Patience and Indifference.

I WANT TO GET OUT OF THIS COUNTRY!


How many times do you hear someone saying that in your daily life? I watch people every day jump and do bend over back words just to hear that they might some day soon get the opportunity to get out of the country. And the last time I shared the same level of enthusiasm for the same thing was when I was, what.. Twelve? It was when I'd just come back from Zambia and all I could think about was getting away from this crowded place, in terms of the country and my family. I wanted to be somewhere people spoke my language, literally. I needed to be somewhere I'd know that when someone says they want half a spoon of sugar in their tea, they really do mean half a spoon. And I really needed to be somewhere people wouldn't laugh every time I showed any signs of having an opinion about something. Seriously, because the last time I didn't have an opinion about something or actually anything, it was probably around the time I discovered I have thumbs. And it's still hard, all of that is still there, nothing really changed. I changed though.

I learned what to say when someone says "yar7amkom Allah" after I sneeze. And I learned when to just nod and smile. And probably the most important thing I learned is when to ask a question and when to keep my mouth shut. With time, I learned that Egyptians really are amazing people, once you learn the dos and donts. And the funny thing is, once I finally got comfortable and found places and people I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life around, everyone is all about running off somewhere far away.

I guess what I'm here to write today isn't particularly about Egypt. I'm here to try to wake my self up, or not. I'm not sure. The thing is, I've had several opportunities to get out of the country as soon as I graduate. One of them was a Marriage proposal. And another which happens to still be an option, is to graduate and move to Sudan with my dad, study Human Rights and work with the United Nations. And well, the permanent option that I've always had and will always have, is to move to the United States of America. And I'm calling it that because when I think about moving there, that's just how it sounds in my head. If I say America, then it would sound like a vacation. And as I'm writing this right now I realised that I'm Eighteen, and technically speaking, I could pack my bags and go where ever I want whenever I want since I'm an American citizen.

And it makes me sick. Just the thought of leaving everything behind makes me sick. I'm a person that needs a back pack full of completely pointless things every time I know I wont come home for the rest of the day just to feel safe. One time, I seriously considered taking a bar of soap with me to a trip to El Obour city, just in case I get lost in the desert and then after days I find some water and I feel like washing up. And well, more that once, I've taken my shampoo and conditioner with me to a normal visit to my aunt's just in case something happens and I need to spend the night. Oh and my calculator (because oh my god what would I do if someone asks to calculate something and I can't do it mentally =/), plastic bags, ketchup, note books, books, a stapler.. it's endless. And it's simply because I'm afraid that I'd stray away from home and I wouldn't find anything familiar.

People have left, people have left and with time they forgot that they ever cared about anything back home. And I forgot that I ever worried about missing them. And they really did matter at some point. People that changed my life to the better, people that, literally changed everything. And this looks like some miserable mourning ritual for a lost lover, but it's not. The people I'm talking about are people of all ages and genders and who have gone to different places. Some died, and others just moved. And others, I've just lost contact with them. And here's the butt-naked truth, at some point, I stopped missing them. At some point, my indifference just took over, and it didn't matter any more where they are. And they stopped giving a rat's left ass-cheek as well. And frankly, that scares me, and saddens me out of and back into my senses over and over again.

So now, the question is, am I clinging to this country just because I don't want to be the one that let go first? And if I do stick around until everything else melts away and everyone finds some where to start their lives, will I ever have a life of my own?
I've always said I'd never leave the country because then who'd be there to witness the birth of Amgad's children and Amany's children. But the truth is, when Yassin was born, I was waiting outside the operating room, no witnessing involved. And When Mohga, Amgad's wife was giving birth to Malak, I was asked to stay at home, because, well.. why go?

And the funny thing is, both Amany and Amgad would do anything to get out of this country and go anywhere else. And recently I've noticed Amany's been seriously considering moving to Sudan. So, where does that leave me? Where will I go? or is the question really how long will I stay? and if I do stay... will it be out of fear or will it be for something I believe in.

I wish I knew. But then again, I know nothing, I never did and never will.

The Push.

I find myself, lost in my fear of the future, a large number of times too many a day. And It's not about what life could bring upon me. It's not about who will leave and who will stick around. It's not about whether I'll be left to die alone or not. It's almost always has more to do with how I will react to whatever may come my way.

Love. Interesting, yeah? Well, the funny thing is, people fall in love with other people, don't they? They're afraid that the person they love wouldn't love them back. They're afraid they'd wake up one day and the person they love is gone. They're afraid someone will come along and take the person they love away. They're afraid the person they love doesn't think they're good looking enough. They're afraid the person they love doesn't think they're smart enough.

hmmm... Why is it then, that my fear is always that I would love someone that loves me more than I love them, or even worse, more than I love myself? I'm always afraid that I'd wake up one day, pick up everything that could be traced back to me, and leave. I'm always afraid I'd realise that I was right all along, I AM better off alone. I'm afraid I'd end up with someone that believes in me enough to make me forget what I want to do with my life.

So, that's my say on THAT subject.  I don't think I've ever felt this uncomfortable with publishing a post.
Speaking of being uncomfortable, I was asked how I'm able to type out the most personal details of my life onto a page and just publish them out there for everyone to see. Well, here's the thing... I believe that the only way to acknowledge the existence of a human experience, is to record it somewhere at least one other human being will come across later. And who said any of this is "the most personal details of my life"?
They're personal, I can't really deny that bit. But "most"?

Oh and A friend once said.. "I read your blog, but It gets me worried about you.. You keep writing about things that you actually should be letting go of". That's what I'm doing. Hence the blog's title.

Breathe in, breathe out. Silence.

Say Something, Anything.

I remember a few years ago, I used to fight with my mother and brother almost every single day. And they'd stare at me waiting to say something. I don't remember how it was possible for me to be so... silent. I'd just stand there at stare at them, with the whole world falling apart and rebuilding itself and then falling apart again, in my head and outside of it. I thought that if I kept my mouth shut for long enough, someone will say something that will make everything right again. I was certain that person was not me and was never going to be me. I'd listen to my brother screaming at me to say something, even if it's wrong, he just wanted me to react. I never did, because I had nothing to add. At least if I didn't say anything, I couldn't make things worse, right?

I realise that Dr. Phil is a generally frowned upon reference, but I look up to him, and that's that. And he always asks something. "And how's that working for you?"
Well it never worked back then, and I've stopped trying to make it work.
I've learned that sometimes, saying something, saying anything... is better than silence. Truth will be found in my words even if it's not right there in your face. Courage will be the only thing there in your face.
I'm not the kind of person that has trouble apologizing. Why not say I'm sorry, if it will fix everything?
Why not?

Since my last blog post, I've started three other blog posts, but didn't manage to finish them. The funny thing is, there's never a conclusion to the things a write.. so why couldn't I just click on the Publish Post button and get it over with? I don't know. Maybe every blog post has some kind of end after all. Even if it doesn't look like one.

Am I selfish? Do I come back here every once in a while to write a bunch of stuff about myself? Am I expecting anyone to be interested in any of this?
Not really.

I remember having so much to say when I started this post. I had an amazing day in Encro's session today, I don't think Ive been this proud of myself in a really long time. And proud of the people around me. I also wanted to talk about love. haha, now how often do you see something like that written in one of my blog posts? I also want to talk about the sacrifices that come with any choice anyone ever has to make. I also have a lot to say about indifference, and how it scares me.

but then again, I don't feel like saying anything else.

Aly Genena -

To Aly Genena,

                 To a person with hands so big, they leave you wondering one thing when you look at them. No, not THAT ya aly. It's hard not to wonder whether the whole world with all it's good and bad, water earth and air, could fit in the palms of his hands. I believe it probably would. And someday, when the world is ready for him, and when he's ready for it, the world will run to him and hide in the warmth of his hands.

I met Aly Genena three years ago, and since then I've taken excessive pride in announcing I'm his friend. Saying it out loud to someone else always made me smile, because I'm sure the person I'm saying it to, must have talked to him, and shaken his hands. They must have seen him laugh and seen how every time he laughed, his whole face would conspire to turn his eyes into two little lines above his cheeks. They saw how he squints when he laughs causing his eyelashes to meet and hide the blood clot in his right eye.  And it must have been as endearing to them as it is to me.

So, there he is today, standing tall at eighteen years of age. And I can already see he's on his way to somewhere. It doesn't ever matter where that actually is, he could be a pilot, a guitarist a business man, or a house painter with a tooth pick in his mouth, dirt stuck in his fingernails and paint all over his face, for all I care. Whatever it is, it will be incredible. And everyone will know it's incredible.

I'm sure he doesn't believe me and he won't until that actually happens, and then I'll be chasing him around the streets of zamalek screaming "I told you so". But until that day, the one important thing is that he should have a happy birthday as a start for one happy year after another. And not the "I'm naive, w kol 7aga 7elwa 3ala fekra" kind of happy.. but the, "I can get through anything" kind of happy.

So have a Happy Birthday, big handed friend (and back up husband =P)

Your fan, big sister (mesh big awi ya3ni), (and back up wife),
Eman Eldeeb

Watch Her Run

I have always been fascinated by the concept of running away, it has moved me and shattered me on so many different levels. It has always made me feel like I'm such a big part of it, that sometimes we can't even be told apart. Now the thing is, there are very few situations where I actually did manage to run away. But still, the concept itself seems like something that I would do. And I don't even know what it is I'd like to run away from. But there's something excessively beautiful and brave about such an act of cowardice.

But I don't respect it. It's beautiful, but it can never do any good. Can it? I get so confused sometimes about things like this.

