How do yodelers create a crisis?

This past weekend, the Swiss passed a referendum to alter their constitution to include a provision banning the construction of minarets.

For the non-lawyers amongst you, you should know that constitutional law in Switzerland is hierarchically superior to federal legislation. And for the non-Muslims amongst you, a minaret is just a really tall pole-shaped structure which is attached to a Mosque. In Islamic countries, it's basically used to call for prayer. In non-Islamic countries, it's basically useless. It's not anything that is necessarily linked to the tenants of Islam, it just forms part of traditional Islamic architecture.


This referendum was initiated by the ultra-conservative Swiss Nationalist Peoples Party which is most known for depicting foreigners as black sheep being kicked out of Switzerland by white sheep (supposedly, the ethically accountable Swiss). I've put up a picture of their latest extravaganza which was actually banned in several cantons (i.e states/provinces etc.) in the running up to the referendum. I would explain it, except apparently a picture is worth a thousand words.



In the aftermath of this little incident, I monitored the papers a little more closely, I actually watched Swiss news stations and I followed my Swiss friends on facebook. Here's what I learned: the politicians are scared, the Swiss news stations seem only to be able to find people who support the vote and reluctantly air their interviews and all my Swiss friends have expressed emotions which ranged between 'ashamed' and 'disgusted'. Strange, right?

So it's my turn! As a Muslim living in Switzerland without any voting rights, to be honest, I don't really care if we can build a minaret or not. The actual physical presence of a minaret doesn't change my faith, it's strength or my ability to practice it freely. After years of living abroad in cultures which don't necessarily understand, or even accept my religion, I've found a good way to maintain personal integrity: I don't care about your religion if you don't care about mine. In fact 99% of the people I interact with on a regular basis don't even know what my religion is. Doesn't matter. Your faith is your own.

Which brings me to two points: if 99% of the people I interact with don't know what my religion is, how can it be so imposing that you have to pass a constitutional ban on an essentially useless architectural element? The Swiss aren't stupid, which means there is another reason. Wait for it....Not banning the minarets (which doesn't give automatic authorization for them to be built, it just means in principle they can) would mean a proliferation of Islam which is not in tandem with the principles of Swiss democracy.

The Swiss democracy which just voted to ban the construction of minarets, knowing that Islam is the 2nd largest religion in the country after Christianity.

Right on.

Back to being a Muslim living in Switzerland. This year and last year and the year before I went to classes, took exams, went to work, just like everyone else during Ramadan. Not one person knew that I was fasting until 8:30 pm everyday. I reported to work on time, studied for my exams, took notes in my classes and went to the movies with my friends. Not one person wished me a Happy Eid. Nor did I object when a four hour corporate law class was scheduled on the first day of Eid. Nor did anyone object the fact that there is only one Mosque in Geneva. The Saudi Embassy just dedicated a few of it's conference rooms for prayer because there was no more room at the mosque.

Muslims don't logically expect Switzerland to accommodate our religious beliefs. But we just want to be respected. As someone who doesn't put weight on the existence of Islamic architecture to legitimize my religion, I still feel extremely disrespected.

On an economic front, my dad, whose job is to liaison between the Swiss and the Arab world in terms of trade and commerce told me today that the Swiss government sent all of their ambassadors in Arab countries to speak to the respective governments to try to explain that this isn't the result of Islamophobia. The Swiss also issued a formal memo to my dad asking him to mediate so that Swiss-Arab commerce is not affected. There is fear that the Swiss Private Banking Sector may also take a hit if all the wealthy Arabs decide to withdraw their money in protest. Also, Swiss tourism over the summer is expected to decline. As one newspaper aptly puts it 'the Swiss will feel the repercussions of this vote. They have to be prepared'.

In terms of law, because I know some of you are waiting for this mea culpa, the case is being taken to the European Court of Human Rights (an EU court). Good times all around. This affects Switzerland in more ways than one. First, Switzerland is not part of the EU, but it has ratified certain agreements. Part of the reason Switzerland isn't part of the EU is that the good yodeling people of this nation are afraid of being too regulated by EU laws. Now, if the case is going to the ECHR, politically how can the case be judged? If the ECHR says revoke the results of the referendum, it's basically saying, yes yodeling people, we can and will regulate your lives to the extent where we can interfere with your constitution. If the ECHR says no, the referendum stays, it's basically saying yes Arabs, the EU is Islamophobic.

And that ladies and gentlemen is how Islamophobic yodelers can create an unnecessary crisis.

B

It Won't Happen To Me

One of the most interesting 5 minutes of my day sometimes happens when I'm walking from the library to my car in a pitch black street lined with refugee housing and remnants of shattered glass on the ground. The only thought going through my head is no, I won't get raped. No I won't get raped. It won't happen to me.

