It's been a while since I've felt this tug at my heart. The kind of tug I know can only be achieved by myself, me, as a child that is. Let me back up a little, I will not dare to speak of my inner child. I will speak of the knots in my stomach that I've only experienced as a child. Blows of disappointment, and blinding light of hope.
It wasn't until I was on my knees, trying to breathe through what felt like my heart trying to beat it's own record of bouncing off the walls of my rib cage, that I realised that I have spent the last six months fighting. I have been fighting myself, fighting for survival, fighting to be heard, fighting to be understand, fighting to be trusted, fighting to still believe in change.
At some point I was on a table, in a doctor's office, watching him explain what a holter* device is, and why I have to have it on for 24 hours. 4 days later, I'm waiting to hear if I I won the elections for student union president or not. 2 months later, I was crying like a 4 year old in the university's clinic, holding 56 pages of holter results, trying to tell the doctor how unfair it is that I have to get a medical excuse for missing class, and how low it was of the dean to threaten that he wouldn't let me take my exams unless I shut myself, and everyone else up about everything wrong he ever did. 2 months later I'm standing in front of yahia el sady on he 4th floor shooting down all his attempts to make me believe that the student union that I'm supposed to lead, actually accomplished anything worth mentioning.
Three and a half years ago, My father asked me for the last time, Do you want to go to the American University in Cairo? 8 days ago, my eyes felt dry because I was staring and my laptop screen for more than 45 minutes trying to figure out why AUC would require that a student applying for the Community Psychology Diploma should have a minimum of 3.00 GPA average. 2 and a half years ago I was holding a report card of my results for the first year of college (faculty of commerce, Cairo Uni/Georgia state university joint program), I'd failed two subjects out of five and barely passed the three others.
Two years ago, I was rolled up in a fetal position, biting my forearm, trying to scream as quietly as possible, so my mother wouldn't know that I'm still not over the fact that I wasn't accepted as a secretariat In Model United Nation's UNICEF. Two weeks ago, I ignored an email from the Egyptian National child rights' observatory that was asking for my C.V because I was a possible candidate for an internship with UNICEF or the observatory itself.
A year ago, I was waiting for my sister to have her baby, so she'd be stable enough to hear about the dangers of sexual molestation and how to protect her son from them. He's 8 months old today, and I can't get myself to put the image of someone hurting him in anyway in her head, I am frozen.
I keep having dreams that I bump into the child version of myself, and I pretend I've never seen her before in my life. I always thought it would be the other way around.
I feel like a failure. Is that so bad?
*holter: An ambulatory ECG that can record the heart's activity for 24 hours or longer. Especially helpful for diagnosing transient symptoms (those that come and go without any predictability), such as rhythm problems, atrial fibrillation, and angina.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Knights that Didn't Wait for Horses
When I was a kid, I used to follow my brother around the house, looking like I had something really important to say. He would ignore me, until I finally landed facefirst on his bed, and then turned around too look at the ceiling. I'd then squint, and ask him why I kept seeing different colored shapes all around me. He'd then sigh, the kind of sigh that implies he wishes he could once and for all determine if I was adopted. And then for the next fifteen minutes, He would interrogate me about what I mean by shapes, their colors, and when exactly I get them. "You just have an over-active Imagination". Over-Active? OVER-ACTIVE? I mean, yes, I did have my own little imaginary scenarios, including 3 or more characters, soundtracks and all. But hey! When I say I see colors, I can really see colors. I never claimed that those characters were real. I wasn't the kind of kid that had imaginary friends. I never played tea party. I never believed that something that wasn't real, exists. I was born in the United States of America, and I didn't buy the whole Santa clause thing. (yes, he's not real, I mean come on if your parents catch a fat guy giving you presents in the middle of the night, they'll probably shoot his ass. And they'd have a point). The only time I thought something was real and it wasn't, was the belief that I could control light with my eyes, but I was three years old. I'd squint at a lamp and then freak out because I thought I made the light move with my eyes when I say rays flowing out of the lamp, but that's another story.
Elmohem, I definitely didn't have an over-active imagination. And today, like 15 years later, my brother walked up to me and said "Remember the colors you always said you saw?" Of course I remembered the colors. "They were real, you're seeing things inside your eye, and the colors are reflections of light". And at that moment, I was sure that my brother quit his job as a surgeon at Al Asr Al Ainy, just so he could get a different job where he stares into people's eyes for a living, just so I could finally have proof that I wasn't completely insane as a child.
So, There! I'm not Insane. When I say I see colors, I See Them. And when I say there's hope, I actually see it. When I say Someday, I'll buy a newspaper that makes me feel like the front page headlines are actually about the Country I live in, It'll happen. So call me full of shit, I am right about things sometimes.
