From the Archives: The Re-Birth of a Nation...

"Liberty and union, one and inseparable, now and forever!"


I keep having this recurring thought: After the celebrations end, the CNN troops withdraw from the land, and the sentimental speeches from foreign heads of state come to a close, what is left?

Over 300 dead shahidin minimized to a statue erected in their honour?
Spatially, a downtown square already envisioned as the Freedom Square, re-crowned "Tahrir Sq."?
An already ailing, aged ruler whose fatal flaw has been pride and a reluctance to acknowledge reality?
A power vacuum, leaving the "new Egypt" vulnerable to whomever has the loudest voice?
And a nation of almost 85 million who never imagined that they would live to see such radical change in a country


February 14, 2011

Making Myths Out of Massacres: on Rabaa & the challenges of mourning

"Right there. That's where it happened."

I follow Mohamed's nod, trying to take a long look at the somewhat distant cluster of buildings, fruitlessly searching for a minaret or anything to indicate the presence of a mosque. Our van defiantly lurches ahead, the image disappearing behind us before I can register any meaningful details. 

It's 2014 and our biennial family trip to Egypt is coming to a close as we drive through Madinet Nasr. Mohamed, the young man hired to drive us (and our growing pile of belongings) around the country for the summer, expertly navigates the full van through traffic. Polite and soft-spoken, he hasn't said much for the whole trip, even during the endless drives to the Red Sea a few weeks earlier when he brought a friend to accompany him. Sometimes I catch his spectacled gaze in the rear-view mirror, though it never seems prying.

"Atee3a! To hell with them!" my mom proclaims with uncharacteristic crudeness from the row furthest back. "They were going to bring down the whole country."

By "they", she is referring to The Muslim Brotherhood, who seem to have re-assumed their position as Voldermort-like sources of death and destruction in the psyche of people like my mother and father, whose mere mention by name proves too mention. "They" also happen to include Mohamed, who has just pointed out the Rabaa al-Adawiya mosque to our left. I stare at his face in the rearview mirror, looking for anything, even a flinch, but Mohammed's eyes stay glued to the road, unchanging. I feel a tinge of shame for my mother and after fighting back the urge to react to such a harsh display, I feel the shame for myself.

This is the way it has always been whenever my parents, relatives, or their friends refer to the Brotherhood (or whatever conveniently constitutes that category at the time). They are not unlike many Egyptians, and many more diasporic Egyptians whose allegiance is inextricably tied to a regime that plays into their fear of instability and promises to deliver that rare, depleted regional resource, security--even as it actively compromises the safety of those it pretends to protect. Indeed, even if this allegiance compromises more important things, like their moral standards.

Just one month prior to this, on the cusp of the one year anniversary of the deadly dispersal, another moment of (imagined?) tension surfaced during a drive with Mohamed. Human Rights Watch had just released their controversial report on "The Rab’a Massacre and Mass Killings of Protesters in Egypt", forcing open the wound that had been callously bandaged by those crafting the narrative for people like my parents. It wasn't surprising to see the immediate reaction to details about the mass murders, to watch the reactive denial of eyewitness accounts and registered figures. It wasn't surprising but it was disheartening. Throughout the discussion happening between my cousins and parents and the accompanying friend in the passenger seat, I kept looking to Mohamed for a response. He said nothing and drove.

Perhaps I am just projecting all of these expectations on Mohamed. Maybe all those conflicting ideologies packed into one van isn't such a big deal after all?

We learned of Mohamed's affiliation with the Brotherhood during the first ride we shared with him. When the driver hired to take us to Alexandria didn't show up several hours after he was scheduled to, my cousin offered to send a trusted friend with a van to help us out of the predicament. My mother seemed to pause, considering her options as she heard the name, but it was the day before Eid and she must have realized it was either Mohamed or missing out on Alex. A tall, stocky young man with a light beard and big glasses showed up within the hour, whisking our heavy bags into the large white tourist van that would become our main means of transport for the remainder of our stay. I don't remember the exact conversation that lead to the revelation of his association with the group, but I do remember it being a hot topic of conversation in the apartment that night. Eventually no one spoke about it at all.

