It Happens on a Thursday

For the past few months, I have been going through intense awareness cycles. I call them cycles because I experience Aha! moments, followed by a sense of euphoria or dread, then self-doubt and sometimes self-loathing (depending on the area of awareness). At the end, eventual clarity and lightness evolve out of the process. This has been happening on and on for the last six months or so. I'm not sure if these are accumulative layers of awareness, or cause-and-effect sequences where one awareness leads to another. There are times when it feels like a wall has collapsed on me, and I am climbing out from under the debris one brick at a time. With each element I uncover, I can see the light more clearly and I can breathe more calmly.

Yet, there are times when the awareness is painful, necessary but painful nonetheless. This happens with those aspects of myself from which I have been hiding so masterfully. For years I had been living in denial, holding on to false hope that I or my circumstances will change on their own. Although, deep inside I knew that change would not occur. This awareness is the hardest for me. It is followed by bouts of cleansing tears and soulful reflections, but also agony. For some reasons, these onsets always happen on a Thursday. There was no specific pattern to why Thursdays would be days of self-reckoning, yet during this avalanche of awareness my worst days fell on a Thursday, with the cloud of melancholy hanging over me through out the weekend.

This Thursday, as I was getting ready for Taraweh prayers, I started to recall all the amazing experiences I have lived so far. I remembered lost loved ones and I was thankful for the joyful memories I had of them. Then I browsed my mental catalogue of serene life moments. I cried, as I did with every other Thursday before, yet these were tears of gratitude and remembrance that lifted my spirit. My tear stained cheeks plumed as I smiled at my good fortune. At that moment I was aware that if I never experience another happy moment in the years to come, I'll still die happy, for the experiences, memories, friendships, and family I have accumulated in these past forty years are enough to sustain me for lifetimes over. My smile broadened as I realized that this tearful evening has broken the cycle of chagrin. Yet, it too happened on a Thursday.

In the Shade of Positivity

It was a quarter to nine on a Saturday morning. I was getting ready for my first workshop with university students, and as a result I was visiting my alma mater. I hadn’t been back in over fifteen years. I was excited with anticipation. I hailed my Uber. Although the application stated that the trip from Heliopolis to Maadi would take no more than 25 minutes, I buffered an additional thirty minutes, just incase. I watched the Uber arrival time counted down to 3 minutes and I went down stairs to wait for the car, too excited to wait in front of the TV. The driver arrived promptly, and I got in. 

While traversing the seemingly empty streets of Cairo, that weekend morning, I noticed that the driver was tailgating alarming close to adjacent cars. I’m always nervous while on the streets of Cairo, whether as a passenger or driver. So, when trepidation creeps in, I try to soothe my thoughts, and stomach, by convincing myself that I am being overly cautious. I did the same that day, but for some reason, I couldn’t relax. As we cruised towards Magra El Ayoun area, the car started to veer towards a bus that was to the right, as if the driver had released the steering wheel and left the vehicle to its own momentum. I raised by hands to cover my ears, scrunched my eyes shuts, and exclaimed a silent scream. Right before the moment of impact, with no more of a hair’s width separating my window and the large wheels on the bus, the driver came to his senses and abruptly swerved to avoid the collision. Ignoring every instinct in my being, I didn’t get off then and there. “What are you going to do in the middle of Magra El Ayoun? How will you find another ride? Just grin and bear and get off at Maadi Cornish, there will be plenty of taxis to take you to your destination,” were the thoughts ricocheting in my head. 

The adrenaline of the incident must have woken the driver from his haze. We crossed El Asheir bridge and I could see the Nile in the vesta, for it was a clear warm March morning. I relaxed and lost myself in thoughts of the workshop, while gazing onto the horizon. I was violently yanked out of this nirvana when the car jumped over the concrete partition that divided the Cornish into two opposite lanes. The driver zoned out once again. His lead foot drove the speedometer to 100 km/h. This time the car swerved left, as I daydreamed onto the Nile to the right. Of course, I wasn’t wearing a seat belt , so I flew into the front seat and smacked my eyeglassed face into the back of the head rest. Thankfully, the car didn’t fly over the curb to face oncoming traffic. A street lamp cushioned the landing, pushing the car back into the its original lane.  

As I came about and realized what had just happened, my hands raced to my face and I patted around for injuries. Physically, I was fine, with the exception of broken glasses and a bruised cheek. Emotionally, I was a wreck. My first instinct was to call someone, but who? I couldn’t think of a single person to call. A good Samaritan taxi driver, ever an oxymoron, gave me a lift to my final destination that was a few kilometers away. I tried to reach the workshop coordinator, who was also a very good friend, to explain what had happened and postpone the first session so I could go to the hospital, but she didn’t answer her phone. Finally, I stood in the lobby and cried, waiting for her to arrive. Between tears and a bloody nose, reason returned to me. “Are you dizzy or nauseated?” I asked myself. “No,” I responded. “Is your nose broken?” I painlessly squished the permeable cartilage around, and responded “No.” “I’m okay,” I thought. 

My friend arrived and was quite distraught to see the shape I was in. I really was never a pretty sight, coupled with puffy teary eyes, a bloody nose, and a bruised cheek, I must have looked like the bride of Frankenstein. I calmed her down and assured her that I felt fine and would like to move forward with the session as scheduled. That was the best decision I had made in a long time. 