Oh and before I forget, just for the record, if I go missing or I'm found dead in a ditch somewhere, Dr. Adel Mabrouk, The Dean of the faculty of commerce, Cairo University, is probably plotting an evil plan to get rid of me as I'm writing this. Oh and that's because I'm President of Student Union Now and I'm asking questions. And questions are evil in "their" world. I still see colors though. And I love this country.
So, yeah, I'm blogging again. Woohoo.
Elmohem, I definitely didn't have an over-active imagination. And today, like 15 years later, my brother walked up to me and said "Remember the colors you always said you saw?" Of course I remembered the colors. "They were real, you're seeing things inside your eye, and the colors are reflections of light". And at that moment, I was sure that my brother quit his job as a surgeon at Al Asr Al Ainy, just so he could get a different job where he stares into people's eyes for a living, just so I could finally have proof that I wasn't completely insane as a child.
So, There! I'm not Insane. When I say I see colors, I See Them. And when I say there's hope, I actually see it. When I say Someday, I'll buy a newspaper that makes me feel like the front page headlines are actually about the Country I live in, It'll happen. So call me full of shit, I am right about things sometimes.
Oh and before I forget, just for the record, if I go missing or I'm found dead in a ditch somewhere, Dr. Adel Mabrouk, The Dean of the faculty of commerce, Cairo University, is probably plotting an evil plan to get rid of me as I'm writing this. Oh and that's because I'm President of Student Union Now and I'm asking questions. And questions are evil in "their" world. I still see colors though. And I love this country.
So, yeah, I'm blogging again. Woohoo.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Bricks and Stones
I'm not really one to blog about politics, because it's the one place I actually stick both hands into my brain and try to fish out the things I'm afraid to say out loud. So, I won't exactly blog about politics, I will talk about the revolution though.
Ever since people start dying after the 25th of January, I've thought only of how their family and friends must've felt when they heard the news. I imagined what it would've been like for my mother if it was me who died when I was there on the 25th. And my mother didn't even know I was there, so someone would've just called her and said that I was killed in the protests. I died for my country. And she wouldn't really care, she would just think of how I lied to her, she wouldn't believe what anyone said and run looking for me in zamalek where I said I would be. I can Imagine that, that's what I know. I can see that, I've heard stories and I've seen families cry over the people they've lost.
however, I have not seen what the person who died was thinking when they died.
I have to admit that I can't get myself to put myself in the shoes of the martyrs, so I will stop here until I can.
Ever since people start dying after the 25th of January, I've thought only of how their family and friends must've felt when they heard the news. I imagined what it would've been like for my mother if it was me who died when I was there on the 25th. And my mother didn't even know I was there, so someone would've just called her and said that I was killed in the protests. I died for my country. And she wouldn't really care, she would just think of how I lied to her, she wouldn't believe what anyone said and run looking for me in zamalek where I said I would be. I can Imagine that, that's what I know. I can see that, I've heard stories and I've seen families cry over the people they've lost.
however, I have not seen what the person who died was thinking when they died.
I have to admit that I can't get myself to put myself in the shoes of the martyrs, so I will stop here until I can.
Monday, February 21, 2011
The concrete.
11 Days Ago:
I've learned to recognize myself lately as a college student that lives with her mother. My mother is an emotional woman with reactions that are double what they should be, but with a heart that is triple what it thought it could be. We live in an average sized apartment in Mohandeseen. We drink tap water and make fun of those who spend money on bottled water. My mother only quit buying milk from the milk man because her doctor told her to. We eat with spoons most of the time, and we eat in front of the TV. We know all the hour long ads that are aired on Panorama Drama by heart, because we enjoy the fact that we don't believe anything they try to tell us.
That's the way I saw my life as I was waiting in MacDonald's gam3et el dowal. There were some anomalies to that pattern of thinking. On the 24th of January I was trying to get a new ID card because my original one was stolen. And that didn't mean I was standing in long lines sweating and thinking of my aching feet. I was sitting in an air conditioned room, with 4 police officers which thought I'd never stepped foot outside of my house. As I was waiting for them to get my papers ready so I can just go to the police station, give them my thumb print, and wait for my ID card to be delivered home. So there I was listening to a conversation about drugs. And all the stories I'd heard about police officers taking the drugs they'd taken from drug dealers as evidence and keeping it for themselves. And it was interesting to hear a full conversation that was built on the assumption that I couldn't substitute the word "7aga" with "mo5adarat" in my head.