Kings of Leon, Pyro. I never knew a fist fight could be described in a way that would make it sound brilliant. It's brilliant in it's weakness and it's insecurity. It's brilliant in how human it actually is, to let go of all restraints and just let your weakness drive your body into a fit of insanity. There it is, right there, nothing but the need to be seen, splashed and splattered into words. And it's beautiful. I never thought I'd ever want to witness a physical fight as much as I do right now.

The Pumpkin

I don't remember exactly how old I was when Margot and Claude came to visit Egypt all the way from the United States. However, I do remember they brought along a plastic pumpkin, filled with, what seems to my memory now, countless amounts of snickers and twix bars. I never liked chocolate, not even then. But the second I saw that plastic pumpkin, I actually thought they'd brought along my old Halloween costume. That's where mom hid it, right? Back in New Jersey. But didn't I see it a couple of times here, in Egypt, somewhere around the house? I stared for a few long seconds at the pumpkin. I touched it. I held it. I picked it up. And I was disappointed. There was no way I could ever fit in there. But I remember being a pumpkin at some point. My hat even had that little green bit and it was secured around my head with a white and thick elastic band. And my arms and legs were green too. When I looked down, I saw the green triangles of fabric that hung loosely around my neck. And the rest of me was a perfect shade of orange, round and just.. pumpkiny. I was definitely a pumpkin at some point.

Maybe that's where it all started. Maybe that's when I started being so afraid of losing parts of myself, just like I lost the part of me that was a pumpkin. That has to be it. Why else would I still be keeping all my toys? Why would I be so afraid of losing anything I own. And why would I be so afraid of owning new things?

There are no pictures of my beloved pumpkin suit, and I'm afraid of the disappointment that will inevitably follow the mention of it to my mom. She means well, but my mother has managed to convince herself that all the nightmares that I'd tell her about after I'd wake up screaming in the middle of the night, are actually one dream.There's my first nightmare, where the green hollow being walks into my parents room and picks me up from where I was sleeping (between them), and the dream continues for a few seconds with the vivid image of both my parents still fast asleep and not affected by absence. There's my reoccurring dream, which I still get when I'm really frustrated or tired and which happens to be the reason I hate the color pink. In this dream, I do not even appear, but there's a pink squishy substance and voices. The voices are counting something that has to do with me, and at the same time parts of the pink squishy substance are (by some invisible force) attempting to fit into a space not big enough for them. I don't ever remember waking up after that dream with my eyes dry. It has always made me cry for days after it's dreaded appearance.

There's my dragon dream. The dream takes place in Lusaka, Zambia, in our beautiful villa and probably the only place I've ever felt I could be a child. In the dream, Damien and his brother twin Cosmos, two of our housekeepers in Zambia and also two of the people I can never forget, run out of the terrace screaming that there is a dragon that will burn the whole house down. I run to my parents' room screaming only to find my mother watching television in bed and my father sitting on a tiny chair infront of the dresser trying concentrating on something that has to do with sellotape. I tell them that the house is going to burn down but they don't believe me, and my father looks back at his sellotape in frustration. I run to the terrace and I see the dragon (who happens to have a human head by the way) getting ready to blow fire out of it's mouth at all the children of Zambia who were, for some reason, all stuck in our terrace.

There's my miniature cartoons dream. I don't remember falling asleep before having this one, because it feels so real till this day. I blink three times, and look at the little light coming from my side on my brother's bed. And there he is, the evil villain from Power Rangers. I blink again, and he laughs and tells me that there is no way out of this. He is real. I blink again, There they all are, the villains from power rangers, all of them. The ones that used to laugh every time they thought they will finally kill the power rangers, and would scream at the end of every episode mourning their defeat. I walk out of the room only to find the lion king stickers on the wall right before the bathroom door, dancing and singing. Why would Simba want to be king? I thought about asking him, but I was too scared. I would blink so many times and run all over the house and back to my brother's bed until all of them are finally gone. I don't even remember how many times I had that dream.

And there's the dream where I accidentally slit my brother's throat. I think, The dream started out with me holding a knife to a rabbit's throat and then somehow it turns into my brother. Or was it my sister that slit his throat? I don't remember. What I do remember is that I woke up in the middle of that night and ran into my brother's room, I found him there, safe and with his head intact. I sat in his room for hours.

There's the one where mom had a different voice and wouldn't listen to me. She was on the bed and I was on the floor. I tugged at her clothes and begged her to talk to me with her real voice, but she laughed and stared at me with the eyes of a little child, not any child.. A little brat. I begged and cried, but the voice stayed and the laughter didn't stop.

Then there's my pink substance dream again, only a different version of it. In this one, my sister makes a guest appearance. And she yells at me for doing something which I haven't really done. And I happened to have that dream just after my sister moved to Egypt alone, and I was in Zambia with the rest of the family. I cried for days after this one, and my mother called my sister and asked her to let me know that she is not mad at me, and that it's only a dream. I don't remember if she did, maybe she did.

The thing is, I've told my mom about all of those dreams at some point or another. And till this day, my mother thinks the one and only nightmare I ever had was the one where "The pink dragon was trying to eat my sister". I don't really blame her, if I were her, and I'd raised two children before me... I wouldn't remember my dreams either.

Now, as disturbing as these dreams seemed and still seem to me, I do understand how amusing they may sound to others. And to a mother, they might even sound "cute". I do. I do understand. I understand.
I Undersatnd.
I understand now, but the intensity of  the parts of me that run to my mother's defense every time I hear her say "No, Eman, that's not how the dream was, I remember that dream like I was the one who had it, and yesterday! In that dream, There was a pink dragon, and it was trying to eat Amany!", will never be strong enough as the parts of me that want to scream.

So let's say I do ask her about my pumpkin suit. I have no proof the pumpkin suit ever existed, no photographs, no video tapes.. nothing. Would I be able to handle hearing that she remembers that Halloween.. because I was dressed as a doctor in a television set. (two separate Halloweens, once as a doctor and the next as a television set) Or maybe she'd remember that Halloween, because I was dressed as The Pink Dragon That Was Trying To Eat My Sister.

I thank god every single day that I remember bits and pieces of my childhood, because I have no idea if I didn't remember that part of me, then who would? Who would know that someday, somewhere on this earth, a little girl believed she was a pumpkin?

The Set Back

David And Goliath.
why do I know nothing of that story? I have never heard anything about it before. I keep hearing people referring to it and all I know is that Goliath was a giant. Wasn't he? I should read more. I mean, I read. But I read fiction, and I read more than most people I know. Wait no, Yasmine Fayez reads more than ANYONE I know. what was my point? ah, I need to read more. I've missed out on too many "Everyone knows that" things. But I have to admit that I know about western culture and history double what I know about Egyptian culture and history. And probably ten times what I know about Arabic Culture and history.



Before I forget, I need to say something. The one thing that upsets Nancy Agram is when she opens the refrigerator and doesn't find yogurt. Lactel Marketing Manager, please get hit by a bus.



I know why I haven't been writing and it's not because I'm busy. I haven't been writing because the moment I start pulling open the drawers of my mind, stuff starts bursting out of locked closets and it takes days, if not months to fold everything up and put it back in. Even when I do manage to do that, in this case, everyone has already seen the piles bursting out onto the floor.



I am at a point where I am doubting everything I have ever concluded. Most of the things I worked to make peace with are acting up again and I don't have it in me to remember how I even started taming it all. I know too little of this world to start releasing words of wisdom, I understand nothing and I know that no one else does. What really scares me, is the existence of humans that walk around this world with no intention of attempting to understand it. If they don't ask questions then what do they do?



At least those teenage girls that write article after article about the boys they love, once loved, or will love, are thinking about something. As much as I'm tired of reading the same words rephrased by a hundreds of girls, and sometimes boys, over and over again, I am glad they are thinking about something.



I've figured out that I'm not strong and I never have been. I am stronger than weak, I know that much. But that's as far as it goes. I do what I have to do to survive. And I do what I have to do to keep myself thinking, to keep myself asking questions, and to keep myself alive.



"I’ve taken the same ride too many times.



I could fall asleep in the loop.
I know the clowns wipe the fake, makeup smiles off their faces once the show is done.
I know the lions sleep in cages at night.
I know the tightrope walkers have blisters on their feet.
I know the ringmaster doesn’t believe in what he yells to the crowd anymore.
I know the strongman, isn’t as strong as he once was.
I know the candy floss has always been, just sugar and air." - Iain Thomas - The Circus is Cheaper When It Rains.
http://www.iwrotethisforyou.me/2010/10/circus-is-cheaper-when-it-rains-music.html

I am no longer afraid of quoting someone else. We are all very little people, with our eyes fixed on the rear view mirror. And we know nothing of importance. We know nothing.

Do you know who you're talking to? No, you don't.

Following Through

I am tempted to just give it a rest. To just stop. That way, I'd have one less thing to have to follow through with. I promised my self to write here until there's actually a better place to write. But with everything that's been going on, very little seems to be clear enough to actually be put into words. I'm not used to just telling what's been happening, I write here to release feelings and to let go of facts I wouldn't know how to free if I tried saying them outloud. And I can't do that write now. Because I don't know how I feel about anything. All I know is that my sister had her baby, Yassin, on 2:57 p.m tuesday 12/10/2010. And that I am now the director of the civil rights and freedoms committee in the egyptian national child's rights observatory. I also know that I have two subject that I know absolutely nothing about -Finance and statistics. And I know that I'm taking one subject that I was apparently born to study, because I seem to instinctively know everything about it. - Legal Environment.

And my eye is swollen. so, yeah.. Great. This is just one of those posts.

Ana Hatkallem 3arabi 3ashan 3ady 3ala Fekra.