The kids started to enter the lecture hall and my excitement returned. I apologize for my appearance and explained the situation. We agreed that I would continue, contingent that I’d excuse myself once I didn’t feel well. As I began to engage in the material and with the kids, who were an amazing group of youngsters, I couldn’t feel the throbbing pain in my right cheek. Through the sheer enthusiasm of the group seated before me, I completed the four hours as scheduled. After the workshop ended, I gladly stood on the sidewalk waiting for an Uber to take me home. I had a smile plastered on my face during the 75 minutes it took me to get back to Heliopolis. The positivity generated from the workshop permeated every molecule in my body. It pushed away all residual anger or resentment from the accident. 

I have been exploring Positive Thinking for the past five months, since I was introduced to the concept during a Life Coaching class. I read as much as I could find on the topic, but I was skeptical. I often wondered, “How could one remain Positive while living in Egypt?” I masked my negativity with positive thoughts that were not genuine, and that never worked. The Positive impact the workshop and the group of college students had on me, post car accident, was a major paradigm shift for me. When we are open to Positivity, it’ll penetrate through to the core of us. Its light will prevail in the darkness of negative thoughts or negative situations. Pseudo-Positive thoughts, that usually manifest themselves as justifications and the other person's point of view, are not enough. Positive energy must come from an authentic place within the person, driven by a true desire to see and embrace the positive despite the negative. And accordingly, my lifelong journey to pursue happiness will traverse in the shade of pursuing positivity.

Life

I desire it. I've been good.
A sacrificed
Reality isn't at peace
I deserve nothing. I want it all.
The impossible. The insane.
No compromise insight
A compromise enticed
Rejected

A never ending need
An everlasting desire
unknown, undeserved
A continuous spiral
A glimpse
What's yet to come.
It never comes.

I need. I want. I covet.
Starts with I, ends with me
So is life, the sacrifice
A selfless existence without a self
Starts with I, ends with me

A breath of air. A breath of life
An expulsion of air, to my demise
Starts with cry, ends with sigh
A journey of discovery 

Start with I, ends with me

The Purge

For the past few years, I have been focusing on my mental well being and positivity. This doesn't mean that I don't get angry, on the contrary I get very angry. But, I don't bottle it up. I release my anger in all of its fury, and then I'm free of the negative feelings. They no longer fester insides me. Sometimes I have a good cry. Other times, I lock myself in the bathroom and word out my frustrations to my reflection in the mirror. I often journal and write through the fog. I like to go for a brisk walk and regurgitate my anger. Although my actions differ, the outcome is the same. By allowing myself to experience these negative emotions, I can let go of them. I purge them from my being and achieve peace. I move forward, leaving behind the incident and associated feelings.

I admit it would be better if I could rid myself completely of these negative thoughts, and just not have them. But it doesn't seem to be in my nature, at least not for now. I also admit that my outbursts are not always in private. Sometimes people get caught in the crossfire, for which I apologize. Even though my apologies often go unaccepted, I won't allow myself to feel guilty about my emotions. Losing the guilt was the first step to releasing myself from the hold of negativity. Before, I'd either be immersed in a victim's mentality. I'd convince myself to concede to defeat. I was hopeless to change anything. Other times I'd spend hours, maybe days, plotting my revenge, thinking about all the things I should have said or done to retaliate. I'd live the situation over and over again, re-experiencing the negativity. It eroded my self esteem and self-worth. It suffocated life out of me. 

But now, I allow myself to be angry, to defuse the negativity, and then I move on. As a result, my head is cleared and I can examine the situation and assess where I'd gone wrong and what are the triggers that had set off the explosion. Then I work on making amends. Furthermore, I won't be able to change everything in life, sometimes the only choice we have is to purge ourselves of triggers and to gravitate towards people who accept us for who we are and bring out the positive in us.

Spritz at Your Own Risk

This morning, I saw a guy in the street wearing baggy shorts and a tennis shirt. He was carrying a gym bag and a bottle of cold water. He was obviously going to his morning workout. As he approached, I was over taken by a fog of citrus and greenery. He smelled amazing. This got me thinking.

First, why would anyone wear cologne to the gym. You're definitely going to sweat. You're going to have to take a shower, and wash away all traces of your artificial scent. Maybe it was habitual. He absentmindedly reached for his cologne while checking out his coiffed reflection.

Secondly, I was told a long time ago that wearing perfume, for women, was akin to adultery. I was 17. My uncle's wife approached me with hushed tones and took me aside. With our bowed heads , inches apart, she gave me this pearl of wisdom. At the time, I thought, "This is the most absurd thing I have ever heard." I was a teenager, I only spoke in absolute superlatives. Furthermore, her manner offended me, her veiled judgement hiding behind the guise of concern. Needless to say, I haven't stopped wearing perfume because I want to smell nice. I enjoy going to the cosmetic section, sniffing floral and spicy aromas until I find something that captivates me. I wear perfume for me and not to attract men. But this is besides the point. When this guy passed me, his scent was tantalizing. I looked up and noticed his aviators and Tissot watch. I saw the pack of cigarettes he clutched in his right hand. The very same hand that rested on the gym bag hanging from his shoulder. 