Maybe that's why it was so easy to blindly deny the tragic reality and to propagate the regime's narrative right in his face.

I remember casually reading through the HRW report over a light breakfast and carrying on with my day, only remembering it if it popped up on my Twitter timeline. I was horrified by the flagrant brutality, but I was looking for something more tangible than shock. That overwhelming spate of grief I sought eluded me. Had I too become desensitized to "them"?

All sorts of thoughts are interrupting themselves in my head as we pull further away from Rabaa. The cacophony of chatter surrounding me fades into the background. I am being pulled by that same feeling that gripped at me as I walked through Midan el Tahrir months earlier, my first visit since the events of 2011. It is like a combination of grief and guilt, made heavier by the need to repress it. By the pressure to participate in the active denial of these realities. Or worse yet, to partake in the delusion that such loss, such taking of life, is ultimately inconsequential.

I turn my head all the way back to squint at the site, but by now all I can see are the massive military buildings in the horizon as Mohamed drives on.

Hello, Again...

It's been exactly one week since I came back from my short trip to Cairo.

While away, I

• saw more sides to the city (I once thought I knew intimately) than I have in my decades of going back combined
• fell in love with Cairo
• drank more 3aseer asab (sugarcane juice) & street food than I ever thought my stomach could handle
• experienced freedom there in ways I have never been able to--at times it felt borrowed, or too good to be true
• fell out of love with Cairo
• remembered what it was like to want to write, instead of feel guilty over the fact that I should want to write but have no desire to
• didn't get to see the pyramids, but came to peace with the fact that they've been there for at least a few thousand years, and will likely be there when I return...

In the week since I have been here, I

• caught a bad cold that was probably not as bad as it seemed, but seemed to conveniently match my mood since returning
• finally received my delayed luggage--though, truth be told, I was low-key hoping I would never have to see it again (i.e. deal with more clothes than I already have)
•  have felt more compelled than ever to regularly write, and perhaps return to the blog world
• thought about all of the ways I can get back out of this city
• come to terms with the reality that Toronto isn't all that bad after all, and I should probably work on changing my perspective

So let's give this thing another try, shall we?

Scattered Thoughts about Egypt

Hours turned to days, then days now to weeks. I sat by watching, my mind eager to SNATCH any new breakthroughs or information. My energy went from being fully devoted to listening to the stories from the front lines, to feeling weary and almost wishing the entire situation would just end.

I've had trouble eating and sleeping, and have obsessively spent my time flipping between CNN and BBC, to getting live streams of Al Jazeera online. It borders on hysteria.

I've Youtubed the same videos over and over, marched with hundreds of Torontonians for 2 Saturdays in a row, and have relentlessly pounded my cousin with questions about what its REALLY like down there.
I've engaged in debates, explained what was happening to anybody who will listen, and brushed up on historical accounts of the power struggle that has ailed my country for decades.

I'm tired.
The other day, I scolded myself for feeling this way. I thought "What on earth gives YOU the right to feel weary and over-informed when these heroes are out there on the streets, determined to find an end that can satisfy them?!?"

But am I really wrong for needing a break from all this overexposure? Have I betrayed my country and fellow Egyptians every time I've given a half-assed answer to people's questions in order to avoid launching into a full conversation?
----

I'm at the point where I can look back at the full range of emotions and ideas I've had since January 25, and almost pinpoint the days when my attitude went from an excited, curious, hopeful observer, to a weary, almost paranoid bystander who got sucked into a dramatic scenario unwillingly.
I remember feeling, albeit selfishly, PROUD and EXCITED that my country was making headline news. For once in my 21 years in Toronto, people recognized the flag on my bag. For once, I could head downtown and find hundreds of other supporters of the Egyptian people, speaking my language, sharing my vision for the future of our homeland.
And I ate it right up. I stayed glued to CNN, collected any newspaper headlines (most, making front-page) about Egypt, and shared videos via my page.