I just noticed that "3arabi 3ashan 3adi 3ala" fekra all start with the letter "3". Ah, letter.

el so2al el molle7 ba2a delwa2ti, howa el nass elli bete2ra elli ana katbah w mabtefhamsh menno 7aga dah 3ashan it's in English walla 3ashan ana lama bafakar elli beyetla3 menni ba3d el tafkeer mesh mafhoom 3'er leya bass ( w sa3at walla 7atta leya). Asl mawdoo3 English dah mafhoom, walahy ana nefsi at3allem akteb 3arabi 3ashan ana 3andi 7agat keteer tet2al wana mesh 3ayzaha tet2al lel nass elli betefham english bass, w mesh 3ayzaha tet2al lel nass elli beye2ro bass.

Maho asl el stereotype (mesh ha3raf atsaraf fel kelma dih) beta3 en maba3rafsh a2ra wakteb 3arabi fa yeb2a ana mayenfa3sh afeed el masreyeen dah mesh hayenfa3 yegri waraya keteer. Kol ma7awel a2ool ra2yee f7aga ma7adesh bey.. (take me seriously??) beyesma3li 3ashan ana fi nazarhom wa7da metrabbeya barra w lama geit da5alt madaress american w ba3daha british system w ba3deehom I topped it off bgam3a joint mabein gam3et el kahera w georgia state university.

Tab ana 3ayza a3'ayar el balad.. atsaraf ezzay ya3ni? lama ana 3ashan a2ool gomla 3arabi, batbahdel 3ashan ala2i kelma 3edla tet7at. W lama bala2i el kelma el 3edla 3adatan beteb2a kelma metargema 7arfeyan men english le 3arabi waktashef en bel 3arabi keda malhash ma3na.. aw ma3naha keda mesh el ma3na elli ana 3ayza a2oolo bel English. Tab aslan ana maba3rafsh a2ool "Engeleezi". 3omri ma3reft a7otaha fi gomla mofeeda.. fa men 3'er ma2sod (I come across?.. ummm) baban leli odami el shabba elli gaya tetnatat 3alehom. Da 3'er ma2sat sha3ry el curly elli beykarar fi aw2at 3'areeba eno yatakamas sha5seyet shagara fi mahab el ree7.  Tab heya mesh dih el mafrood lo3'ati? Elmoshkella eni awel magi atkallem keda ba7ess eni baharag. Mesh 3arfa asada2 nafsi ya3ni.. w mabein kol gomla w gomla ba7awel akne3 nafsi eni mesh ba2lesh.. bass hat3awed "3ashan 3ady 3alafekra".
 wana 3andi kalimat zeyada, ba7otaha fil gomla 3ashan 3ala mafakar fel kelma elli 3ayza a2olha yekoon elli odami etlaha fil kelma elli ana oltaha.. welli etkallemo m3aya 3arfeen eni ba2ool "lesababen mah", "3adatan", "a7yanan", "tab", "Elli howa", "Elli howa nezam ba2a" "fe3lan?", "howa fe3lan", "2ella howa fe3lan?" "El fekra en", "elfekra mesh en", "mazonesh", "masalan" w tab3an "sanya wa7da bass hagama3" aktar men ay kalemat tanya fel lo3'a el 3arabeya.

Elli yesma3ni ba2ool keda yefteker masalan eni 2ommi aw aboya men balad tanya, bass la2.. masreyeen. (awi ba2a)
Ana bass lafeit keteer, wana kol 7aga feya masreya, elli mat3alemtoosh men masr (3'er qawa3ed el lo3'a), zan2et el tafkeer elli mo3zam el nass 7ashra nafsaha feeha.. elli howa "The Box" (akeed masmoosh el sandoo2.. sa7?). Howa fi box zay beta3 masr? welli fakreen nafsohom mesh ma7shoreen feeh beyerga3oolo fi as3'ar el 7agat. Mogarad eni batkallem ma3 7ad barra my network of friends (ma3reftesh atsaraf feeha bardo) w sa3at gowaha kaman, beyetbasseli akeni mareeda.. w mesh mareeda b2ay 7aga, 3andi.. 3andi 2amal. (2amal, mesh 2aml). welli as3ab men keda, moktane3a en kol 7aga momken tet7al w tet3'ayar 3ady ya3ni. w ekfeena el shar ya rab a3oozo bellah men el shaytan el rajeem w la 7awl wala qowat ella bellah allaho el shafy el mo3afy.. Ba7eb Masr =O. w ba7eb arafha!

ma32eni mado2tesh arafha w morraha zay ba2eet el nass, aboya safeer ba2alo 7awali 3ashar seneen, w men abl matweled b 14 sana kan fil 5argeya. da 3'er eni aslan, ma3aya el genseya el americeya 3ashan mawlooda henak. bel raqam el qawmi bkollo. bass howa dah bey2alel men (my credibility?..) Masdaqeyeti ka wa7da masreya bet7eb el ballad. Ana mesh 3ayza the U.S, the U.S mesh me7tagani. w mawgooda w hatefdal mawgooda ya3ni, ha3mel beeha eh delwa2ti?

kal3ada ana mesh 3arfa ana ba7awel awsal le2eh delwa2ti fil la7za dih.. bass ana olt agarab ya3ni akteb 3arabi.. tab howa 7ad mesada2ni?

But Who Do You Want Me to Be?

This part of this post is dedicated to Ruba khaled and Only Ruba khaled.
Horses are really strong, but they are gentle souls. They have beautiful eyes and I've never seen a fat horse. The muscles! They are loyal but they are independent. They are the perfect combination of physical and mental strength. That's why. Thank you for asking me those questions, You got me thinking. I never knew why horses until today. I love you.

*****
I'm currently writing something, that needs alot of work. And I'm trying to save my energy and words for it. I have been thinking about this particular article for a really long while and it will take alot of work from me to write it the way it is in my head. I never edit anything I write, atleast not until 3 months after I've written it, and I'm not going to edit this one before I post it either. It's really important to me and thats why I need to give it as much attention in my head as it deserves, because as soon as I type the words, they will stay unchanged for a long time. So, yeah. I have work to do. I miss writing here though.

And In health.

Have you ever taken a bottle of water or soda out of the freezer and it looked like it was still liquid, and the second you start shaking it, it freezes up into solid ice. It's like all it needed was a reassortment of it's particles so it could be what it's meant to be. It needed to be held, and moved. And poof, it's solid ice. That could be one of those things that fascinates me every single time I witness. And every time it happens it gets me thinking about what it means.

My family is expecting new additions to the family. My sister is 8 months pregnant and according to her doctor, she could be in labor any minute now. Inshaa'allah, very soon this house will be filled with diapers and baby food and well.. A little baby boy. My mother was talking to me about her parents yesterday, and out of nowhere she said that she is hoping to god that she would get to see my children. The thing is, my brother and sister are 7 and 10 years older than me, respectively. And my sister got married at the age of 26 and my brother got married at the age of 24. I'm Eighteen. I don't see marriage in my near future at all.

It scares me senseless. How many people are lucky enough to get married and spend the rest of their lives with another human being without changing their mind about them. How could someone just stand there and vow to commit to this one person until death seperates them. And the way I see it,  it's so much easier to love some one when they aren't close to you. People stand there and they say "I promise to love and cherish you, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part". It's said like even though things will get rough, they will still keep their promise. But it's so much easier to love someone when things get worse, when there's a financial crisis, when they're sick, and finally when they're dead. It's so much easier to love and care for someone who is wounded.
Am I the only girl on the face of the planet that's thinking like this?

 It's the "& In Health" part that really worries me.

The silliest things worry me about commitment. I don't imagine a situation when I'd ever hand over the television remote to someone else. I can't even begin to imagine why I would ever get used to the taste of olives because someone else likes them. I know that even if I pick out the olives from my plate, I will still taste olives. And I don't want to taste olives.

But my mother wants to live to see me in a wedding dress, and she wants to hold my children.

So, now what?

Is that What They See?

It's a Bird! It's a Plane! NO! It's a red and blue underwear (xxL) that flew out of your obese neighbour's window.

I feel like that underwear sometimes. Ah, Yes, I just compared myself to an underwear. I feel completely out of place sometimes, and it's like someone else should be doing what I'm trying to do. It should be a bird, and it should be a plane. What if it's not supposed to be me? At some point, this year.. I actually believed with all of my heart that I knew what I was doing. I believed that no one else would know what to do. I knew what to do and it was going to change the world. I was more than a bird and more than a plane. I was more than I ever expected myself to be. That's what I saw. That's what I saw and seeing is believing. I had a purpose. People will thank me. And people will say my name when I'm not in the room and they will smile at how things are, and they will flinch at the thought of things being different.  People will remember who I am long after I am gone, and they will quote me.

But I am not that person today. I am not a bird and I am not a plane. I am that bright red and blue underwear just waiting to get stranded on a tree branch somewhere. Who said that's a bad thing? Atleast I'm still in the air. I am weak because I am human. And I am strong because I have the strength to admit how weak I am at this moment. I still believe that there's a plan for me. I still believe that I was not born to be forgotten in a laundry basket, oh, or worse. I was born to do something and I keep losing track of the variations of the people I could be. I can no longer say that I think things will change "when I grow up". I am eighteen years old. I should vote. I should drive. I should know things. I should know what I can and can not be. I should stop waiting for something to happen, because it IS happening. It's all happening and it's happening without me, whatever it is.