As Egyptian females, we are told that wearing perfume is haram, forbidden, because it is seductive to men. We are told that wearing perfume is no better than sinning. Yet, men are instructed to liberally spritz themselves because it is Suna. My predicament is the fact that scent is seductive to both genders, and for some animals as well. So, why have perfume wearing women been labeled sinners, excluding men from this classification. Furthermore, why do we accept these arbitrary statements. Several people have reiterated the fact that it is haram to wear perfume, to a point that some women refused to use scented soap, yet no one bothers to quote Koran verses or Nabawy saying to support this claim. People simply regurgitate something they were told, something they chose to accept as a fact without questioning the validity of this ruling, and then they decided to broadcast these beliefs onto others in the name of guiding the less righteous to the path of enlightenment. 

Yes, these are the sort of debates we need to have about Islam, whether wearing perfume is haram, or showing one's foot and ankle isn't proper Hejjab, and the proper placement of feet during prayer. These are the important issues. It's not like there's  a group of terrorist killing innocent civilians and committing atrocities in the name of our beautiful religion.

The High Rope of Life

Life is a tight rope balancing act. We walk along the borders of dichotomies, balancing wealth with poverty, vanity with humility, knowledge with ignorance. The balance keeps us sane. It keeps us real. It keeps us human. Sometimes we lose our balance and fall towards one side over the other. It happens to most of us, on occasions, but there usually are safety nets put in place by governments, society or family and other support systems. These harnesses catch us when we tether on the brink of dissolve. But some of us are without these securities, these luxuries. They never climb out of poverty, vanity, and ignorance once they have fallen.They lose their balance forever. They create a life of poverty, vanity and ignorance. Their offspring grow knowing nothing other than poverty, vanity and ignorance. They have no awareness that something different exists and a yin-yang balance between both is possible. 

It takes immense courage to climb out of the abyss and see the other possibilities. It takes immense conviction to strive for balance when you have been deprived and underprivileged for so long. Very few are courageous enough to try to be different. Very few posses the conviction to embrace both sides, to admit that there is such a thing as too rich, too vain, too ignorant. Very few are wise and modest enough to realize that one needs to experience wealth with poverty in order to appreciate what we have and empathize with those less fortunate, to be vain but humble to build our self esteem without crushing other's, to know that we are ignorant to everything in the universe in order to embrace our nobleness and fragility as human beings. 

For without balance there is no humanity.

Cairo Heat

The alarm clock echos with an urgent beep. I stretch out my arm and swat the nightstand with my hand in search for my eyeglasses. I slip them on and peep at the flashing numbers. It is 7:15, as it always is every morning. I drape my legs down the side of the bed and force my body up. I flick the remote control of the A/C over my shoulder and turn off the unit. I open the door to my bed room and step into the hallway. A wall of humidity welcomes me and assaults my sinuses.  They immediately congest. I swivel into the bathroom and shut the door. I rest my back against the wooden barrier and exhale in relief as I escape the baked atmosphere. I glance to my left. My reflection startles me. I move closer to the sink and lean in towards the mirror. My eyes are two pink ping-pong balls, seamed with crust. My nose is inflated and tender to touch. My hair sticks to my scalp, drenched in sweat. Wispy strands stand in attention at the crown. I peel off my clothes and stand under the waterfall. I wait for the moister to saturate my pores and wash away the heat. 

Selfie Sticks

Tweet Tweet

You're not alone

Tweet Tweet

Look at your phone

Tweet Tweet

Are you there?

Tweet Tweet

I don't care

Counting Leaps

Last night as I lay on the couch, trying to fall asleep, I reflected on my lack of motivation to write. I told myself that I just don't have anything to put down on paper.  As I tossed and turned, thinking about my dilemma, I reminded myself that I need to exercise my writing muscles. I need to try to write everyday, even if just journalling. Like all forms of exercise, the more I do it, the better I become at it. 

These thoughts raced through my head. I had an inkling to get up and fetch my notebook and pen, turn on the lights and write them down before they flee. But then I thought that it was too much effort to exert, while I am trying to fall asleep. I turned over onto my left side and mulled over my laziness for the next thirty minutes. It was so difficult for me to fall asleep with all these thoughts battling in my head. If only there was a way I could purge my mind before going to bed. How marvelous this would be! I marveled at my idea for another twenty minutes. I glanced at the alarm clock, it was 2:25 am. I flipped onto my back and stared at the ceiling, "I have to be up in four and a half hours. I really should try to get some sleep," I thought. I forced my eyes shut. I saw a lovely green pasture divided my a wooden fence. A round bouncy sheep approached from the left and leaped over the fence. Soon after, he was joined by another and another. I counted 1 2 3 4 as sheep after sheep leaped up and over the fence. The sheep grew in number and the right side of field accumulated with white fuzzy furry sheep. They crowded one another. They pushed and shoved. There was no space for more sheep as I counted up to 133. Now this was a problem I needed to solve. Perplexed at the vision, I counted backwards, instructing the sheep on the right to revert back to the other vacant side. But that didn't seem like much of a solution. Once all 133 sheep abode and moved over, there wouldn't be any room left for more. I needed to count more sheep, I still hadn't fallen asleep. I opened one eye and peaked at the clock. It was three am. I rolled over and thought, "Instead of having all the sheep crowd each other as they leap over the fence, why not have only one of them jump back and forth." I smiled with triumph as I thought up this clever scheme. I began to count leaps instead of sheep. Every time snooze ensued, I was jolted awake when I recalled that thirty follows twenty-nine or sixty's not after fifty-eight. I'd sleepwalk through iterations of digits, but transitioning from one decade to the next brought me back to consciousness. When I reach 86, I saw my lone sheep was exhausted from all the jumping back and fore. What had I done, to solve my problem with the congested herd, I burdened my sheep with the trouble of carrying this task on his own. How selfish was I to demand this sheep do all this work so I could fall asleep.