And that was just one more reason to let go of everything holding me back from being part of the 25th of January movement. I didn't want to be this person. I did not want to have to shut up about that kind of thing just because I knew it was wrong in the first place to be taking red tape short cuts. I didn't want to have to have to take a police officer with me while I get my ID card, and I still don't want to do it one more time when I'm trying to get my driving license. I didn't want to teach my nephew to take the same shortcuts, and I couldn't stand the thought of having to sit quietly, listening to such a disgusting and shameless conversation. So I had to do it. And I was part of the January 25th movement.
And that's how simple it was to me, there was nothing more to it. I was a normal girl who lives with her mom, and who was fed up with how the world went round in Egypt. And until I arrived in Sudan on the 30th of January, I thought my dad's job was to ride huge cars with the Egyptian flag waving wildly at the front. His job was to live in houses that could fit 25 five member families with plenty of breathing room. His job was to go to "the embassy" every morning and everyone would smile at him like he was there to save their lives. His job was to have people suck up to him, and to us, whenever they got the chance.
It wasn't until I watched beads of sweat trickle down his face as he tried to reach some kind of compromise between what he felt and what he should be feeling, that I realized what my father's job was. My father represents the Egyptian government in other countries. And I watched him day after day, for 11 days in a row, answering phone calls and hanging up looking more worried than he did before. And everyday he'd try to convince me that he really was against the 25th of January movement. And I'd watch him sigh at the thought of how unconvincing he was. Press conferences would be held and he'd be repeating the lies that everyone was asked to repeat by the Egyptian government.
---
I've learned to recognize myself lately as a college student that lives with her mother. My mother is an emotional woman with reactions that are double what they should be, but with a heart that is triple what it thought it could be. We live in an average sized apartment in Mohandeseen. We drink tap water and make fun of those who spend money on bottled water. My mother only quit buying milk from the milk man because her doctor told her to. We eat with spoons most of the time, and we eat in front of the TV. We know all the hour long ads that are aired on Panorama Drama by heart, because we enjoy the fact that we don't believe anything they try to tell us.
That's the way I saw my life as I was waiting in MacDonald's gam3et el dowal. There were some anomalies to that pattern of thinking. On the 24th of January I was trying to get a new ID card because my original one was stolen. And that didn't mean I was standing in long lines sweating and thinking of my aching feet. I was sitting in an air conditioned room, with 4 police officers which thought I'd never stepped foot outside of my house. As I was waiting for them to get my papers ready so I can just go to the police station, give them my thumb print, and wait for my ID card to be delivered home. So there I was listening to a conversation about drugs. And all the stories I'd heard about police officers taking the drugs they'd taken from drug dealers as evidence and keeping it for themselves. And it was interesting to hear a full conversation that was built on the assumption that I couldn't substitute the word "7aga" with "mo5adarat" in my head.
And that was just one more reason to let go of everything holding me back from being part of the 25th of January movement. I didn't want to be this person. I did not want to have to shut up about that kind of thing just because I knew it was wrong in the first place to be taking red tape short cuts. I didn't want to have to have to take a police officer with me while I get my ID card, and I still don't want to do it one more time when I'm trying to get my driving license. I didn't want to teach my nephew to take the same shortcuts, and I couldn't stand the thought of having to sit quietly, listening to such a disgusting and shameless conversation. So I had to do it. And I was part of the January 25th movement.
And that's how simple it was to me, there was nothing more to it. I was a normal girl who lives with her mom, and who was fed up with how the world went round in Egypt. And until I arrived in Sudan on the 30th of January, I thought my dad's job was to ride huge cars with the Egyptian flag waving wildly at the front. His job was to live in houses that could fit 25 five member families with plenty of breathing room. His job was to go to "the embassy" every morning and everyone would smile at him like he was there to save their lives. His job was to have people suck up to him, and to us, whenever they got the chance.
It wasn't until I watched beads of sweat trickle down his face as he tried to reach some kind of compromise between what he felt and what he should be feeling, that I realized what my father's job was. My father represents the Egyptian government in other countries. And I watched him day after day, for 11 days in a row, answering phone calls and hanging up looking more worried than he did before. And everyday he'd try to convince me that he really was against the 25th of January movement. And I'd watch him sigh at the thought of how unconvincing he was. Press conferences would be held and he'd be repeating the lies that everyone was asked to repeat by the Egyptian government.