It pains me to see people who still see me as the bird or the plane. And I feel like screaming everytime I'm meeting someone new, because I still talk like someone who is about to change the world. It's all I feel like saying today, it's An UNDERWEAR. It's a freaking Underwear. IT'S AN UNDERWEAR! IT'S AN UNDERWEAR. IT'S AN UNDERWEAR UNTIL IT TURNS INTO SOMETHING ELSE. FOR NOW, IT'S AN UNDERWEAR.

Now, where's that tree branch so I can cling to it until I figure out where I want to go from there?

The thing about the words I say.

I am here to make sure that I will not stop writing. Saying everything is okay at this point will sound to my own ears like the most moronic advertisment ever aired on Egyptian Television, "Americana... 100% Egyptian".

Things are far from being fine, and I am far from being at peace. I am slowly tormenting myself over things I have no control over. I am chasing after thoughts that never really existed, and I'm not sure if I'm trying to chase them away, or to get a hold of them. I don't know what I want. I don't know what I'm fighting. But I know that I am looking for two things, I am looking for a concrete belief in god, and I am looking for something to want.

I envy heart broken people, because atleast they have an idea what they want. I envy people who are failing at something, because atleast they know what they want to achieve. I envy people who are fighting for their freedom, because they know where they want to be. I envy people who made a decision to stop doing something, because they know what they want and dont want to stand for.

What would my writing be like if I was the kind of person who knew how to write in a constant chain of metaphors and analogies? How do I manage to make my sentences seem so simple, yet at the end of each piece of writing, most people still don't understand what I'm trying to say?

How many times a day will I have to ask my self if I'm staring into space because I'm really thinking, or because I want to be thinking? The answer never changes.. "I don't know, but keep thinking". I am tired of thinking, I want to do something. I want to find out what it is Im thinking about. I want to want something. But wanting to want doesn't count, does it?

For the first time in a long while, I feel like one Eman. I don't feel like a thousand little parts of me stuck together with a half-chewed stick of gum. I am just Eman, one that is so indifferent about most things. I am finally one, and I don't care. I don't care. I don't want anything. I don't want anything for me. I don't want to win anything, I dont want to be anywhere, I dont want to be with anyone, I don't want to learn anything. I just want to stand still and let everyone else get a head start at everything possible.

I say alot of things.. I say I can do alot of things.. I don't think I've ever tried to do any of them.

I don't want to play with the rubiks cube, because I can't handle the pressure I feel when I can't get a row in order.

I feel like thanking Omar Abhar for Existing. So yeah.. Thank you for existing.. You are one of very few people that I don't find Irritating at the moment. So yeah.. that's about it for now.

The Sink

Despite any assumptions about how our family apartment should actually be, we have one bathroom in this apartment. That's right. One Bathroom, and most of the time, Seven People. Seven people who happen to wake up at the same time. Seven People who eat at the Same time. And seven people who, most of the time, tend to decide to use the bathroom at the same time. So to avoid excessive knocking and screaming, (And if you forget to lock the door, it's just screaming), I learned to take a little tour of the house before I decide to shower, to let everyone know that the bathroom will be occupied for the next hour or so.

The funny thing is, because everyone always want what they can't get, I've developed the habit of reading on the washing machine. And ofcourse all of my important thinking happens in the shower. All of my singing practice happens in there too. In fact, this blog post started out in my head in the shower just an hour ago. I remember when I really realised I can sing, I used to print out the lyrics to "Every Breath You Take", "Under Pressure" and "All That I've Got" and I'd stick them in the shower. And it would be ages before my neighbours can take their hands off of their ears. And it's not just about the shower and the washing machine.

The sink. The part of the day when I wake up and drag myself to the bathroom and stand infront of the sink to wash my face and then look up at myself in the mirror, is never just a simple moment. Regardless of the hundreds of times my family almost knocked down the door because I was taking too long in there, that moment is something else. I never realise how long I'm standing there, looking myself straight in the eyes, with the water running to waste. Even if I'm an hour late for a lecture, I can never stop it from happening. I look at myself like I'm someone I haven't seen in years. The moment they start knocking on that door like madmen, I realise it's been 10 minutes, and I haven't even moved in an inch. No wonder they think I'm reckless and irresponsible...

I just remembered why I was writing about this in the first place, when I was telling my parents that I'm going to shower, my mom told me to wait till the morning because it's almost fagr and everyone will want to pray, and they'll need to use the bathroom first. I told her I'll only take ten minutes (yes, I lie when it comes to how much time things will take!). So my dad actually said, "Yeah, and you shouldnt wash your hair in the morning and then go out, you'll catch a cold". Umm, it's 40 Degrees (c). So, yeah... This house.. is REALLY weird.

I've been listening to a justin bieber song for about three hours now. Don't get me wrong, I can't stop listening to it because it's featuring Jaden Smith. And I can't get over how much he sounds like his father. Well the miniature version of his father. And I wonder if it really takes parents who have a great marriage to bring up emotionally stable, bright,and talented children.

"No pun intended, I was raised by the power of Will" - Jaden Smith - Never Say Never.

The Shade of Green You Never Saw

I am okay with whatever I have right now. The thing is, I don't know what I have. I really don't know what I have right now to keep me going.
there are few things I am certain about, and most of my certainty is about my uncertainty.

I know that I can write. I know that I can not describe an object, or a sight, but I can describe the feelings it gives me, or anyone.
I know that I have thoughts that are different from others around me, but I also know that the moment I try to express them, my heart rate will sprint out of control.
I know that I stutter most of the time.
I know that I write "your welcome" even though I know it's actually "you're welcome".
I know that reconnecting with a certain person could've been enough to shake me to my core, but it didn't.
I know that I laugh a lot, because it's easier, and because I can't control it.
I know that I am a Muslim, but I also know that I know less about Islam than I know about anything else.
I know that I believe in this country, and the people of this country.
I know that I can say " I know I can say" and I don't have to say "that". I also know that I like using the word that.
I know that my last statement could be very confusing.
I know that my spelling has improved drastically in the past three years.
I know that when I was a child, I wanted to paint. I wanted to paint because I wanted to move people.
I know that I cannot paint.
I know that I've always loved food. I also know that I love food more than I should.
I know that my hands shake in interviews. I know I let them shake.
I know I can sing. I also know I don't have control over my own voice.
I know I rarely ever know what I'm doing.
I know I can turn most situations to my favor at the end of the day.
I know some people scare me.
I know I rarely meet deadlines. And I always know if I will, or not.
I know I don't like to remember certain years of my life, but I have no regrets.
I know I'm the loudest screamer in any amusement park.
I know that if I died today, and everyone found out everything I ever hid from the world, most people will hate me.
I know I'm all you have sometimes.
And I know sometimes, most of the time, you are all I have.
And finally, I know I talk to myself like I'm a stranger, because that's really what I am.

And I'm okay with all I have.. for now.

She Has No Time

When is the last time I felt big? And do you know what I mean by big? not weight big, and not height big. and not any kind of big that might cross your mind when you see the word big. Big?
I feel like typing fast enough to match the keyboard's beat with this song's tempo. Tempo?
Question marks make it easy to walk out, don't they"?"

Chris Martin lied, you know. He won't try to fix me.
Someone once told me never to trust two types of people, Brits, and Alexandrians. I now know that she was right, I also learned not to trust her.
Someone once told me, that they were glad I wasn't theirs, because they were afraid that if I belonged to them, they would abuse me. I will never stop being afraid of them.
Someone once told me that one day I will be loved. but there are too many twists in that story for one piece of writing to handle, so I will spare you the details.

I will spare you the details of everything. They are not important. Long story short, my story can not be shortened. And Long story short, My story is not significant enough to tell anymore, but I am not indifferent enough to forget all of it. The details of my story, can not be given justice.

Now, how hard was that"?"

Thirteen Months.

I followed through with this blog, finally. I capitalize my I's more often. And I use less dots. I still cant start a sentence in past tense and keep it that way though. I still run into walls and I still havent let go of enough crap to feel any lighter.

Immaculate Bridges

I hate to admit my shallow thoughts. I hate to admit that I would change my mind about someone following just how big their lips look at a certain moment. The moment some one's lips look abnormally large to me, I know that for some reason I have or will have a change of heart about them. As misleading as something like that SHOULD be, it has saved me from several situations I'm sure I wouldn't have liked being in. It pushes me to take a mental step backwards just in time. I never quite know what I'm being saved from, but I've learned not to resist the instinct to run.

Leonard Cohan actually wrote Hallelujah. He wrote it and he sang it. And no one really listened then. Everyone's singint it now, and the words somehow changed everytime someone new sang it. I've seen "she broke your throne" turn into "she broke your crown" and "the holy dove was moving too" turn into "the holy ghost". And "All I've ever learned from love is how to shoot somebody who outdrew you" turn into "All I've ever learned from love is how to shoot someone who overthrew you". 

The thing is, i thought I was so observative when it comes to covers of this song and then I realized I never actually heard the original version by Leonard Cohan. I couldn't even get half way through it. and what does most of it mean anyway? what's the forth and what's the fifth?

I know nothing.

I wish when I write about this song, Im just writing about this song. But that's never the case. I never just mean this song. I never just mean music.
I could be the most uninspired human being on the face of this planet right now. I'll stop now.

The Broken Cookie.

A man once told me that he fell in love so many times in his life not because he loved women, but because he loved the anticipation of it all. His favorite part of the date was getting ready for it, and not the moment he sees her. His favorite part of a phone call would be hearing it ring. He said that nothing could have ever ruined that for him, unlike the rest of it all. Sometimes I'd make a play list, and put my favorite song last, so I'd have to wait for it. And then when it's finally played, most of the time I don't even concentrate as much as I did with the songs before it.