Then I remembered the restful nights I had when I religiously wrote every night. I'd set my journal aside, turnoff the lights, close my eyes and fall asleep within the minute. If only there was a way I could purge my mind.

Today I am 39 !

Every birthday, I take the opportunity to examine the preceding year. I look back at my accomplishments and measure how far off I am to attaining my goals. For a long time this meant updating my CV because I used to define myself only in professional terms. If I wasn't able to add something substantial to my resume, to me this meant that the previous year was a waste. Not only did I not advance, I had actually declined, because in the business sense you're already behind when you stand still. My entire focus was on my career and my development as an employee. 

A few years ago I finally realized that my job was merely a means to an end. It is important to keep my skills sharp and to advance in my career to ensure employment, although nothing is guaranteed in life. Yet, this was no longer my objective in life. I explored other facets of myself as an individual. I took a moment to be still and identify who I am as a daughter, sister, aunt, friend and human being. I discovered what it meant to be happy rather then just content. I rediscovered what it meant to live a fulfilling life. I slowed down and enjoyed life. Tiny minutia at work, that used to turn my life upside down, had no power over me, and for that I became a better employee. I still do my best at work, for my work ethics have not changed. I focus my efforts on mastering the elements within my circle of influence, while acknowledging the impact of my circle of concern and realizing that I have no control over them. I no longer spend sleepless nights mulling over macroeconomic indicators and organizational peace. Now, I sleep and wake up relaxed, with a smile on my face, thankful for the ability to wake up. I enjoy using my vacation days and sprinkling them throughout the year, understanding that resharpening the saw with renewed knowledge, interests and downtime are fundamental to a productive individual.

I still take stock of my life on my birthday. I count my blessings. I am thankful for the people I have in my life. I cherish and savor the moments we spend together and my heart swells with happiness as I look back on the memories.

Thank you to everyone who made feel loved for the past years.

Freedom

Ocean, wind, sand
Grass, birds, trees

Space with no borders
Land with no peaks
No limitations. No aim
Be me
No hidden tears
No seldom cheers

Free of
Memories and Dreams
Escape
Reality and Fantasy
Relinquish
Future and Past

Love the moment I'm in
No turning back to begin
Someone new
Somewhere different
Realms of possibilities
Gone by the end

Walk. Run. Be
One. Whole. Unity
You are free

The DOs and DON'Ts of Riding a Taxi in Cairo, Egypt

As an avid taxi rider, I have notices some peculiar behavior from cabbies. I shouldn't be surprised. Cabbies' actions are a reflection of the continuum of descent we face in every facet of life in Egypt. Each group simply descends in a manner congruent with their perception of acceptable behavior, not taking into consideration the affect of their actions on others. Not only do they neglect to acknowledge their impact, they simply do not care.

As someone who works in change management, I have found it frivolous to try and change the behavior of Egyptians. A carrot never works, only a stick. Even so, punishment must be consistent and continuous. The moment you remove the stick, people revert back to their original state. They are willing to chance termination in order to be lazy, careless, and do as little as possible. The other alternative is to change the people all together and start with a clean crop of employees, while constantly weeding out bad elements. Do not delude yourself and think that harmful weed will not grow in your organization. The only way to combat mediocrity, is to constantly remove negative influences from their roots. If once, only once, you rest on your laurels, harmful weed will infest your entire garden. So, in conclusion, Egyptians are impervious to change.

As a result I don not go into a long diatribe with cabbies, or try to lecture them on customer service, or explain to them how they are role models to future generations of taxi drivers and how their constant presence in the streets of Cairo has a harmful effect, far more penetrating than civilian drivers, yet they can also be a positive change, that is, if they wanted to. It is a fruitless debate that will render me breathless. That being said, it is not in my nature to passively stand by. If I cannot eradicate taxi behavior, the least I can do is not condone it. I own a carrot, the fare. I control my choice of cabbie, and thus have become quite selective and very aware of my own behavior as a rider of taxis.

Here is my list of DOs and DO NOTs:

1) When hailing a cab, select a proper area to wait. Take into consideration that when the taxi stops to let you in, he doesn't disrupt the flow of traffic. Avoid the corner of narrow busy streets and double parked cars.

2) Be courteous to your follow taxi riders and stand after those already waiting for a cab.

3) Make sure that you have enough change before getting into a cab. If not, let the cabbie know in advance so he can stop at a gas station and break a 200 pound note.

4) Know where you are going and don't rely on the cabbie to know how to get there. Some of them are clueless and may not work in the area regularly. Identify the various routes that you are comfortable with and make sure that the cabbie does not detour.

