the night with my favorite person: me.
Sometimes that means dressing up for myself just to step out for a movie or diving into the familiarity of an Egyptian dish I haven’t made in ages (lentil soup, anyone?), with classic French chanson playing softly in the background. It’s in these quieter moments I realize how important it is to flirt—with life, with possibility, with yourself. Our lives, like our connections, blossom when curiosity and joy become central to how we approach them.
And then there are the nights when writing gives way to everything my 20-something, romantic heart secretly craves: those winding, unhurried late-night walks or impromptu dancing to unknown street musicians. There’s something liberating about being the main character in your own love story—even if the only witnesses are pigeons and a few kind strangers.
The Takeaway
A “day in my life” is less about a carefully curated series of events and more about the overlapping layers that make us human: rituals with roots in family traditions, fleeting moods colored by weather and coffee, and a messy but joyful appreciation for the art of connection. Life isn’t linear, and it certainly isn’t perfect.
But what I’ve realized is this: if you take the space to flirt with possibility each morning, romance yourself in the afternoons, and reflect on your unique place in the world come evening, you’re building a relationship with yourself. And that’s always the greatest love story worth writing.