It wasn't until the 5th or so day that I began questioning the over-saturated coverage. WHY was CNN (which has, in the process, became the manifested representation of Americans for me) so deliberately covering every nuance and detail of the unfolding "crisis" as they put it? WHY could I now pick up any newspaper, conservative or mainstream, and see the word "dictator" beside Hosni Mubarak's name?
I've always been a firm believer in a lot of conspiracy theories. But with the relentless, almost "Big-Brother"-like involvement of the US in everything that has transpired since the fateful day in January, I've taken an unhealthy approach to the apparent American conspiracy being played out in front of us.

How could people be sooo eager to listen to Obama's statements about Mubarak and the protestors, when Mubarak himself (the man at the centre of this drama) hadn't even made an attempt to comment. How could American diplomats and Israeli power-houses continue to taint the mainstream opinion- to demonize the protestors and insist that Mubarak is a pillar of stability in the region.
Could millions of people- some on the streets, some unable to go public with their feelings after experiencing a brutally repressive regime for decades- be wrong?
Are Egyptians, Arabs, Middle-Easterners- are they all too stupid to choose who they would like to represent their state? Is the right to self-determination reserved for Western countries whose political representatives are nothing but mere puppets of the same system?
Is it really a crime to demand that your country undergo a period of restoration?

I've absorbed CNN with an almost sadistic pleasure. I hate the way they make us look on TV. I resent the images of people fighting off men on horseback, burning pictures and flags- this is merely a snapshot of a situation that the rest of the world wants to dismiss as black-and-white, ignoring the multi-faceted colours emerging with every new image, testimony, story of a protestor's disappearance, or minute "change" in the government. These all help tell the story of a country, a people, torn between the lives they have come to know and the unpredictable, intimidating change that "threatens" to swoop in.
But I love seeing my country on there...

Power is revealed only by striking true

“ Power is not revealed by striking hard or often, but by striking true.”

-       Honore de Balzac

I’ve been examining the whole situation (for lack of an adequate word) going on in Egypt with a bit of divided perspective. On the one hand, I feel the way I’ve felt since my 2010 visit- the moment I first saw a civil protest in Cairo’s main downtown square (ironically “Liberation Square”-Tahrir in Arabic). That I’d grown up largely listening to my father’s own memories of living in a repressed, paranoid military state probably led me to feel as awed and curious as I did when I saw the demonstration.

Here was a country in which anti-government opinion was strictly restricted from all media. A country filled with stories of police aggression- some made notorious (like the apparent brutal 2010 murder of blogger Khaled by Egyptian police), and some only whispered amongst terrified neighbours when nobody’s listening.

And these are just things my generation and I have been exposed to as the country’s 30-year “state of emergency” remains.

To fully understand the scope of today's Egypt would mean diving into my father’s memories, and those of the generations before him who lived to see numerous wars, an independence from the British, instability throughout the entire region, and a military revolution.

But that last point is one of the most fascinating, to me, and has been for as long as I remember.

Growing up I would listen, stunned, to my father nostalgically, and more importantly, proudly recount the story of how Colonel Nasser and some other important military figures overtook the British-led monarchy and installed their own Egyptian leaders. It was as if he, like every other Egyptian lucky enough to see that proud day, was directly involved in the cause of liberating their country. It wasn’t so much that they were living vicariously through Nasser and his comrades, but living alongside them- when they took over state radio to make the announcement, when they spent countless months planning and re-planning every step without leaving a paper trail, and when they paraded through the same Tahrir Sq. to, again, thousands of people…

Now I must make mention of the 2nd perspective I have, one almost diametrically opposed to the first, one grounded in pragmatism and an understanding that things are never as black-and-white as they seem.