5) Put down your phone and pay attention. If the cabbie takes a detour you are unfamiliar with, ask him where he is going. You can also ask him to take another route. Be polite but unyielding.

6) Commercial license plates are ORANGE. The blue ones are for civilian cars. Ask yourself, why is a civilian driver masquerading as a cabbie. Least of all, there will not be a meter.

7) You are not obligated to shout out your destination from across the street because a cabbie doesn't want to pull over. Wait from another taxi who values his job and does it properly.

8) A cabbie who cuts across from the left lane ahead of another taxi to beat him to a customer, is a person who will not think twice about cutting in line at the supermarket. If this behavior irritates you, then wait for the other cab who kept to the right.

9) If you are crossing the street, in order to wait for a taxi from a better vantage point, and notice that a cabbie pulls over and waits for you, don't get in. This means that he noticed you standing on the other side of the road. If he's truly keen on picking up a customer, he would have been paying attention to the sidewalk to his right, where normal people wait to hail taxis, not the opposite direction.

10) If you are happy with the service rendered, don't forget to thank the cab driver and tip him accordingly. They have a terrible job and the worse work environment possible. 

Be Kind to One Another

"Be Kind to One Another" - Ellen Degenres sign off message on her talk show

When we are invited to someone's home, most of us (if not all of us) are on our best behavior. We show respect and decorum towards our hosts. We use "indoor" voices when conversing. We don't track mud all over the carpet or deliberately break the china. When offered refreshments, we cordially accept and curb our eating to ensure that there's enough food to go around. We don't get into fist fights with other guests, despite how annoying they might be. We make an effort to be polite and pleasant.

As humans, we are all guests in this world, yet we don't act accordingly. We devour resources with no consideration for others, not even future generations. We pollute and wreck havoc on the environment in search of convenience and ease. We have lost all sense of right and wrong. We continually insult our host by continuously rampaging through life.

One behavior does not absolve the rest. How we act publicly should not be disassociated from how we act privately. As a guest at a dinner party, we act politely because we care about the opinion of others. When we leave a party, we don't want the rest of the guests to think that we were rude or gruff. So, we regulate our behavior accordingly. What will be said about us when we leave the Biggest Party of all? Will we be remembered as trust worthy, honest, deceitful? Will our children have clean air and water to enjoy all the conveniences we take for granted? Why aren't we thinking about these lasting impressions as much as we think about social decorum, which is eroding in and of it's self.

What a life we live where we leave bad impression wherever we go. Our impact will linger after we are gone. What a life we live where we can't even bother to be kind, to be polite, to be charitable. What a life we live where senior citizens are bullied and discriminated against because they are old. What a life we'll live when future generations, who grew up with a sense of entitlement, will take over. What kind of life do we live ?

Micro Story - Blue Light

I'm walking along 34th street on my way to Penn Station. The sun has set and twilight is upon me. I look up and see a faint ice blue light dancing in the horizon. I squint my eyes to get a better look, but I can't make out the image. It looks like a radioactive firefly. The perfect round circumference is too uniform to be the flame of a lighter. Maybe it's a bee on a tiny flying motorcycle with an LED light. 

The illuminated dot and I are walking towards each other, yet it doesn't grow bigger as it approaches. I quicken my pace in haste to discover what it is. Ten meters away, I see that the dot is at the tip of a long metal cylinder cradled between impeccably manicured fingers. A woman is holding an electronic cigarette. Her hand rapidly moves to and from her lips with a graceful flick of the wrist. Her arm is raised in a permanent V, with the elbow hovering a foot away from her body, and her nose points to the sky, signaling, "Look at me with my e-cig. I'm so hip."

Beauty in midst of Disarray

I've been back in Egypt for three months now. It has been a tiring process of adjustment and assimilation resistance. Somehow Egyptians are more tolerant of my peculiar personality than before. Though unjustifiable, for I have not changed at all. I suppose I'm much less edited and thus amplified, but I am the same person I have always been.

I must admit , I'm finding it difficult to return to the state of contentment I inhibited before leaving. I never fitted in with society's definitions of who I should be and how I should behave. I've never been happy, living in Egypt. I hate the dust and crowds. Very few things brought me genuine happiness. These things revolved around certain people. But, beyond them, I merely existed. I went through the motions everyday because I had no other choice. My only solace of satisfaction and self actualization came from work. The only beauty I perceived was watching my niece and nephews morph into human beings. I was never truthfully happy, only content. That was my life in Egypt. I had grown to accept it for what it was. I lived one day at a time.

Moving to New York, I found new avenues that excited and motivated me to live. My job there played no role. It was tedious and mind numbingly boring. But it didn't matter. Fulfillment came from else where. My colleagues were an amazing wonderful group of people. I enjoyed their company profusely. I looked forward to spending time with them every week. Most importantly, I'd eagerly await the weekends. It's in those forty eight hours that I truly lived. I divided my time between choirs and fun. I read books and wrote stores. I watched films and went to the theater. I walked around New York and enjoyed the scenery. I took in nature and people watched. It was a beautiful serene interlude. I will, forever, dearly hold those two and half years in my heart. I look back on those times, mesmerize, cry and smile.

My move away from Egypt was a lifestyle change. I exercised more. I ate healthier. I met new people. I made new friends. Everything I could not and cannot do in Egypt. Everything that makes me happy and I no longer have in my life.