There's something unavoidable about reality that we tend to postpone whether we know we are or not. We wait for the introduction to reality and then when we get there, we hesitate and we shake. We fight for what we want and we're never sure if this is all we could be doing. We fight and we wait and we're okay with it because we hope that it will pay off.
I always did wonder, every time I watched a "Hell's Kitchen" Finale, how it felt to turn the door knob and find it locked. And how surprising it must feel to turn the knob and have the door open. And what was it like to not have to go through lists of all the positive things that will come out of not winning the million dollar restaurant of your dreams?

I'm okay with being the kind of person that comes to dead ends and turns around to take other roads. Longer Roads, with more people, and more time to think. But do I ever do anything else? Do I really need more thinking? I'm running out of things to think about, I'm running out of things to confuse myself about. I'm running out of tests for myself.

It's funny how one person's judgement could affect so many things at once. And it's funny how hard it is for me to accept how anything would affect me. I have never felt colder in my life. I have never felt more uninteresting in my life. I have no taste in music, any song is a good song. I have no taste in movies, any movie has something good about it. I have no interest in having opinions anymore because I have realised that all my opinions are too flexible for my own good. I feel like Ive officially bent until I broke.

Here I am again, feeling like the clingy younger friend that won't stop nagging her older friend about everything and anything. I laugh at everything, even the jokes I know aren't funny. I eat when I'm not hungry. I agree to things I don't want to agree to. I am trapped doing what's easy again. I might even be looking for approval again. I am here right now, writing this, to save myself. I am writing this now just to make it real. I need to see it to understand it. And I need to understand it to know what to do about it.

I miss talking.. I miss telling stories without giggling in the middle like an idiot because I'm afraid the person listening to it won't think it's interesting. I miss feeling like the biggest person I know. I miss feeling like I don't need anyone to make me feel whole. I miss it all. and here I am again, wanting to stop, afraid that I'm boring you with this. Who are you? You never did me any good any way. None of you ever will unless I'm willing to let myself be. Misery still is beautiful, and so is failure. But I don't think I recall seeing success, what if it's a different kind of beautiful? A kind I need to see. What if turning the door knob and winning the restaurant will bring you closer to your family and friends and you passon and everything you ever loved. What if thinking that the one who found the door locked will be the one who has the last laugh is just another comforting thought. What if I didn't exist? It wouldnt matter at this point. And I can't live like this. This is not who I am and this is not what I'll let myself be.

Will I laugh when I read this a year from now? What if I don't?

Duets.

I am the nick pitera of my own life at the moment. And it's actually irritating how everyone seems to be belting out in some insane duet. I'm standing in front of a mic, singing the Aladdin part of A whole new world, and then running to the other side and singing the jasmine part. Nothing is more irritating than the people who think they can join in... if you can sing better than I can sing it, I still like my own version. And if you can't even sing, then why are you here? and my favorite, if you think I sing so well, therefore I will make your song better, you're a moron.

About my hair... I understand that it looks better straight. I realize that it looks longer straight. I realize that it looks darker straight. I understand. Yes, I know. And yes, I will still ignore you. I refuse to run for shelter when it's about to rain. I refuse to starve myself instead of working out because I can't wash my hair everyday. I refuse to blush when people ask why a strand of my hair is curling up. I refuse to spend time making my self something I am not. Why is it suddenly a bad thing to like myself? it's bad enough that I choose to put on eye liner everyday.. that makes me feel fake enough.


Lately, I've been going to teenstuff magazine more often. What happened to teenagers? Since when did it become cool to stay IN the box? "we're tired of everything controversial, can't we talk about something normal for once?" SERIOUSLY? tired of controversy? I need the person who had the master plan to make the new generation as boring as possible and just shake their hand until it falls off, because he definitely succeeded.


My sister is having a baby in three months inshaa'allah. it's going to be a boy inshaa'allah. 
question is, now what? or then what? I keep thinking I'd be the kind of aunt that makes the baby bleed while attempting to change it's diaper, and I have an image of me with a dirty diaper stuck to my back, a spit up stain on my shoulder, and I'm holding the baby's leg and carrying him upside down with his head dangling.. so the phone rings, and I let go of his leg. *applause* I can't be absent minded with a baby around. I can't be the person who puts her notebook in the freezer and tries to mute the Television using her cell phone any more. because that notebook could be the baby! what if the baby isn't in the freezer, what if the baby starts learning to speak, and then his first word is something horrible I said while changing his diaper. what if, the baby grows up and deletes a file off of my laptop.. My music folder, and I *accidentally* kill him? what if the baby hates me? what if he doesn't hate me, what if he likes me so much that he doesn't want to go home with his parents, and then THEY hate me. What if I'm the kind of aunt that people avoid? What if I'm the annoying aunt that's so critical of everything? what if he's the annoying kid that throws home appliances out the window and pees on the wall?


what if it's all perfect? and what if nick pitera really is unnatural?


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t9-CS2v8wcc


Oh and.. I found the Spell check button, it was there the whole time, right infront of me.

Goosebumps

I never was the kind of person that gets goosebumps when they're moved. I actually have a vitamin dificiency that results in a condition called "Goosey Skin". My arms constantly have goose bumps for no reason. Everywhere I go people ask me if I'm feeling cold, some even just assume I am and start closing windows and offering me jackets.

I'm glad I don't get goose bumps. I'm glad chocolate doesnt make me happy. I'm glad I always hated chocolate chip cookies. I'm glad I hate big weddings. I'm glad I laugh at everything. I'm glad I cry when I want to. I'm glad I let people talk to me when I dont know them. I'm glad my hands shake sometimes when I'm speaking infront of an audience. I'm glad I answer all questions with a question. I'm glad I never cared enough about how I look to spend more than 50 L.E on a haircut. I'm glad I don't use my american accent. I'm glad my desktop wall paper is a picture of the Egyptian flag. I'm glad I never liked birthday cakes.

I'm glad I turn the air conditioner off using the remote instead of the switch like I'm supposed to. I'm glad I dont care if I look stupid when Im running. And I'm glad I notice when someone's making fun of me. I'm glad I ignore them. I'm glad I make fun of them in my head too. I'm glad I'm writing this even when I should be working on my secretariat plan.

I should get goosebumps though.

Shuffle.

Why isn't it possible to quote instrumentals? It would have made alot of this easier. It was brought to my attention by Eman (yes, me) that my blog posts have been really gloomy for a while now. So I made a playlist, and I put it on shuffle. And I'll let each song change the flow of this post. That won't be easy, because I always have one song playing on repeat for each post. So this should be interesting. Here goes.

I have so much to do this summer, it's crazy. And alot of it is just things to sort out with myself. And even more are things I always wanted to do but never really went through with. And inorder to do them I will have to get one thing sorted out with my parents. Inshaa2 Allah, if they let me go out when I want, I will not die.
Another thing is this band thing I've started with Ahmed Magdy. I need to get used to the fact that I will be getting up on stage and singing infront of other human beings. I'll probably pass out the first couple of times. I wouldn't want to let my band members down. I'm also applying as a secretariat in Almun 2011 inshaa2allah. That'll need another blog post.

That was Snow (hey Oh) - Red hot chilli peppers

I was called judgemental by a really close friend this week. I was also informed that I'm scary. I was also described as a pain in the ass by another friend. "And how could I talk to you if I can feel terror?".
I thought it would be easy to write about this, but it really isnt. Just like it isn't easy for me to talk about it or even think about it.

That was Mad - Ne-yo

I have a friend, lets call him S. He was always the guy who feared commitment, and we always laughed about being almost equally afraid of commitment. He used to call him self a tinman, and he wouldnt stop saying that he had no heart. But he was always okay. And it made sense to me. I was so sure that if he was like that, then it's okay for me to be like that. lets just say he was my hope at proving my theory that you can be happier single than when you're with someone.
All hopes of that went down the drain. He has fallen desperately, dangerously and entirely in love, head over heels, "let's get married now", "I want to my children to look like you", kind of falling in love. and it's not a teenage kind of thing, he's in his twenties and it's serious. I look at him and I know he's happier now, and he's more comfortable with himself. And it scares me.

that was stop this world - Ne-yo

this is a good one =D Who knew james morrison could actually be good? I never really gave him a chance. "And if you stay with me, honestly it's what I want. But if you stay with me, I know I'll hurt you more. So won't you save, save yourself." I'm doubting myself about alot of my choices these days. I'm not sure about anything or anyone anymore. I'm scared of the day I'll wake up and realize that I'm an entirely different person and I'm not even in a better place.

that was Save yourself - james morrison

I had a dream that Julie started talking. She told me that she never recognized me when I visited, and she always thought I was someone else. In the dream I wasn't upset, I was just happy she's out of her coma. I'm tired of people asking me if she's awake. And I'm tired of having to answer them when they ask "why?" If anyone knew why, then everything would be okay now, wouldn't it. What is wrong with you? Why would ou think it's okay to ask such a question like you're asking what time it is.

that was please don't stop the rain - james morrison

I met someone today, I don't really know him, but I've been aware of his existence for a about 3 years now. I'm not attracted to him or anything, and it's nothing like that. But I can't help but to notice that when he smiles everyone looking at him smiles too. And I always smile too. Infact today I was trying to avoid him, because of an awkward encounter we had earlier this year, but as I was trying to walk right past him, he put his leg right infront of me. If I had decided to continue walking and pretending I didn't notice, there was a great chance that I'd trip and fall. And that's never fun, is it. So I stopped and we said our helloes. And I kept thinking that it was a shame that we weren't friends, because I could use more smiling in my life.

That was Hey, Soul sister - Train

enough for today, I'll have to come back for a post about a couple of things here..