Unfortunately somewhere deep down in the recesses of what remains of my conscience, I don't entirely believe that. Which is why the minute I'm in my car I hit the central lock and breath a sigh of relief. Nothing about the fact that I live in Geneva, not a ghetto, or about the fact that no one has ever been raped in that area registers. Nothing. Pure human survival instinct in those few minutes.

May and I were chatting about this very same concept and she asked, 'what stops all the bad things in this world from happening to us?' Is it a defiant declaration of 'it won't happen to me'? Is humanity really that arrogant? Are you really that stupid to believe that something won't happen to you because you live in a privileged area, or you've received a better education to prepare you for difficult situations, or because you're just 'smart'?

I was thinking whether it really is merely another way humans express their unmitigated arrogance, or if sometimes 'it won't happen to me' is the adult equivalent of a 6 year old's blanky?

Another hot topic on the plate this week has been love. Josipa decided she wanted to get married with or without it just to reunite everyone. It fascinates me how one can say it won't happen to me when talking about love as easily as one can say it wont happen to me when talking about rape. Really? It won't? Are you sure? What an interesting paradox because in other terms you are basically saying: I am not good enough to expect to be loved, but I'm good enough to expect not to be raped? So on a scale of 1-10, 1 being rape-able and 10 being love-able, how good are you exactly?

The real probability of it all is that you might get raped on the front door steps of your McMansion and you might find love in places where you could have sworn you never would. Nothing protects you from the onslaught of either one. If anything 'it won't happen to me' only increases the probability that either one could.

Then why the need for a false sense of security? Is it key to our day-to-day survival? Is it what gives you courage to park your car in a shady area? Is it what gives you courage to be social with everyone you meet without fear of rejection? Or worse without fear of actually falling in love? Better yet, what will happen if we all just stop believing that IT won't happen us? Will we fall apart? Will we walk with a little more caution, interact with a little more discretion?

Are the freedoms we grant ourselves a function of personal liberty or of personal slavery to our constant reiteration of 'it won't happen to me'?

B

It's not just a penny

Today I met an Egyptian first year political science MA, Ramez (pronounced Rah-mez, not Ray-mez) at the Institute. Ramez is an average middle class Egyptian, a graduate of Cairo U, his English comes with a strong accent and a large amount of the expected shyness that comes with being forced to use a foreign language. He is modest, quiet, humble and stood 4 feet away from me when he introduced himself. He's been in my head ever since.

Ramez's story is a typical success story - a guy brought up in a social class which favors a more traditional approach, more engrossed in Egyptian culture, where 'foreign' is only something seen in movies and traveling abroad is a privilege envied by many.

But he dared to dream. Attending the Graduate Institute was a goal towards which he had worked for the past 4 years. To get here he needed two things: grades and money. For the grades, he sacrificed his time and his effort, but for the money, his entire family sacrificed. A whole lot.

In Egypt, and I guess anywhere really, Switzerland is automatically linked to really expensive standards of living. It is not to be taken lightly to say 'yes, I'm pursuing a masters degree in Switzerland'. But now that's what he says. That's what his mother proudly says to her neighbors and her friends. That's what his father says to his co-workers and the men he smokes shisha with after work. Because their son accomplished something. Huge. He is pursuing his masters degree in Switzerland. Yes. Our son is smart enough to study 'abroad' and we're supporting him as best we can.

My mom always says something to me when I become impatient or frustrated with LSATs. She says that I always lose sight of what I already have. That because living and studying in Geneva is within my grasp, it's become worthless to me. That I forget that it's a privilege, it's reason to be thankful.

Ramez put me to shame today.

When he asked me where I got my BA from and I answered 'oh, here in Switzerland', in the most nonchalant way as if it were normal for the other 80 million Egyptians, I felt ashamed that I didn't say it with more gratitude. To Ramez, attending the Institute isn't just another penny, it isn't just a means to an end, it is an end. It is an aspiration achieved, a goal accomplished, a dream realized.

And what seemed to me like just another penny in my piggy bank of accomplishments, doesn't seem so worthless anymore.

My stepping stone is some one else's destination. And it's only when you look back at how many destinations you've walked through without a second thought, that's when you'll realize it's not just a penny.

B

A little truth

I've taken to blogging whenever my mind is too busy to consume with work - it brings a surprising sort of comfort even though I never actually blog about what's keeping my mind ticking. I think I'm going to give it a go today. Try to sort out the incoherent, define the undefined and perhaps find solutions. I apologize already, because this experiment may result in a non-sensical stream of consciousness.