The choice to move back was a rational one. I had my reasons. I do not regret it. But, I'd like to retain some of my New York being. I enjoyed being happy. Mere contentment is unacceptable. I have boxed my professional life in a 9-to-5 window. I refuse to carry my job around with me all the time. Once I step over the office's threshold, I shun all worries. It hasn't been easy, but I persist. I'd like to maintain a healthy diet. Something that has proven more difficult to do. There isn't an abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables. My roommates deplete my food stock. I want to continue writing, but inspiration is fleeting, as is the solitude necessary for the writing process (just had an argument with my mother to explain to her that I need to be left alone while writing). So far, I've been unsuccessful at maintaining a happy lifestyle. But I haven't given up hope.

The theater is the one true thing I miss the most about New York, together with green grass and donuts and independent bookstores and a bunch of other things. There's something electrifying about live performances. The energy from the stage is contagious. There's inherent beauty in witnessing artists creating art. In an attempt to retain that beauty, I attended a Harp recital at Cairo's Opera House. Despite the misery associated with purchasing tickets and battling God awful traffic during rush hour, the concert lifted my spirits. It was like finding a radiant rose in the middle of a garbage dump.

The performance was held in a makeshift open area stage on a Wednesday evening, early September. Temperatures were too high to accommodate for outdoor activities. The musicians melted under the added heat of spot lights. We sat on bare boned banquet chairs that were very uncomfortable. The audience unapologetically chatted amongst themselves during the performance. Many people popped out of their seats to get a better vantage point for their smart phone cameras. Despite all this, the musicians, centered around Dr. Manal Mohei El Din and her harp, closed their eyes and lost themselves in the music. Their heads swayed to the rhythm. Their energy infected the audience, who soon enough clapped along with the beat. A smile emerged from my lips. I forgot the heat. I forgot the traffic. I forgot contentment. I was happy for two hours.

The beauty of art is that performances stay with us. We reminisce the experience and relive the moment.  Every time I hear Elqamh El-Liela, I remember the recital and smile at the memory.

Since June 30th 2013, Egyptians have been bombarded with fund raising themes. Donate to Charity. Donate to rebuild the country and renew prosperity, despite paying ever increasing taxes. We are assaulted with beggars and hobos who have sprouted on every corner. These are all noble causes, but charity should also extend to one's self. Donate an evening to yourself. Experience art and be touched by the performance. Support local artists and appreciate their work. 

Solidarity – Freedom For All

Solidarity - Union or fellowship arising from common responsibilities and interests

In 2011 I made a conscience decision to leave Egypt because I had a premonition that sectarian rule will reign supreme. Not that I had the ability to see into the future, but my logic told me that Egyptians will elect parties running on a religious platform since it is easier to believe that a religious man can be trusted and will do the right thing, than to debate candidates and comprehend their ideologies. Logic also dictated that there is nothing holy about politics and that politicians hiding behind the cloak of righteousness and religion, whether be it a beard or a veil, are nothing more than a fox in sheep’s clothing. Thus I moved to the US.

While living in New York, I participated in stand-ins and protests against the Brotherhood (I will not associate my beloved religion with this group) because I firmly believed that they would infringe on the freedoms of our nation and that their only loyalty was to their group and no one else. I didn’t want my niece to grow up without the freedom to choose how she dressed, what she did with her body, and to be deprived of the chance to become anything she wanted to be.  Having moved away from the apex of events, I had a more objective view. I was liberated from the fear of a future lost and doomed destiny. This doesn’t mean that I was objective throughout the entire Jan 25 revolution, on the contrary. I was among the group of people marked with the moniker “The Party of the Couch – Hezeb El Kanaba”. I firmly stated that Mubarak wasn’t as bad of a tyrant as Tahrir painted him to be, and I still stand by this statement. Sequestered for 12 days in a small Cairo apartment with my mother, brother, sister, and her three young children, not knowing if I had a job after the curfew, not knowing what kind of future my niece and nephews would have, completely giving up on any kind of future for myself, I was appalled that a bunch of kids who did not work and thus didn’t pay taxes would demolish the country and bring it to a standstill. I feared a civil war. My world was shattered in a matter of days and I couldn’t envision a life beyond the moment. I wished someone would go down and just gathering everyone in the streets and reset Egypt back to my normal operating procedure. I didn’t care about the freedom of others as long as my status quo and the safety of my family were maintained.

While in New York, although my future was still MIA, I reflected on the situation more clearly. I am not going to justify my change in stance, for my convictions within 2011 were wrong. Yet, as much as I loathed the brotherhood and everything they stood for, I supported their freedom to practice politics in the state. I support the freedom of those who support the brotherhood as much as I support the freedom of those backing the army and Al Sisi. To me they are exactly the same. I roll my eyes at inane Facebook and Twitter comments, but I support the freedom of these people to express their point of views despite how stupid they seem to me. Although I was among those standing at Etihadyia on June 30, enjoying the festivities, I didn’t support the ouster of Morsi, as it didn’t help the implementation of democracy in the country. Yet, I was happy and relieved when he left and I can understand the elation of my friends still living in Egypt upon the departure of the brotherhood. I don’t support any criminal actions performed by the brotherhood’s leadership or members, or any citizen for that fact. I personally believed that Sisi remaining as minister of defense and a counter force to an elected president would have been better for the country, yet I respect the freedom of those who voted for him or Hamdeen, as well as the freedom of those who boycotted the entire process. I firmly believe that democracy represents the freedom of citizens to practice politics and participate in the process accordingly to their desires. I also believe that Freedom is absolute and cannot be segmented into acceptable freedoms and regulated ones.

