Since this special time of the year is coming up, here it is again….
The only place in the world I bet where you will see people in beach wear, walking side by side with men in tuxedos, women in fabulous gowns, women and men barefoot holding their shoes, paparazzi and celebrities all on the same pavement at any given time of day.
A friend asked me why haven’t I blogged lately.
Actually a couple of them did.
I replied the lame response of “I am in the middle of a doing things worth writing about”… but alas… that was not exactly the case.
A certain friend told me it will be hard to top the stories I had shared before, all the crazy, unusual and sometimes unbelievable events I went through… I laughed, but inside I slapped myself a round a little.
Suddenly I remembered one of those motivational posters saying “it is not about where you have been, but it is about where you are going”.
And that was a little wake up alarm. Which I apparently had put on continuous snooze for quite a while.
So I went to Sri Lanka for the weekend.
Packed my friends, a book which I did not choose (an attempt to kill the OCD control freak residing in me), a swimming suit and a pair of flip flops.
I will not bore you with the details of my 36 hour exploration of the primitive tropical shores of Galle, but I will bore you with the main morale of this post.
I didn’t swim with dolphins, nor attempt to surf, or even party with the locals until the wee hours of the night.
I slept. Alot. And I watched people. The few of them that were soaking in the ocean sun.
I noticed that nearly all of them had visible tattoos. As a person who always wanted to get one but never had the decisiveness to choose a design I know I won’t hate at a certain point in time, I instantly judged these people to be carefree hippies.
I took it back right away. Just because initially it is not nice.
Then I realized that all these people have actually been decisive, they know what they will love now and what they will love in years when their skin is sagging.
Then I judged myself.
This one I did not take back.
I noticed a 40 some year old man with a sketch board and a palette of colours. He was sitting close by, his back to the ocean. I assumed he was trying to capture the beauty of the old hut that is the bar with the array of flags that constitute its unique décor.
What caught my eye was not the abstract interpretation that he was hunched over, nor his large tattoo that started from his wrist to an undisclosed location beneath his khaki short sleeved shirt. It was his cap. Worn the wrong way around, it simply said in an non artistic font,
“Art in Transit”
I slept some more.
It is not about where we have been. I could have conquered the existing and non existing realms of the universe, but then what…
A traveller, rather an explorer cannot die on his office chair whilst typing an email to his client urging for speedy payment. This nomad must end his life in an abnormal and legendary manner. He will be remembered by his last moment, hence triggering the readers of his life story in a 100 years to turn the pages and see how he ended up there. For him to perish silently in the florescent lights of a corporate jungle will simply be equivalent to ending an exquisite 5 course gourmet meal with a pack of skittles. Umm, skittles are actually pretty awsome, so let’s disregard that metaphor. But I suppose you know what I mean.
But every traveller is entitled to his rest, no? But what if this is not a transit, what if this is it, the last destination? It would be a shame…
At that point I decided to get up from the random place I fell asleep in and looked around to find something to do that would constitute an engaging last page (just incase ofcourse)…
I will not bore you with my attempts, simply for they are not worthy of my last page…
I have not found that trigger yet… I am still here in limbo…
If you walk the streets alone, with no where in particular to go
If you sleep in a big bed made for two, with only your own echoes saying goodnight back
If you fall, with no one to catch you just in time
If your back hurts so much from the weight of the world on your shoulder
If your heart breaks 20 times a day without one “it will be ok” in the horizon
If you win the grand prize but don’t get one proud glance
Even if you lay on your death bed silently wishing the world goodbye, with not one gentle hand to guide you through
Remember, always remember
I will be with you
I was there before you, I have felt your pain
Fought away those same demons that claw at your soul every day
You are not alone
I am here with you
I may be gone, maybe never existed
But I am here for you
You are not alone
Dear 2011,
Here we are… ready to part paths… we have been through so much together…
You have taken from me, given me, stabbed me with scars that will stay forever…
2011, you were not easy to live through, but here I am, on your last page, alive, smiling, full of hope…
It has been like a long race, with no stops, through tornadoes, earthquakes and an Armageddon or two…
I have lost alot along the way, but now I realize at the finish line, it is not your fault…
It has been me reaping what I have sown..