 From the first reports taken of the protests, to the powerful images surfacing up everyday, the message has been the same- there is an unspoken and strong bond between the Egyptian people and the military. Maybe this is due to the fact that Egypt has a conscription law still in effect- essentially, every male must serve in the military. Thus, the military and the Egyptian citizens are synonymous. Or maybe it has something to do with the history of military operations in their country—indeed, the military leaders at one point created the Egyptian Egypt. That feeling of pride and identity, and knowing what it means to be an Egyptian- and not an Arab, North African, Middle Easterner, etc.- was reinforced by Nasser and the other decorated leaders. Whatever the case, the famous image of the old weeping Egyptian woman kissing the cheek of a young, uniformed Egyptian solider with piercing eyes, perfectly captures that soldier-civilian relationship. However disillusioned the people have become by their government’s strict system of security, they have found a way to embrace their soldiers wholeheartedly.

Which brings me to my main point. Much has been said about Egypt’s current president Hosni Mubarak- he’s a tyrant, a peaceful leader of the region, an incompetent president whose relied on American aid too often, a beacon of stability in the Middle East, a dictator (a label Western news outlets have avidly embraced for the first time), a wealthy, aged power-hungry lunatic, etc. But there hasn’t been much mention of Mubarak’s rise to power and his role in the 1952 Revolution.

Mubarak actually got his background in the military, graduating from the military academy and climbing the ranks to finally become Commander of Egypt's Air Force & Deputy Minister of Defense. In fact, he was rewarded and promoted for his outstanding services in the military during the Sixth of October War. With such noted roles in the military and an intense pilot training past, Mubarak's role in the 1952 Revolution cannot be undermined or ignored.

Maybe thats what continues to draw people like my father (he himself grew up in a military household and dreamed of being a soldier after witnessing the Egyptian Independence Movement) to the aged Mubarak. Ideas like loyalty, death before dishonour, and dying a hero are ones highly valued by people with close ties/sentiments to the military. And as I outlined before, Egyptians really have no choice but to feel this way towards their own soldiers.
That's is why its so difficult for me to maintain an agenda that is 100% compliant with the protestors. Maybe a bit of me relates to the sentiments my father has. Maybe as an Egyptian it's difficult for me to watch one of my own go through this public debacle. Like I said, the issue is grey at best- never black and white. Who will replace Mubarak? How will the USA continue to interfere in Egypt's domestic happenings? If Mubarak is the lesser of 2 evils (the other evil being the Muslim Brotherhood), how can we ask him to step down and instill one of our own? And finally, what about the transition? How will a new government be integrated? Will there be an interim government in the meantime, and if so who decides who that government is? The questions are endless.

However, an important thing separates me from my father and other Egyptian supporters of the regime. I grew up in Canada. This is a country known for promoting it's democratic ideals and a traditionally liberal, capitalistic agenda. We enjoy regular elections, political stability, and (almost always), a transparent government. I, like most other Canadians and even those Bush-electing Americans, can never imagine a system in which we were forced to sit by and watch a leader, who none of us seem to remember electing, continue being in power for 30 plus years. With all opposition prevented from having a voice, its not like an election would do the job anyway.
I can sympathize with those supporters because I know what they want: life, liberty and the freedom to pursue happiness. I know, because living in Canada, I am given those things without ever really facing the threat of losing them...

My sister got me one of those cool day-by-day calendars of Inspiring & Enlightening Quotes. Everyday I rip off a day to reveal some insightful-sometimes ideological, sometimes overly cheesy- advice/knowledge/ideas from different artists, theorists, writers, teachers, etc.

And on January 29, four days after the fateful demonstrations began, I ripped off another day to reveal the insight for that day. The quote was from French novelist Honore de Balzac, and came at such an appropriate time that I was compelled against all laziness to sit down and right this post:

 “ Power is not revealed by striking hard or often, but by striking true.”

And, as Hosni Mubarak has learned the hard way over this past week, his hard-struck, often-used power has essentially come to an end. Let's just pray and ensure that whatever future awaits my homeland, there will be eras of truth-revealing power.

Egypt: Nasser to Mubarak

Nasser speaks to a homeless man.

Mubarak meets with foreign diplomats

Nasser sits with Che Guevarra

Mubarak sits with Bush Jr.

Nasser is carried by soldiers & civilians

Thousands demand Mubarak step down.