With the ouster of Morsi and the ascendance of Sisi, I became somewhat optimistic. I saw a future beyond the moment. I admit that my optimism was attributed to pre-2011 status quo, yet the pragmatists in me wouldn’t rest on her laurels. I knew that Egypt will not rewind to a time before the revolution and that Sisi is not Mubarak. I was apprehensions because I didn’t know his political tendencies. I feel that he is leaning more towards a socialist state than capitalist. I fear protectionism of industries and nationalization of corporations akin of Nasser era. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that Egypt would revert to the worst of Nasserizm and Bushizm with the infringement of citizens’ basic freedom to peacefully protest, express their opinions, censorship of media, and intelligence surveillance of Egyptians.  We are being bullied by the state and the government. Within the last few months we have witness atrocities of the most cowardly nature. The cancelation of a satirical TV show or dramatic series seems a silly issue but it exhibits a weakness I wasn’t expecting of the Sisi regime. If the rulers’, government, and citizens cannot take criticism of any kind, how will we evolve.

Regardless of my opinions, whether agreement or disagreement, I call for the immediate release of activists, journalist, the deregulation of media, and the prosecution of any and every criminal activity that has been proven with concrete evidence beyond any doubt. If for anything, it will give the country a clean slate to start anew. If the president will not intervene, I call upon the constitutional court, namely Egypt’s only living former president Adly Mansour, to right the wrongs and to be our moral compass. To any Egyptian who calls for the right to vote, the right to a respectable existence, the right to safety and stability, we must all standup for what is just. For today the freedoms of someone external is being violated, tomorrow it will be yours.

Serenity Now - Egyptian Edition

Having moved back to Egypt, I've been observing the general atmosphere. Although I've only been here a week, yet not having the sanctuary of knowing that I'll soon retune to a place I prefer, I've become more attuned to my surroundings. I'm not going to catalogue everything that is wrong with the country, or compare it to the US. There's no benefit in doing either. This piece is rather a reflection on our ability as Egyptians to live in Egypt. 

In 2011, I made a conscious decision to leave the country. Everything bad, everything disgusting, everything appalling about Egyptians came out after Jan 25. Although, I willingly lived and worked in Egypt for the entirety of my adult life, the country - post Jan 25 - suffocated me. I decided to leave, in order to continue loving it. It make sense that all our bad habits would surface midst the turmoil Egypt is witness at the moment. When something boils at high temperatures, all impurities and imperfections rise to the top. Egypt has been simmering for the past twenty years. Hopefully we can skim off the layer of scum soon.

Now, after three years of toil, the country has digressed to the dark ages. The neglected streets, power outages, and exaggerated prices are reminiscence of the 80s. Yet, the worse thing about Egypt at the moment is the overwhelming sense of negativity that permeates the country. Everywhere I go, everywhere I look, every breath I breathe is saturated with negative vibes. Everyone I talk to, they are all complaining, all the time. Whatever happened to Al Hamed Lellah, Thank God. Do we have nothing for which we are thankful? I understand that Life's a Bitch, with a capital B. All of us endure the hardships of living in Egypt and life in general. The last thing we need is to be burdened with other people's aliments. We can offload every once in a while, but our only dialogue has become a constant array of whining and moaning. If you are unfortunate enough to glimpse at local TV programs, you'll be assaulted with a slew of national "newah" complaints, or God awful soap operas. Our streets are void of smiles and laughter. If you greet someone with Al Salam Alaykoum, you either get a begrudged mumble in reply or nothing at all. When have we become such a miserable nation. The most enduring thing about Egyptians, was our ability to smile and make fun of dire situations.

I'm a firm believer in Karma. If we wallow in negativity, we'll only reap negativity. Life is too short to spend it being angry. I try to be positive as much as I can. I try to ignore all the little irritants and not bother myself. I try to maintain relationships with people I truly value and care for, and shun those who emit negative energy. Each morning, I'll try to start my day with reciting at least one positive thing about living in Egypt. I expect the list to be short and brief. I also expect it to grow with every sunrise. Hopefully, I'll discover things I couldn't see before. Hopefully, we, the Egyptians, will embrace happiness for a better future and remember that smiles and greetings are charities for our souls.

The Kiss

Him: "Have you ever been kissed?"

Her: "Romantically?"

Him: "Is there another kind?"

Her: "Definitely. I've been kissed by my mother, my aunts, my uncles, and my niece and nephews. Of course, I have to coerce them into kissing me. They oblige me for the moment, yet they're getting at the age where kissing will not be an option."

Him: "I meant romantically. Have you ever been lovingly kissed on the lips?"

Her: "No. I have never been kissed 'lovingly' on the lips."

Him: "May I kiss you?"

Her: "What? No! Why? What? Do you want to kiss me?"