The rays of expression. - Dedicated to Omar K Hegazy

This blog post is not about me. And it's not a short story. This blog is about another blog.

I just finished reading Omar K Hegazy's blog. And well, let's just say that all I kept thinking when reading it, is that it's a shame that a person like him is burried behind what people think of him. If only people understood what he has to offer to this world, I'm sure everything would be atleast a little bit more exciting.

It's a shame that people can't see beyond what's infront of them. There's so much more to people than they appear to be. And a perfect example of that is Omar. If I was stupid, I would read his blog and laugh. I would laugh at his sentence structure. I would laugh at the way he just uses an arabic word every time he can't find an english word to describe what he wants to say. I would laugh at how he calls Yahia "ya7yo7a". I would laugh at how straight forward some of his statements are.

But all I see is Someone who is expressing himself. And what he has to say is beautiful, simply because it's honest. Omar K hegazy, I am officially proud of you and proud of being your friend. Please write everyday because everytime i read something you write, it makes me happy.

Thank you ya Fandem

Twister

I grew up in a place where it wasn't exactly wise to do anything other than what you were told. I grew up in a battlefield of my own and I understood very well that I was not the most important thing in my family. I knew that at any moment someone would run out of people to hurt and it would be my cue to be prepared to hear things I didnt want to know. I grew up with an unwritten rule that some things can not be shared with my family, and it wasn't long before I learned that the other unwritten rule was to never try to break the unwritten rules. I look back at my self, and sometimes I can't even remember how I got through each day. I was taught that love is enough. Things will be okay because we all love eachother. My parents will stay together because they love us. We will forgive our parents because we love them. We will get over our little fights with eachother, because brothers and sisters just love eachother, it's what they do. We will sit at the dinner table every evening and eat together, because we love eachother. We will take back all the insults the next morning because we love eachother. We will still let that last Mango rot in the fridge because we think the other should eat it, because we love eachother. And we will still hurt eachother, more than we can even bare, because we love eachother.

So, here I am, asking yet another question I dare not ask my family.

What is love?

And if love really was enough, then why do I feel betrayed by the system?

Washing Flags with Beads of Sweat. - (Inspired by Rachel Corrie)

I felt my body tense up at the thought of what was about to happen. I had no choice but to go through with this. My ears were hot and my fists were clenched. I knew this would be good for me, and for my country. I promised my self I would do whatever it takes to Free this country and it's people from it's terror. I promised my self I will not let anyone stop me. I never thought that someone could be me, and now that that's an option, I won't let it happen. I will go out there and do what I have to do. God really does work in mysterious ways, doesn't he? In my attempts to free a whole population, he is pushing me to free my self from my own prison. I unfolded my flag and folded it three times. I was starting to get worried my sweaty palms would stain it. Nothing should ever stain my flag... my people's flag. I watched as everyone else practiced, and wondered if I should be doing that as well. But there was no time to start now, I was meant to do this for the first time with everyone else. No one knew I only memorized what I was supposed to do but never actually tried it. If I'd even attempted to do this before that day I wouldn't have gone through with it, this was the only way to do it.

"They're gone, we lost them in last night's shooting, they were too heavy to carry and we had to leave them behind". I looked at the smile on his face and I knew he knew what I was about to say. "We won't need them, we'll work with what we have". Seeing him, and the hope that so elegantly presented it self to me in the corners of his eyes, and the sweat on his forehead, was all I needed to be prepared to face myself and the rest of the world. I looked at the sun, soon it will be ours again.

"It's time" he was calm enough to make me forget for a second what he was talking about. Everyone grew silent. I watched as everyone took their positions around the house. I felt my heart trying to escape from my rib cage, but there were far more important things now. He took me by the hand and walked with me to my position right infront of the house's door. There I was, holding my brother's hand, desperately hoping he wouldn't notice that I'm shaking. I wasn't afraid of death, I was afraid of losing control. Everyone smiled as the tank finally came into sight, and I wasn't surprised when I realised that twenty of us were standing there, banging their chests with their fists, because like he said, we lost our drums in last night's shooting. The beat was just as intense as it had been when we had the drums. I took a deep breath and let go of my brother's hand. For twenty years, I fought for freedom from this country's opressors and looked death straight in the eyes. But I never thought that one day I would have to dance for this country. I grew up running, running and standing. They were the two options I ever really had.

I unfolded my flag in time with everyone else, and I wrapped it around my chest. I took one more deep breath and waited until the tank was where we wanted it to be. "NOW" I let my voice invade the ears of the ninety people around me. And they immediately started clapping, and aiding our human drums with their feet hitting the ground. I was going to do this, I had to, and I wanted to. I let my arms float above me and my body was moving to the beat. I turned every turn I was supposed to turn. I bent my joints when I was supposed to. I was in sync with everyone around me, and I was in sync with my own heart. I'd never let my body move in any manner that was remotely loose. I felt my mother's necklace float into the air and fall back on my chest with every movement I made. I jumped, and so did everyone else. I just... Danced. The tank was heading straight for us and behind it was the bulldozer. I was facing my only fear, I was dancing and It didn't scare me anymore. I was not afraid of losing control over my own body anymore. Soon when the sun and this land are ours again, there will be no chains around my neck.

The tank stopped, but the bulldozer didn't. I died a free woman. The sun is mine, I am the sun. I did not die in vain. I did not die in vain. I will always hear the sound of my brothers and sisters feet hitting the ground, and their fists beating their chests. They will free themselves, And they will free my country. My heart will always beat with theirs. My heart will always be their drum, because I did not die in vain.

Speaking of Sally...

I lost my temper over a sandwich today. Enough Said.

Sally's Face

There's a certain vulnerability about rage, that just gets to me more than it should. Anger, and the rush of power that comes along with it, frightens me. I've never given myself the full right to be angry, there's always a sense of guilt accompanying it. And at that point, that makes me even angrier.

When I was a kid, my mother used to call me "7erro". As much as it makes me laugh, it makes sense. By 7erro she meant that I always got angry, but I took it out on my self. She used to tell me that the more I let my temper get the best of me, the more it'll chip away bits of my heart and soul. I remember the first time I ever did something self-destructive. I was five, and we were on vacation somewhere. Dad told me to pack my things because vacation is over and we have to go back home. So I waited for him to walk out of the room and I started crying. When I realised that the fact that I cried won't change anything, I felt about 6 consecutive pops in the center of my chest. I clenched my fists and contracted every muscle in my body for about 10 seconds. I remember feeling like the anger building up inside of me would take too much time and energy to express. So in order for it too cool off, I had to push myself over the edge. So, without even thinking, with two fingernails I pinched my right cheek, just below my left eye, until I couldnt handle the pain. I let go of my cheek, and took 3 deep breaths. Then I packed my things and we all went home. When I got home I felt a stinging pain on my face. I'd completely forgotten what had happened 2 hours prior. So I looked in the mirror and I saw two little scars filled with dried blood on my left cheek.

I need to get back in control, because I am not that little girl anymore.

"Stand up beside the fireplace
Take that look from off your face
You ain't never gonna burn my heart out
And So, sally can wait
She's knows it's too late as she's walking on by
Her soul slides Away
Don't look back in Anger
I heard you Say"

Oasis - Don't look back in anger

Aly Genena, Thank you for reminding me of how much I love this song, I'll sing it some day inshaa'allah.
Omar K Hegazy, Thank you for always reading my blog, and you were right about everything today.
Omar Abhar, Sometimes I post new blog entries just because I know you'll read them, Thanks for making my month*

The non-human category:
Dina Abdelhafiz, you have no idea how perfect your timing was with that txt message, it saved my life.
Nada, you're not people, you're an organ.. haha I love how you'll laugh at this like I just laughed when I wrote it. thank you.

And shady sadat, That S on your chest is so bright, it could blind someone! Thank you for being what you are.


Julie Farouk, if it weren't for you, I would've given up.

"But You Don't Really Care for Music, Do Ya?" - Inspired By Lee Dewyze and Reham Kandil's Laugh

There's so much more to life than people can really see. They think they do, and they don't think twice about any of it. But they can't really see anything. They laugh at us, they watch us running in circles and they laugh. They stare and they giggle. They stare and they nudge eachother. They watch us driving ourselves crazy over things that don't exist. But they do exist. And those circles they watch us running in, that's the path that they can never see. We hear bells, we hear bells and spoons being tapped against windows, and all they can hear is themselves. We're catching raindrops on our tongues and they're staring at the sky waiting for clouds. We're chasing lightening and they're afraid it would strike them. How could that ever make sense to them?

Maybe what I believe in is just too big to put into words, and maybe I'm not even exactly sure what it is yet. All I know is, I shouldn't be anywhere else right now.

There's something so strong yet vulnerable about a human laugh. It's strong because it breaks through air, and it's vulnerable because it's out of control. I've heard so many different types of laughs. But it's the type that takes you off guard that always locks me in a daze. There's this certain type of laugh. You hear it and you think nothing of it. And then a while later, you hear it again, loud and clear, in your head this time. And it gets you thinking, was it really that loud? or did I stretch it out from it's corners and place it back in the center of my mind? And all you could do is look at the person, and wonder if a laugh that loud, could come out of that person. And soon you're thinking maybe you underestimated their strength, because that laugh would not come out of someone you thought doesn't exist on some level.

Julie farouk held my hand today, for the first time since the accident. I don't think I can stand anymore, I don't want to, until she's standing with me.

"One and One and One is three"

Apparently, I posted a blog a few days back titled "Nasna3 mel 7adeed selsal" I have no recollection of such a post, so again, I must be back to my sleep writing. When I was a more regular writer, Id wake up in the morning and find full paragraphs written on my arms or legs. Other days I'd find notes posted on facebook. And my favorite, was when I'd find a random piece of paper in a shoe or under my bed, with random sentences written on it.

