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.

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?