The Last Pharoah

"The Warrior-President Gamal Abd Al-Nasser, through his spirit, courage and creative thought, and through the dream of the greater Arab homeland, is not a memory, nor is he yesterday's cause. He is the present, today's cause, the cause of the shining Arab tomorrow, to which the Warrior-President Gamal Abd Al-Nasser devoted his whole life and died a martyr, as a pan-Arab nationalist and Egyptian patriot and as a Palestinian resistance fighter on the soil of struggle and confrontation against colonialism, both old and new; against the usurpation of Palestine and its colonization; and against division and fragmentation.

He is glory and dignity. The cause of the Warrior-President Gamal Abd-Al Nasser and his message and struggle is the cause of each and every Arab from the Atlantic Ocean to the Gulf, whether he be a ruler or an ordinary citizen, because the principles of Abd Al-Nasser are the principles on whose basis our Arab nation is rising up and taking its place in the sun.

The Warrior-President Gamal Abd Al-Nasser devoted his life to the glory of the Arab nation and its unity and dignity, and to expelling the forces of colonialism from all regions of the Arab homeland...[It is Abd Al-Nasser who proclaimed], 'Colonialism should now pick up its walking staff and leave,' 'from now on, there is no place for colonialists, occupiers, and invaders,' and 'this land is Arab, and no flag but that of the Arab nation shall ever fly above it.'

 The Warrior-President Gamal Abd Al-Nasser is alive in his nation and in Arab minds, and in the Arab hands that carry his message about Arab liberation, unity and progress. They will never abandon his principles and never lay down the banner that president Abd Al-Nasser raised - a banner that is a lighthouse shedding a bright light for the whole [Arab] nation... he is not a memory but the soul of the Arab nation....

...I say to you with confidence that the Warrior-President Gamal Abd Al-Nasser is with us in the trenches, with us under siege, with us in self-sacrifice [in battle]. [He is with us] with his thought and his manliness, creative spirit, and stature that neither bow nor retreat, no matter how difficult the struggle and how great the sacrifices...

We therefore have no path other than that of steadfastness and sacrifice for the sake of the homeland, the [Arab] nation, and the future. We salute the Warrior-President Gamal Abd Al-Nasser, the lantern shining before the nation and its [future] generations. The warrior Gamal Abd Al-Nasser - the president, the commander, the leader, the pioneer - is alive in our midst and in our [future] generations. He has not died and shall never die. Peace and God's mercy and blessings be upon you."


- Yasser Arafat
(delivering a euolgy on the 33rd anniversary of Nasser's death)

Adieu, Summer

Tuesday marked the day we bid farewell to summer for another year. It's time to tuck away our warm, sunny memories of beach picnics, watergun fights, random forest hikes, spontaneous bbqs, and hours of pool lounging.

This was an especially sombre goodbye for me, 'cause it meant replacing vacation memories with political science theories at school.

I guess it's only appropriate to give you all some insight as to how I spent MY summer, in the form of pictures of course!

  

   

  

 

  

  

  

   

  

Goodbye, summer! You've been good to me...

 

Day 25

DAY 25

Alas, I have almost reached the halfway point of my trip, and yet it feels like theres so much more to do!! Just an idea of some things I have planned for the next couple of weeks:
- Monday we'll be arriving in Sharm El Sheikh (Red Sea resort town)
- July 11 my sister and I will be heading off to see Big Ben, cute Brits, and the Redlight District in our mini Euro-trip
- July 20 we'll be heading back to Alexandria
... and from there, we will decide where this trip will be taking us.


Right now, I'm updating my blog on Mac-y en route from Alexendria to Cairo. As we drive further and further away from Egypt's second largest/most populated, I feel it is only appropriate to quickly share some of the people, moments, stories and experiences I have encountered along the way...
Let me just say, as the younger sister and youngest child in my family, habit has turned into impulse, and I strongly believe one of my impulses is to be a good listener. My limitless curiosity has always sort of led me to be interested in other people's stories, and I often find myself randomly thinking of a funny anecdote or heart-warming/heart-breaking story that was shared by someone I met along this crazy journey of life.
My memory is terrible at best, but sometimes its like my brain erases some of my own silly memories in order to cherish someone else's experience. I am a strong believer that whether young or old, rich or poor, comical or wise, everyone has a story and if we take the time to listen, there is an infinite amount of of wisdom, experience and knowledge to be had from these stories.