Julie nodded today. Nodding is good. Nodding will always be good from now until the end of time. just like pens and pencils and papers and Glue. They will always be good aswell. Somethings are just more valuable than we can see. And right now, A nod, was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life.

I don't feel like saying anything..

Nasna3 Mel 7adeed Selsal.

We are what everyone else wishes they could be. We are chests of secrets, treasures, poison, pain, and gold. We are what everyone else can't be. We are what everyone else is afraid to be. We are who we choose to be. We are free.

Between the nothings..

This week, I have felt like a giant, and I felt invisible. I felt like I couldn't handle the amount of people I have around me, and I felt completely alone. I felt like nothing could ever bring me down, And I felt like nothing could go right. I felt dangerous, and I felt terrified. I felt fearless, and I felt... human.

I never really cared for details, And I never understood why other people would. I believe that something just don't matter. I know it sounds silly, but this defines my existence. Intentions matter, nothing else does. It's easier to overlook the little things. It's easier to just look beyond what happened and see what people wanted to happen. It's easier to believe in what was said between the lines than to even read the lines themselves. It's easier to make sense of what doesn't make sense than try to oblige to what already does. It's easier to take the words of a song and sing them like they could be sung, than to attempt to sing them the way they should be. It's easier to trust people's good will than tormenting myself with doubt. And it's easier to not expect anything than to want and need. It's easier to be happy, it's easier to apologize, it's easier to say what wouldn't be said otherwise than wait for it to be said. It's easier to run sometimes. And at other times, it's easier to stand still and play dead. Sometimes, just sometimes, it's easier to do the hard thing.

Maybe details really are important.. Are they?

The day before yesterday, my mother didn't talk to me for 4 hours. Because I said I will be home by 8:00 p.m. I was home at 8:15 p.m. And as senseless as it seemed to me, it made sense to someone else.

yesterday, I "claimed" that someone, "poked" my shoulder. And I said that in the middle of a very long story. And because to me, it didn't matter whether someone poked my shoulder or even bit it off... I didn't think of it again. But everyone else did. And a "shoulder poke" was under scrutiny, and according to whether that certain shoulder poke or not actually did take place, my validity as a person was under inspection.

A few days ago, I was talking to a friend of mine, lets call him Bob. And another friend, lets call him Bill, rushed into the room and told me he needs to talk to me outside. So I ran outside to talk to Bill about what turned out to be a very important issue. 8 hours later, I found out that Bob thinks I was rude, and I shouldn't have just walked out like that. I will now be trying to prove to Bob that I am not taking his friendship for granted for as long as I can. And I am expected to use as many "excuse me"s and "sorry"s as possible.

Six months ago, I lost half of my grade on a Midterm because I thought one of the givens in my math problem was 4. Only to find out after fifteen minutes of calculations, that there's no way it's a four because it's the final answer can never be a Zero. That 4, was actually a .4. I mean for god's sake, how am I supposed to see that "." But everyone else saw it. people see dots. I don't see dots. And even when I did realize there was a dot, I never would have thought that a Point Four, was THAT different from a four.

Maybe details ARE part of the lines. I don't even see the lines, I see the spaces between them, how can anyone expect me to see the dots on the lines?

could I actually find myself on the lines along with one of those dots?

Dear Music Playlist,

For a year now, you've been becoming increasingly cold to me. You know how hard it is for me to live without you. I try to fix you everyday, and I just can't tell what's wrong. I can't fix what I can't see. Something is missing, and I can't tell what changed. It's like you don't want me anymore. And you have absolutely no consideration for how I feel about you. Don't you dare say this is my fault. It's you. I still want this to work. I'm still trying. But you... this is a job to you. You start a song, and you end it, like everything is the same to you now. I turn to you every time I'm vulnerable to my own feelings, and at moments like that, I can't help but notice how uninterested you are. You are everything that I am, and Everything I ever was. If I'm you then I seem noticeably unpleasant to myself. Please talk to me like you used to. I wish I knew what you want. I wish I saw you the way you want top be seen. Don't let go yet, you're all I have left.

love,
Eman Eldeeb

What does that even mean?? Why did I just write that? Am I supposed to know? Is it normal to see certain things as my reflection? My music playlist?? My pen? My hair?

Which brings me to the question that my friend Omar Hegazy asked me.. Why is it that when people talk about love, they automatically link it to their heart. When's the last time I talked about MY heart? And again.. why the heart? When he asked me I told him that maybe it's because any thought that occurs in the brain affects the heart rate. He said "well, Isn't that because the brain signals the adrenaline gland to secrete adrenaline and that causes the change in the heart rate?". I thought about it for a second and it made sense. So he came up with the conclusion that love is actually directly linked to the brain, and then the body's glands. Which brings us back to the question, Why the heart?


Yahia El sady, pointed out that it's because when you believe in something strongly enough, you feel it in your heart and no where else. Why? he doesn't know.

Nirvana thinks it's because when humanity first started, they had no scientific explanation for love. And they felt it in their heart, and it caught on from there.

I haven't talked about my heart since 2008. I really don't miss it. But I do notice the subject's absence.

"And now all your love is wasted, And then who the hell was I, And I'm breaking at the bridges, and at the end of all your lies." - Bon Iver - skinny love.

Who am I to be talking about my self at a time like this? And who am I do deserve this life? I don't think It'll ever be about me anymore, and I don't think I even care.

"started crying and I couldn't help myself, started running but there's no where to run to, I sat down on the street took a look at myself, said where're you going man you know the world is headed for hell, say your goodbyes if you've got someone you can say goodbye to" - Matchbox twenty - How far we've come.

I have someone I can say goodbye to, I'm just afraid that when that time comes, I wouldn't know who I want to say goodbye to first.

My music is still part of me, I'll figure this out.. I have to.

And oh, she's only Seventeen.

What's it like turning eighteen? well.. I'm terrified. And I didnt get the chance to have my "first thirteen days of march" freak out before this birthday. I was "abit" occupied with Julie being in a deep coma. And I still am. I find it very hard to believe that the people that know me and her, actually have the energy to write a sentence that has the word "happy" in it. And most of the people who wrote on my facebook wall are people she knows. It doesn't seem right. But again, shady sadat keeps telling me to live as normally as possible because any other behaviour won't do her any good.

I'm listening to shallow songs about pretty seventeen year old girls, and it makes me hyper, but it doesnt make me happy. As much as I always wished my eighteenth birthday would be my good birthday.. (all my parties were horrible), I don't want to get any attention tomorrow. I just want to go to the hospital and sit there with her and hold her handand hope she wakes up before the day ends.

This year was the best and worst year of my life. Being seventeen, I learned to do what I want to do because it'll make me happy. I learned to love my family because they will care more than anyone else at times. I learned that doing what I want, means to learn to deal with my mistakes and their consequences. I learned to be happy. I learned that I can't expect myself to be happy every minute of everyday. I learned that I really have no Idea who I am. And I learned to love myself the way I am. Extra fat, spontaneous stuttering, the eyeliner at the corner of my eyes, my fat kid's appetite, my handwriting, my nose, my left elfish ear, my bad hair days, my limited shoes collection, the fact that I sometimes forget to think... All included.

This year I learned who is important and who isn't. I learned why people want me in their lives, and why others don't. I learned why I'm so afraid of loving people. I learned why sometimes keeping my mouth shut is the best thing to do (and i still don't keep it shut). I learned that I am the storngest person I know. I learned that I am the weakest person I know because I use my own strength against myself. I learned that other people don't try to break me, but I break myself in the process of protecting myself from them. I learned that nothing works the way I want it to. I learned that sometimes shutting everyone out and watching the simpsons while lifting weights actually could be good sometimes. I learned that I may be strong, but that doesn't stop me from always being afraid. I learned that promises really can be broken. And I learned that bad things really do happen. And I learned that better things(they maybe smaller, but they;re still better) happen when you least expect them. I learned that I need to be on my own sometimes. And I learned that some people, just some people are really who I think they are. I finally understand what unconditional love means, and I finally understand what it means to experience it. Good days will happen, and bad days will happen.

I don't need to think about everything. I don't need to understand, I just need to live through it. And when I'm out, then I can pause and think. There's no way I'm going to let myself think I'm control of anything other than my self after this year. I'm terrified, and I wish things were like how I want them to be.. but I guess that's one of those things about being young.. So I'll enjoy it while it lasts.

Wake up, Julie. I need to tell you something.

P.S: Julie, you made me sing again. And I love you for it.

Snow Day - A letter to God.

Dear God,

I'm sure you've been watching, And I know you know that thing's haven't exactly been good for me these days. I've chosen to write to you, not because I feel the need to publish what should actually go on between me and you, but because I'm sure you'd want me to be as comfortable as possible when I'm talking to you. And I couldnt think of a better way than to write to you.

I realise that you did this because it's about time for everyone to wake up. Whether it's wake up and realise how much they care for julie, or wake up and remember just how fast someone's life could end, there's definitely a wake up call involved. A few days ago, when I was thinking of what I want to say to you, all I could come up with is "Please god, just want her to wake up". For a moment there the thought hit me that you could actually not want her to wake up, and the "natural" scenario that I was expecting to happen might not actually happen. I didn't really want you to wake her up now, and I didn't really mind if it was soon or not. All I wanted was for you to want her to come back to us. Because if you did, then nothing would stand in your way.

