The Non-Negotiables of My Life
We all have those things: the sacred, irreplaceable comforts and rituals we cling to when life feels a little too much (read: always). For me, these essentials are equal parts practical and sentimental, a blend of the Egyptian nostalgia of my childhood and the Parisian influences of my teens. They form the strange, beautiful mosaic of my existence, adding a splash of color even to the grayest London days. Like the contours of any good relationship, they remind me who I am and what’s worthy of my attention.
Think of this as my version of a love letter: not to a person, but to the things keeping me sane and grounded.
1. My Grandmother’s Oud Oil
Let’s start with scent—the invisible string that ties memory to the present. My Egyptian grandmother tucked tiny vials of oud oil into her purse the way some people stash emergency breath mints. When I was a child, she'd catch me before I ran into the streets of Alexandria to play and dab a bit on my wrists.
Now, living thousands of miles away, I keep a bottle on my nightstand to conjure the calming, earthy luxury of my roots. The smoky, aromatic undertones feel like wearing armor—subtle but powerful. Oud oil probably wouldn’t make an appearance on a list titled “Dating Essentials,” but trust me: a well-placed, unique scent does more for your presence than any perfectly curated outfit ever will. Want to leave a lasting impression on date night? Outshine the sea of citrus and vanilla with something deeply specific and unapologetic.
2. A Turkish Coffee Set—With All the Drama
If coffee is just a means of survival for some, for me, it’s theatre. Turkish coffee is an unapologetically slow ritual—no shoving a pod into a machine at 8 a.m. and running out the door. It demands patience, attention, and a small brass cezve (the traditional pot).
I first learned to make it during my year in Istanbul and brought the habit home to London, complete with the tiny porcelain cups decorated in swirling, floral patterns. What I love most is its ability to draw people in. "Let me make you Turkish coffee," I’ll offer friends (or, okay, dates). And before we know it, we’re sitting on a rug, sifting through fortunes written in the coffee grounds at the bottom of our cups.
Pro tip: Sharing rituals over food or drink—from Turkish coffee to matcha tea—creates a window into intimacy. It's a little messy, a little playful, and a lot more real than awkward first-date small talk.
3. My “Sad Girl” Playlist
There’s something about heartbreak that’ll make you believe Sade is speaking directly to your soul. Everyone’s relationship journey comes with a soundtrack, and mine, I’m convinced, was tailor-made by Umm Kulthum, Sade, and Édith Piaf sharing secrets over red wine.
When I’m powering through a bad day, a breakup, or even the small pangs of self-doubt that haunt us all, I play Umm Kulthum’s “Alf Leila Wa Leila” for its sweeping romance or Piaf’s “Hymne à L'Amour” for its vow of unshakable love. Being bicultural means my taste in music mirrors the kaleidoscope of my identity. These songs remind me to embrace my own complexity: to be soft, unapologetically dramatic, and fiercely honest in how I love—even when it feels terrifying.
Here’s your challenge: Build your own "sad girl/boy/insert-your-status-here" playlist. Romance deserves its own anthem, whether it's bursting with hope or aching with vulnerability.
4. My Mom’s “Everything” Salad
Food isn't just sustenance; it's connection. Case in point: my mom’s legendary "everything" salad—an ever-changing medley of seasonal greens, pomegranate seeds, walnuts, and whatever else she whimsically added that week, always drizzled with her lemony tahini dressing.
Growing up between two cultures, dinnertime was where everything converged: Parisian baguettes sat alongside Egyptian koshari, and mint tea followed up the crème brûlée my mom mastered after moving to France. Preparing that salad in my London flat is my way of stitching Alexandria, Paris, and wherever I land next into the fabric of daily life.
If you’re not already weaving food into your love life, you’re missing out. Cooking something—even if it’s just salad—together shifts the dynamic. It’s co-creation, a small act of vulnerability: “Here’s what I grew up on. What about you?” Ask that question the next time you’re navigating new intimacy. The answers might tell you more than words ever could.
5. An Oversized, Completely Unnecessary Notebook
I’ve kept notebooks since I was 11 and made my first timid try at poetry (spoiler: it was terrible). These days, my notebooks are less about untamed verse and more about releasing cluttered thoughts into the wild. Whenever I’m stuck on something—why did she say that? Should I have answered differently?—freewriting sets my soul back in order.
And because I’m a touch melodramatic, my current journal looks like something stolen out of A Thousand and One Nights: leather-bound with gold filigree. (Someone please cast it as a prop in a period drama immediately.)
Here’s what I recommend: Keep one sacred notebook purely for you. No goal-oriented to-do lists or "dream wedding" mood boards. Just crack it open when you need to let emotions run messy with no judgment. Bonus points if it gives you main character energy.
6. A Statement Red Lipstick
Red lipstick is my rebellion. Growing up in a family where modesty lay somewhere between principle and mandate, the makeup aisle was a forbidden fantasy until my late teens. I fell fast and hard for Paris’ obsession with beauty as ritual and now keep a classic scarlet shade within reach at all times.
Smudging lipstick on after a breakup feels like telling the universe, “I’m not crawling back into my shell today.” When I swipe it on ahead of a dinner date, it’s a silent declaration of self-worth: I’ll meet you where you are, but honey, you better rise.
Metaphorically speaking, everyone needs their "red lipstick"—that one thing you lean on when confidence falters. Maybe it’s a favorite leather jacket or a pair of sneakers that only get better with every scuff. Keep it close.
7. Romantic Optimism (With a Side of Realism)
You didn’t think this list was all material things, did you? Listen, my dating history isn’t glittering perfection. I’ve played emotional tug-of-war, overanalyzed unanswered texts like I was decoding hieroglyphs, and fallen for my fair share of walking red flags.
But through it all, I hold onto this: Real love takes effort, the kind of effort you learn through stumbles and self-awareness. It’s in the ritual, the learning, and the vulnerability. Like my baroque Turkish coffee set or my grandmother’s oud oil, love takes maintenance. And sometimes, a good dose of humor.
The Takeaway
The things I can’t live without are stitched into the fabric of who I am. Each one—whether it’s the oud oil that reminds me where I’m from or the red lipstick that propels me forward—has taught me more about love than any app swipe ever could.
Here’s my advice to you: Build your own list. Don’t keep the essentials locked away for special occasions. They’re meant to be used, worn, shared, and cherished. Because at the heart of all relationships, including the one with yourself, it isn’t perfection that matters—it’s the small, meaningful details that make the story yours.
Now, your turn: What’s on your list?