---
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Defying Gravity, Turkey Wings And What I Owe Abdelmenem Bashar
I just walked into the kitchen to get a knife to cut open the pomegranate mom kept for me out of the ones we're sending dad. And I screamed and hit the light switch, because something huge was in the kitchen. It was a turkey, and as soon as I realised that it's just a turkey, I screamed again. And then I realised that it's not even a live turkey (that would've been entertaining though). It was just a turkey, laying there on a tray on the kitchen counter waiting to be cooked tomorrow morning. Guess what, I screamed again.
oh, before I forget, I owe someone some words,
Abdelmenem Bashar, I've postponed this long enough. This is finally you being added to my People of 2010 (which should've been 2009) list. I guess last year I wasn't comfortable enough to really believe that you are more than just a person that "Pushes me beyond my limits" (still, I meant that in the best sense of the word possible). The thing is, I never really thought we'd ever be friends. I thought you'd be one of those people that would argue and disagree with me about everything, and that would be it. But that was when I first met you in 2008. I don't think I'll ever forget the time you sat next to me in HRC's conference and said "I'll sit here, just don't repulse me", it makes me laugh every time I remember it. And I didn't really think there's much to build a friendship on. I really thought you'd disappear after the conference. But surprisingly, two years later, you're in my will. (yes, I added you). And I really wouldn't like to imagine my life without losing at least one bet a month to you, and not paying up. And well, life would be a lot easier if you didn't make me guess everything before you actually told me ages later. But, on the other hand, you did introduce me to *SQUEEZE* (of cyanide and happiness). But seriously, beyond all the inside jokes and the "la2 la2 Ma3leshes", you are still the person who shared two of the roughest months of my life with me. And I guess in a way, having you there made them easier to get through. "Ana? Ana a3da Ganbo" haha.. Somehow we managed to turn rejection from something we both applied to, into an endless Zakeya Zakareya Marathon. So, there you go, this is more like what should've been written in that note a year ago. And I really shouldn't have asked if you'll un-tag yourself, I should've tagged you anyway and when you un-tag yourself I should have posted it on your wall.
*****
I jumped at midnight again this year, and it felt more real than last year, and the year before it. Last year I jumped thinking that jumping would symbolize running away from every thing I thought I couldn't handle. I remember what it was like the past four or five years every 31st of December. I'd run around all day wondering how I'd walk into the next year with all the baggage I thought I had. What was so important? Guys and crushes and marriage proposals and trivial fights with my parents and some extra weight and things that just seemed like the end of the world. But this year I just jumped, for the sake of jumping. I jumped and I wanted nothing else. And this was probably one of the hardest years of my life, but it's not the worst.
I'm just a day older. I just want to be alive next year, and I want to still see a point in jumping at midnight or defying gravity (Thank You Omar Abhar).
I guess at some point, I'll stop trying to run away from time, because I'll realise that it'll catch up anyway. But for now, I'll just Jump.
oh, before I forget, I owe someone some words,
Abdelmenem Bashar, I've postponed this long enough. This is finally you being added to my People of 2010 (which should've been 2009) list. I guess last year I wasn't comfortable enough to really believe that you are more than just a person that "Pushes me beyond my limits" (still, I meant that in the best sense of the word possible). The thing is, I never really thought we'd ever be friends. I thought you'd be one of those people that would argue and disagree with me about everything, and that would be it. But that was when I first met you in 2008. I don't think I'll ever forget the time you sat next to me in HRC's conference and said "I'll sit here, just don't repulse me", it makes me laugh every time I remember it. And I didn't really think there's much to build a friendship on. I really thought you'd disappear after the conference. But surprisingly, two years later, you're in my will. (yes, I added you). And I really wouldn't like to imagine my life without losing at least one bet a month to you, and not paying up. And well, life would be a lot easier if you didn't make me guess everything before you actually told me ages later. But, on the other hand, you did introduce me to *SQUEEZE* (of cyanide and happiness). But seriously, beyond all the inside jokes and the "la2 la2 Ma3leshes", you are still the person who shared two of the roughest months of my life with me. And I guess in a way, having you there made them easier to get through. "Ana? Ana a3da Ganbo" haha.. Somehow we managed to turn rejection from something we both applied to, into an endless Zakeya Zakareya Marathon. So, there you go, this is more like what should've been written in that note a year ago. And I really shouldn't have asked if you'll un-tag yourself, I should've tagged you anyway and when you un-tag yourself I should have posted it on your wall.
*****
I jumped at midnight again this year, and it felt more real than last year, and the year before it. Last year I jumped thinking that jumping would symbolize running away from every thing I thought I couldn't handle. I remember what it was like the past four or five years every 31st of December. I'd run around all day wondering how I'd walk into the next year with all the baggage I thought I had. What was so important? Guys and crushes and marriage proposals and trivial fights with my parents and some extra weight and things that just seemed like the end of the world. But this year I just jumped, for the sake of jumping. I jumped and I wanted nothing else. And this was probably one of the hardest years of my life, but it's not the worst.
I'm just a day older. I just want to be alive next year, and I want to still see a point in jumping at midnight or defying gravity (Thank You Omar Abhar).
I guess at some point, I'll stop trying to run away from time, because I'll realise that it'll catch up anyway. But for now, I'll just Jump.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