All at once.
Dear 2011, I will leave with you a little part of me that died.
I will not grieve any longer though.
I will take that piece of my pulse-less soul, and bury it deep in the soil
I will say goodbye to it, as I say good bye to you…
And as it disappears underneath the dirt…
I will cry my last tears for you, I will say my one millionth goodbye to my father’s eternal soul, I will vow never to forget you dear 2011…
And as lay a single flower on the place where you will rest forever, I will thank you 2011..
I will thank you for everything you gave me… for the eternal memories that will never fade, for the strength you had awarded me just because I stayed alive, I will thank you for taking away the humans that were not worth my affection, and for giving me a few, but precious beings that I now call my family…
I thank you for allowing me to say goodbye to you, with angels holding my hand, and smiling at me, telling me…
“even if its not all going to be ok, its fine, we are together”….
So I haven’t blogged in a while. (Out of topic, but isn’t strange that blogged as a verb is still non recognizable in wordpress and has to be underlined in red, making the blogger feel self-conscious and plain stupid?)
At first, it was because I was crazy busy (yes yes I am still the same me, always getting into random unpredicted situations), but then, it changed. Alot changed.
I was occupied with building my new life in Dubai, new job, new friends, new way of living… Getting used to the fact that streets are clean and secure, people are not loud and smell like feet… (See, Hard work!)
Then suddenly I was told that I have to go back to Cairo for atleast 4 working days!
I felt that my world is collapsing around me. Four working days, and it was Wednesday. What did that mean? Did that mean I had to be there for atleast a week and a half?! For some odd reason, that seemed too much for me to register… I felt faint. I really didn’t want to go back!
I started to think of how I will finally see my mother, who with only a few days notice, went from living with three wild children, to being alone, all alone…
I started to think about how happy my friends will be when I surprise them with arriving so unexpectedly, how it would be cool to meet my brother’s new girlfriend. And of course to gratify the materialistic lover of “things” in me, how satisfying it would be to bring back my beautiful belongings that did not fit into my bag last time.
Regardless, I still dreaded it. I cried a little inside.
I tried to make peace with it, my flight, after-all was a couple of hours away.
I got the gifts, packed my laundry, (might as well), boarded and closed my eyes.
The flight seemed to go by so fast, as if in a conspiracy to get me back to Egypt as fast as possible, just to test my patience.
As the Red Sea disappeared from the horizon, I started to reminisce.
I remembered how my friends and colleagues had branded me as the “last optimist”. The only one left who had hope in this country, the only one who only saw the good, and the bad always had an excuse. The one who was sure the good will prevail, the one who will not use her foreign passport, and only use the Egyptian one on principal. The one who fought against corruption in any way she can, with a Canadian passport and journalist status as protection.
I remembered those long days and nights we were at war. Those 18 days. The days that took away the last ounce of innocence left behind by the turmoil of my 31 years.
I remembered all that, and looked at myself at that moment (metaphorically ofcourse). And I continued my trip down memory lane. A quick edit of the following 6 months, those months that made me fall out of love with a country. My country. Those months that made me decide to leave. To look for a new home.
“The pilot would like to welcome you to Cairo, please stay in your seats until…”
And there I was. Back to the city I had left 3 months before.
I wondered if it would feel the same. I didn’t have to wonder for long. I went in. With my foreign passport.
Passport control, suspicious, background check, strange looks, then “welcome to Cairo”.
From the moment I collected my baggage, until I reached a cab, exactly 23 people asked me for money, to take my bags, or if I needed a limousine.
23 people.
I finally arrived at the “Taxi” parking.
They were like flies fighting over the last drop of honey in existence.
I was dazed. But then I said the only thing that could shut them up.
“Which one of you will give me a receipt?”
And then there was silence.
Nothing.
Everyone of them, as if on cue, looked away, and went back to their positions.
That was one of the most organized scenes I had ever seen in this country (outside of the 18 days ofcourse).
“Can someone tell me the closest place I can get an ordinary taxi, with a meter?”
Again, silence.
I decided to address one specific driver.
He gave me a dirty look, and told me that way, pointing into oblivion, “around 2 Km away” he said.