Take for example "El Ma'alam" (a term indicting respect), the owner of the shisha cafe near our apartment in Alexandria. After long nights turned mornings spent at his cafe playing backgammon, smoking shisha and ordering every imaginable variety of fresh fruit juice, El Ma'alam began to warm up. The more he welcomed us whole-heartedly and the more I witnessed his little kind gestures that earned him the neighbourhood's respect, the more I too began to take a liking to him.
El Ma'alam is a man strikingly young for his job position, with a kind smile and nervous habit if biting his fingernails. He started off working in some of the many shisha cafes dotting the city's landscapes, before he opened up his own place at 28 years old. Now in order to understand some of his predicaments, I guess one must have a vague idea of how corrupt Egypt's government and bureacracy is (I'll leave it at that). Earlier this year, the government decided to ban the use of shisha's (the famed water pipes, also known as hooka's, that are a fundamental part of Egyptian culture). Now, as with many of the ever increasing laws and prohibitions, there's always a way to sidestep the rules- but this comes at a price. For El Ma'alam, the price comes in the form of regular bribes he pays to the inspectors that come visiting his cafe- this vaguely reminds one of the old Mafia days in which shopkeepers were forced to pay money to mob bosses for "protection". Hah, government racketeering.. I like that (not!).
Such is one of the problems El Ma'alam- a man who has filled the void his abandoning father left by covering the costs of his sisters' weddings and sending his mother on the Hajj to Mecca- must deal with.


Thus, this is just one story among many of one man. Again, some of the stories I come across are funny as hell. Some are filled with awe-inspiring adventures, and some with heart-warming stories that remind me of the innate kindness and comradery human beings can have for one another. And some remind me that beyond every smile there lies an experience of loss, injustice or undeserved suffering...

                    

Changes...

I sat in the same cafe, smoking a new flavour of shisha while enjoying me same ice cream flavour of choice- mango.
I admired the same Mediterranean sea scene I had often thought about back home...
Familiar faces surrounded me: the same cafe owner, the same janitor and the same waiters who'd served me several times on my last trip here two years ago. Admittedly, I didn't give it much thought. And then a familiar face passed by that forced me to pause and reflect...
It was that of a boy I also remembered from my last trip, walking down the street cafe to cafe (as so many others do), earning his bread by selling a load of overpriced "Made in China" goods. I remembered how he had etched his image into my mind being a kid so many years younger than me, out so late toiling in a fruitless job that probably earned his family next to nothing. I remember wishing I could buy his whole load of goods, a naïve thought my young mind had concocted.
I remember my parents trying to comfort me with glamourized thoughts of how he probably had lots of money and would return home to a big dinner.
But this boy walking in front of me, pausing every so often to readjust the heavy load, his tanned face hardened with new lines I didn't remember- giving him the appearance of someone beyond his years- was NOTHING like the protagonist of their fairytale...
I guess some things really do change, and some don't...

umofa

*cue Alicia Keys' "Superwoman"...*

The oppressive heat, combined with the impossible traffic and the over-capacity car allowed me to momentarily slip into a state of deep contemplation, daydreaming of sorts.

The images of women covered head to toe, outnumbered by males of all ages faded in and out of my mind.
I pictured a land in which roles were reversed. A world where men were forced, or "chose" (as many of them argue), to cover their own head and bodies in loose burkas and hijabs. A world in which everyday these men were reminded of their subordinate positions, by virtue of their confinement in the head coverings. How would life then be if they were forced to brave scorching heat and crowded streets in an item designed to hide them, keeping them forgotten behind masks...