I couldn't get myself to write to you about this any sooner, not because I didn't want to. But because the second I write about it, it's finally real. No matter how many time's I saw her laying there in that cold room in the ICU, half the size of her former self and with a machine breathing for her, it still wasn't real. This moment, I'm aknowleging it all in writing, and I'm hoping I can stay consious until I hit the Publish button. I guess I need your help with that, God.

So yea, it IS true. Julie did have a horrifying car accident. She did lose control over her car in the rain, and she probably screamed as the car slided and crashed into that pole. Yeah.. Julie. She screamed. She must've screamed. And the last thing she probably saw was glass and water. And julie -yes, julie- was rushed to the hospital, and JULIE was barely alive. And now she's in a coma. A severe coma to be exact.

Now this is the moment when I'd look up at the sky and pretend that my screaming at you would change anything. But I'm not mad at you, God. I never was and never will be. I have seen enough to teach me that things never just "happen". And this time, I can't help but admire the plan of it all. Everyone's thinking why julie? And all I keep thinking is, well.. it just had to be her. How else would you stop everyone dead in their tracks and make them run in the right direction? How else would you remind us that the things we so intensely pretend to care about are not even worth wasting brain waves on? How else would you finally change her life? It couldn't have been anyone of less importance than Julie Farouk.

I've spent the last year bragging about how I don't go to sleep without making sure everything is "fine" with everyone I know. And I was horrible enough to underestimate the pain behind the words "I need you". You watched me god. You watched me take those words, and react to them in a way that was too pathetic to be worth noticing. An extra phone call here and there. You watched me tuck those words away in the "too intense to handle" pile. You watched me forget the occurence of that conversation. And then two months later you watched me fall on my knees at the thought of something happening to her. And then out of nowhere, you send me this particular memory of her. And it's not a mystery why you'd send me this one. 

Everyday, I have to stop myself from thinking that this is all my fault, that this was MY wake up call. My punishment. And it's funny how a person like Shady Sadat would tell me to stop my subconsious from trying to prove to me that I care. I smile at that, God. Because I know you're testing my patience, again. My subconsious is not trying to prove anything to me, God. Only you fully understand how hard it is to let myself wake up in the morning. Only you can see me look away from the mirror every morning. Only you saw me sprinting out of that ICU. Only you knew that I ran out of there not just because I couldn't see her that weak but more importantly, because I felt like I do not deserve to see her and touch her.


Part of me wanted her to pull her hand away from me. It would've been the least I deserved. I can't help but to wonder why you're keeping me here, God. I'm sure I'm part of a plan too.

Thank you for keeping her alive, God. And thank you for making it snow that day.

Like sand through the (leaky) hourglass.

I'm turning eighteen on the fourteenth of march. It's not cool by the way. I'm trying to be okay with it. I need all the support I can get these days, but everytime I try to reach out, I remember how hard it is to be asked for help when you your self need help. And everyone I know currently has their own "thing". The ones that don't have their own little battle to fight, happen to be on my nerves. yea, not even getting on them, they're on them.

Almun is starting again on Friday inshaa'allah, and I seriously can't wait. I miss everyone there and I miss talking about things that matter for a change. Amgad is moving out on the third of march inshaa'allah, and from then on, it just me, mom, and dad.

speaking of mom and dad, I have to go.

P.S: Unicef could actually be home. not Almun's unicef, the real one. it could be. it really could be.

Those Evil Evil Clowns with their Wicked Red Noses.

The one time I came face to face with someone dressed as a clown, I tried to squeeze his nose expecting that hilarious squeaky sound I heard in cartoons. I squeezed too hard and I ended up pulling it off of his nose, and it didnt even make a sound. Actually, the nose was part of a mask, a rubber mask. So I ended up pulling off the whole clown face, and exposing the clown's face. His name was Damien, one of the housekeepers we had in zambia. You'd think that a girl turning 8, the same girl that had already started trying to figure out the meaning of life, would know that its not a real clown. But no, I actually thought it was a clown. One like I saw on television. I don't think I've ever laughed at anything a clown did ever since then.

My laugh has changed this year. It's louder and more glass shattering than ever before. It sounds like a mountain lion being run over by a train if you ask me. And I always think everyone's looking at me when I laugh in public, even though I'm sure people don;t have enough time on their hands to pause everything they're doing to stare at the girl with the scary laugh. but I guess I don't mind, and Its okay. My laugh always did change every year, and this year was alot like my laugh, so its perfect and I'm happy about it. so people at hardees and macdonalds and the streets of cairo, stare all you want.

I just noticed that I was worrying about peole staring at me when I laugh. I kind of forgot the little piece of information that I actually walk around making animal noises (barking, meowing, baaahing, and quacking.. etc.) and sometimes I even aim at people's ears. I can bark on cue, and it's funny how I'm actually proud of that.

I had my first long phone call in about a year. I talked to Mona bassel on the phone for about two hours today, and It was me doing most of the talking. I'm not worried about her these days, that's a first.. hehe. She really is the chocolate sprinkles on my life. I love her, all of her, the crazy over reacting, hyperventilating over nothing, posessive, sweet, hilarious, irritating parts of her.

I'm off to read more of Love, Rosie by cecelia ahern.
oh and for some reason, I'm downloading pink's discography. is that normal?

oh and can someone please let me know how I can spell check my posts now? because the layout changed and I can't find the spell checker anymore, And I need it, for your sake not mine =)

Al Raqessa Walteneen*

So this week wasn't any easier than the one before it. TA-DA! but I managed to squint my eyes and smile through this one. If you know me, you'd know that I have two smiles. My smile, the normal one, the one you'd see in pictures. And the smile I have on my face when Im greeting someone I don't know or dont like. I squint my eyes and I have a little too much tooth exposure and my chin points out like an arrow. so in case you're wondering (you're probably not wondering, I know), this week seemed more like a year, and everyday I had more ups and downs than usual. I laughed alot, but I did more of my squinty smile than I usually do in a month.

Why is it so hard to believe that when I'm writing, and someone calls, it really is worth rejecting the phone call? And it's funny how many high fives I ignored from my brother, and consequently he can't help himslef everytime he notices I'm writing. The second I start writing he decides to either tickle me or ask me to make him hot chocolate or sometimes just placing his head on my shoulder and pretending to read aloud what I'm writing. And most of the time what I'm writing isn't private, but seriously, I can't think of a distraction worse than the head on shoulder thing.

Ive been wondering for the last couple of days if I'm the only one who doesn't enjoy appreciating the same things that others enjoy appreciating. Like the smell of coffee in the morning, I think it's amazing, yet I hate to state that because it's stated in like most movies, and everyone says it all the time. I'd rather go on and on about why I think rats and mice are cute, than saying I think puppies are lovable. puppies are adorable, fine I get it. Move on. Why does this paragraph remind me of Omar Abhar??

Speaking of Omar Abhar, we had a little incident when we went to the book fair. The day was bumpy and everyone was all over the place and my temper was out of control. And though normally a day like that would "Yefselny" from Omar abhar and any other person that was within a 10 K.M radius from where I was standing. For some reason, I'm a bigger Omar Abhar fan now than I was before that day.

so now that I'm here, I just have to Comment on our beloved brothers, Arar sandod, Abo El leef, and Ahmed spider. If you're not familiar with them, you're missing out. Seriously. You're missing out on the concept of stripping yourself of any values, or self respect or simply a freaking brain. These people, as irritating and rediculous as they are, I respect them. Not because they're "talent" is respectable, oh god no. But because they had the courage to make complete fools out of themselves and they still choose to appear in public. Seriously, how is it possible to not admire Arar sandod's perseverence, this whole thing started last valentine's day, And I don't think a soul in egypt has been cussed at more than Arar Sandod. And he's actually back for more this valentine's day. It just triggers thoughts like.. If only that kind of spirit was placed into something more useful for himself and the people around him. Let's assume these people do this for the attention, is it his fault or ours that we'll pay more attention to an idiot that thinks he's talented and is actually barely even human than we'd pay to someone and came out and said "Hey, I want to make this world a better place". It's actually our fault. So when someone like Abo el leef comes out and sings the "inspiring" words:
"Bet7ebeny, laa ashokk.
Meen dol elli 3al "fesbok",
 law mashelteesh el 3yal di, 3alek hassokk.
wana, ana mesh 5orong, la laa laaa ana king kong,
dana wana rabet eedy bal3ab Ping Pong.
Mesh ebn hanem wala ebn lord, etfadaly haty el "bass bort",
 dana aragoz metrabby fi serk, mesh 3ayel kawerk."

We can't really blame him, can we? some argue that the attention we give to these people is negative, so it isn't our fault. Actually, All they want is attention, they don't care whether it's negative or positive. They just want to be seen. They want to feel like they exist. It's intoxicating and I don't think it's fair to blame them. People have been asking me I have Arar sandod and Ahmed spider on my facebook contact list. And well, if Abo El leef had a profile I would've added him too, but sadly he doesnt.
It could be hard for people to understand, but I had to see the "normal" side of them. And I should have you know that these people are human on some level. they have lives, they wake up in the morning, they spend time with their families and the go to sleep at night. just like the rest of us. Arar sandod, actually has fans. And he has friends who happen to support him like crazy. And when you talk to him, if you didn't know that this person is THE arar sandod, you'd actually think he's a normal egyptian guy. Incase you have no Idea who Arar sandod is, here are three links to three out of 7 of his videos, I wouldn't advise you to read the comments though, they contain some serious prfanities.
1) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vn4vtt5NnGA&feature=channel
2) (My personal favorite =D) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBpiTrhPWT8&feature=channel
3) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=03pMOn-LSRc

Enough from me today. And certainly enough about the people who have dragged art to hell. :)