I so wanted to get back on the plane that just dropped me off.
I realized then it was a terrible idea to surprise EVERYONE. There has to atleast be one person who knows, who will pick you up at the airport. Next time, not too soon though.
Anyway, exactly 36 hours later, I was successfully extracted from Cairo and sent back to Dubai, where I am happy to call home, only to be bombarded with the news of Egypt on Saturday.
People so close to me detained, died and scarred for life. I realized then how hard it was for everyone NOT IN the square back in January. I realized how blinded we were by our adrenaline. By the basic instinct of survival.
But that was ages ago.
Felt like years and years.
A week of sleepless nights, international calls every half hour, watching every news broadcast, phone loosing battery due to excessive twitter usage…
A year-long week.
I started to get mad.
Get mad at all the people I met during the 6 months after January. All those people who said they want to make the country a better place. Those brave people who fought with you side by side for freedom.
All those people who ended up being blinded by personal gains, how their name would look in print, and how many TV interviews they would “star” in.
All those people who sat in closed rooms, and constructed scores of documents, and speeches, claiming this would make it all better. This would make the trauma of seeing people die in your hands go away. These papers, tables and points will make sleeping on pavements in the street for days worthwhile.
But alas, they did not.
Nothing changed.
When the time to unite and build the Utopia they promised, they held on to “what they think is best”.
They held on to arrogant classifications, prejudice pointed fingers…
They held on to that just as the ones before held on to their seats…
The day I decided to leave was the day it hit me.
“This country is not ours. Not for the likes of me.”
I had to leave before I lost all the love I have for my home land.
I want a better life.
I am Human. Therefore I deserve it.
But enough of that now…
Doing my daily blog surf, came across one of my favourites, Jeff Bullas …
Great reveal of Facebook’s most prominent fuck ups since the platform was launched, and what better way to showcase that other than an infographic…
The United States of America, the “land of opportunity”, the greatest Super Power the world has ever seen is finally awake.
They actually did call it the Global Awakening, the leaderless, righteous fight for freedom. Social and Economic that is.
And it only took them 2 Bushes and an Obama.
But what actually did wake up the great nation of the USA?
Was it the great level of education and enlightenment they have reached?
Or is it the great tolerance for humanity they are so well known for? (sarcasm just in case you missed it)
Actually no.
It started in a little office in Vancouver B.C. by a group of people who define themselves as a group of artists, activists, writers, pranksters, students, educators and entrepreneurs.
They are the ADBUSTERS!
Yes, the final chapter of the eternal joke, “Canada should’nt be a country” has slapped the unsuspecting 312,444,166 citizens of the USA.
Yes, Canadians have actually invaded YOUR Wallstreet. Your economy, social structure and whatnot.
As Wikipedia defines the OWS movement, it is quite impressive how they draw out the exact details of the rallies. From demands, to sleeping conditions, to “the first pepper spray incident”.
It does seem quite impressive and enlightened, reminding us of the glorious days of first revolutions. These usually happened after a long dark age of ignorance, and non coincidently, a global abuse of power and greed.
It is but only a cycle…
Birth of a Civilization, War to protect or conquer, Wealth, Greed, Corruption, Revolt, Chaos, Enlightenment, Birth of a Civilization and we start again…
As Wikipedia goes on and on about the details of the daily happenings of the at best 200 people camping in Zucotti Park, it is only appropriate to go back to Tahrir Square Egyptian Revolution page.
Surprisingly you will not find the great details and in-depth description of the events. The 200 people in the USA striving to get by in their sleeping bags and donated blankets in the pretty park have a documented place in Wiki history, but the hundreds of thousands who slept the night on the cold hard pavements, covered with newspapers at most times, with snipers, thugs, and handmade bombs safely and consistently surrounding them during all hours of the night, were not documented in detail.
But it is fine, you cannot really compare a struggle for survival, and fight for the basic rights of humanity to an advanced country’s attempt to fairly divide wealth.
You can’t really compare 846 people killed and 6,000 injured to 200 people sleeping in a park.
You can’t really compare.
And what you really REALLY can’t do, is JUST say “North America was PARTIALLY inspired by Arab Spring”.