We pride ourselves on having the latest technology and weaponry, building awe-inspiring architecture, and having sophisticated communications systems. But the moment we are required to show one ounce of humanity to fellow man, we begin to devolve...

I've been here 4 days and while its true that I had to get used to things like having no microwave, or having unreliable WIFI, I've also seen human spirit and the value of comradery far outweighing anything I've witnessed back home in the "modern world". People back home worship the mighty dollar, praising everything that brand new luxury car represents. Meanwhile down here, I witnessed a crowd of strangers rush to the aide of a car crash victim, bare-handedly extracting his body from the wreck of his once brand new, American car...

What is modernity?

Greetings from the sunny side

DAY 1

Half an hour into the flight I’ve already had 4 shots of the Malibu Rum we’ve bought at the duty-free shop. I’m already craving a milkshake and a juicy burger, but the impressive movie selection keeps me occupied from missing anything else. I also foolishly packed my iPod Touch in one of my checked in bags, and I’m suddenly craving a Drake fix. The flight crew is overly friendly, and I wonder why one of the attendants keeps offering my seat neighbour (mommy) glasses of champagne.

Watching out of the window as we took off from Toronto was one of the most significant images I’ve seen in a while. The CN tower was clearly visible, and the contrasting lakes surrounding the building clusters was a scene only really appreciated at a view from the top….

(pictures will be up anytime now)






DAY 2

I’m sitting here on the balcony in Cairo, jamming to some Bob Marley joints while smoking a joint (yeeea, stop judging!) and I wish everyone could see this view.

I don’t know if it’s that Middle Eastern hash making me feel this way, or the major jet lag I’m experiencing after getting no sleep in the last 48 (I think :S) hours. But I just feel so enlightened… I guess you never really appreciate that overall meditative, serene feeling you can get just from a change of your settings. I actually sat here, watching the sun go down behind the abyss of crowded traffic, perpetual state of construction, and (admittedly) overwhelming noise and people traffic that comprises this city that LITERALLY never sleeps. I guess those two last statements almost contradicted themselves- how can noise pollution and crowdedness be meditating, relaxing? I donno, I guess I just feel most in my comfort zone when I can feel life around me, pulsating. Maybe in a weird way I take solace in knowing that people just simply exist, irrespective of what I do or how anyone else lives… people just are…

Not to mention, I now know what euphoria feels like, as I just learned I get WiFi access here!

Gaah… this is starting off a goood note..

Bon Voyage

As I sit here backing up my Macbook files/painting my nails/paying off bills/getting some last doses of Canadian TV amidst the chaotic mess a week's worth of packing has left in my room, I cannot help but come back to write some last thoughts before I head out into the unknown (haha),
In 2 hours I will be sitting aboard a Lufthansa 18 hour flight headed to Cairo, Egypt with a stopover in Frankfurt. My mother is still erratically trying to stuff into our already overpacked luggage the last of the gifts for the 4000 cousins we suddenly have, as my sister runs up the international minutes booking hotel rooms we somehow overlooked. As the minutes draw closer I'm crossing off TO-DO list points at a more rapid pace; as I sit here typing and multi-functioning I'm crossing off tasks over-excitedly.

Sooo, off the top of my head I'm gonna miss
- sleeping in my own bed
- The Hills and The City
- my bookshelf (+ the solace I take in my personal library)
- Creamsicles!
- late summer nights w/my homays
- wind + being able to breathe (humid place, Egypt is)
- sidewalks & sophisticated traffic systems

... among various food items.

Anyways, I'm hoping this trip is all I wanna make it out to be. I'm filled with fond memories of summers spent in this exotic, far off yet home-y land and I can only hope there will be that much adventure packed into the next two months. I haven't been back in a couple of years, and indeed I am diving into this trip with the mindset of a meditative, overworked, appreciative university student.
So, fellow explorers:
May you brave treacherous social conditions, uncooperative weather, unbearably intimidating opportunities and rebellious plans to have
a
       wonderful
                           summer!!


.. see you all in August, yet I'll be with you in spirit on here...