Him: "I think it's such a waste to go through life not knowing how it feels to be kissed."

Her: ................................

Him: "I'm sorry if I have upset you. I didn't mean to."

Her: "No, I'm not upset. I'm just looking for the appropriate words. You seem to be coming from a sincere place. But, I don't want my first kiss to be out of pity. I want it to come from a place of passion, lust, and yearning. I want the moment our lips touch to be electrifying that it sends sock waves throughout my extremities and I collapse in his arms and have to peel myself away from him. I'm also not a fool, I know it probably won't happen like that. But when it does, if it does happen, I want it to be out of love, out of desire, not pity. Thank you for offering but I'm gonna have to pass."

Daggers in my Heart

My only solace in life
Pain & suffering to suffice
An atonement, I'm still alive

Every day's a battle
That I survive
One breath at a time

Hope's darkness
Sucks me in, to begin
To find light at the end

No light is found
Air, space, time 
Are wasted 

I'd give my minutes to the ill
To bid their farewells
My days to the young
To remain sincere
My years to the wise
For humanity, to devise

My minutes, days & years are not mine
To give away
They're my burden
To bear
To carry
To despair
To stay

Ode to A Gray Pubic Hair

A few weeks before my thirty sixth birthday, I woke up at my usual time of 6:00 am. It was a beautiful sunny Saturday morning, mid June. Sitting on the toilet and contemplating the day ahead, I looked down and there it was, a gray pubic hair. Instinctively I shouted at my crotch, " Nooooo ! This can't be happening. This is so fucked up. I haven't used you yet, you can't be aging !" 

I have never been obsessed with age, for it is but a number. Yet, I have always been amazed with the notion of growing older, growing up. I remember the first time someone bestowed me with the ominous "ma'am". It was physically painful. I swore to never utter the word. Even if the woman I addressed was a hundred years old, I'd refer to her as Miss, and hopefully people will repay me in kindness. My niece and nephews call me by my first name, unadorned with any title. I actually cringe when called auntie by some misguided youth. It's not that I have no desire to be a ma'am or auntie, I simply don't feel like one. I never did.

I was in the fifth grade when the idea of elderliness first dawned on me. Meeting my best friends during recess, I kept tell them that, " We're in the FIFTH grade! I can't believe that we are in the fifth grade. This is so huge." They didn't respond with words, they just gave me what-the-fuck looks. Still, in the feeble mind of an eleven year old girl, fifth grade somehow amounted to the threshold of adulthood. It marked a point of no return, where all innocence was lost amidst the hardship of life. I can't help but wonder if certain milestones change who we grow up to be. I'm inclined to believe this is true. I wonder how different I'd be had I married and became a mother, had I studied Literature instead of Management, or had I stayed in touch with my childhood friends. The possibilities are limitless.

As the years passed, I didn't put much thought into aging. I didn't mind the additional responsibilities that came with each birthday. Yet, I desponded at the external displays of maturity we were expected to exhibit. Apparently adolescent young ladies could no longer have pig tails or wear jeans and sneakers everywhere. All of a sudden I was expected to have bangs and don skirts, stockings and high heels for crying out loud. The ability to balance one's self in high heels is allegedly a god-given gift to any woman. I acquiesced for a while until I discovered my own sense of style and confidence to dress for myself and not others. And yes, I have a special place in my heart for stilettos.

My family didn't make a huge deal out of birthdays. Nevertheless, I got a somewhat shindig for my sixteenth. I had a couple of friends over for cake and a bit of dancing. Although I turned sixteen that day, I didn't feel any different than I did at fourteen. Something must had been wrong with me. I was never a youthful person. I opted out of parties for the company of films and books. I was more at ease with my older sister and her friends than kids my own age. I always amused that I had an old soul. Yet, in my heart of hearts I knew that I was an eternal six year old. If I could, I would dress in nothing but shorts and t-shirts. I'd run everywhere instead of walk, and I'd skip into work every morning. I've always felt like this, regardless of my age. Thus my confusion in attempting to reconcile with the physical manifestation of my aging body.

I'm not the same person I was a year ago. I know that. I'm not the same person I was in college either. For one thing, I can hold my own in any discussion on most subjects, or at least I can fake interest.I have discovered my self esteem and can admit mistakes and defeat with grace. I'm at ease with who I am. However, each wrinkle that appears on my brow fills my heart with dread that my body is conspiring against me. Now, that I have finally learned how to enjoy life, my body is getting in the way. It's becoming a hindrance. I can no longer read for hours on end without getting glass-burns (red irritation on my nose where my glasses rest). I can barely walk up a flight of stairs without taking a moment to catch my breathe. I can't be outside without sunblock. I reaped what I sowed. I abused my body when I was younger. I neglected to exercise and indulged in every unhealthy food choice available. And for that, I'm truly sorry. I vow to turn back time as much as I can. I have commenced my first every beauty regime of facial cremes and body-basting lotions. I workout on regular bases, and eat consciously. Most importantly, I allow myself to embrace happiness where ever I may find it. I allow myself to laugh without the concern of crowfeet. I allow myself , a well-read perpetual six year old silly old fart with a decaying molecular structure, to be the person I am without loathing or judgement. I'll never be able to align the internal and eternal me with my external self, and that's just fine. For I am who I am and will always be.