So where to begin? A whirlwind of events, and all of a sudden you find yourself wrapped up in people who pull you in every which way, sometimes directions that contradict each other, sometimes directions you would have never thought of, but you follow, blindly. Out of sheer curiosity, out of narcissism, out of need for attention, out of loneliness, out of boredom. You follow even if you know you shouldn't. You fall for it every time, because curiosity always trumps experience, because curiosity always trumps sticks and stones. You follow.

In the short term, your path is clear, your benefits racking up, you are excited and thrilled and anticipating every turn in the road. You are traveling with a friend or maybe someone who means a little more in the moment. Very little fear, very little regard for the consequences, just forward.

Then the path starts winding a little less, the idea becomes a little less novel, the somebody becomes constant. A new event pulls you in a new direction. How do you reconcile both? Specially when the first path no longer resembles an adventure, but a comfortable habit?

Then come the hardest choices we have to make. To continue or not to continue? Is the first path meant to be just that, a temporary adventure, an excuse for someone to say 'oh but think about all the good memories'? Or can it become an excuse for someone to say 'look at how far you've come'? Is it a path worth pursuing further? What happens when all the excitement disappears in the midst of habit? Do you trudge on, hoping that the 'known' and the 'comfortable' compensate, that they turn out to be better than the unknown? Until when? To what end?

I've been sitting here for 5 minutes. Staring at my cursor. I know the answer. I do. I know it.

On to the implementation.

B

What a drug dealer and I have in common: We are Libras.

I had an interesting conversation today in the lobby of our library. About zodiac signs. Yes. We weren't talking politics, game theory or jurisdictions. We were talking zodiac signs.

I was introduced to this first year and she claimed she knew everything there was to know about zodiac signs and then asked if I'd like to know about mine. I declined. I know me, and I highly doubted she would add any insight that would surpass my knowledge of well..myself. A few minutes of rambling later and she came back to the subject. She said: 'you like socializing to a point where it can sometimes be misconstrued as flirtatiousness, you are indecisive, but once you are set, you are extremely stubborn, you are easily frustrated by non communication and inaction, it's very easy to attract your attention, but easier still to lose it.'

Then she said, 'you are a Libra'.

Uh. Ok.

I literally stood there for a minute processing. She didn't even know my name, let alone when I was born or my zodiac sign or anything about my socializing habits for that matter. So I said, presupposing that all that junk you just said is true, how did you figure it out? She goes, well for starters, the fact that you are worried that I 'found out' is the first sign. Librans socialize and people think they know them, but when you filter what they say, you'll discover you know very little about them.

So I said, again junk aside, scientifically speaking, isn't it irrational to expect that everyone born within the span of 30 days to be carbon copies of each other? What about environmental factors and social development? You are saying that a drug dealing Libra and I are comparable. So she says, yes you are. You use flirtatiousness to attract attention, the drug dealer may use it to sell drugs.

Right.

So why aren't there millions upon millions of me?

Because apparently, factors such as society, culture, religion only dictate your motives, but not the methods with which you choose to achieve them. So I choose not to deal drugs for a living, but I use the same tactics a Libran drug dealer would use, but for my own purposes.

Interesting.

It got me thinking though, how do you separate all these factors from one another. It's not an open buffet, you can't pick and choose. Because if it's my culture, or religion or society which is keeping me from drug dealing, then maybe I should be defined by those instead. Maybe instead of saying 'I'm a Libra', I'll say 'I'm a Muslim'.

So I asked, why are you so concerned with Zodiac signs if you know that they aren't decisive in determining an individual's personality?

She said: 'I'm not interested in why you are different, I'm in interested in why you are all the same'.

B

Home is where the heart is.

Apparently.

What happens though when your heart is in more than one place? How many places can you call home all at once? And is home defined by the place or by the people who inhabit the place? Or by where your ambitions take you?

I haven't been able to write. The point of this blog is to show you how I balance or struggle to balance two different homes, one where my heart is and one where the rest of me is. But I've been thinking about it, and I've realized that at any given time during the year, my heart is in at least 3 continents.

Josipa says that, 'Home should always be security. A sense of peace and belonging, even if you feel like a stranger because of the amount of time that passes, the feeling of peace, security and belonging should never escape. Home is where the heart is. And if you heart changes locations, then let it be. But never forget the sense of coming back to "home" - wherever it may be.'

Sometimes I'm scared that I'll lose the feeling of coming back home. I'm scared that security, peace and belonging are solely attainable based on the whims of my internet connection. Sometimes my heart is in so many places, that none of them really are home, but contain enough potential to become home. It's frustrating.

It's frustrating when your ambitions lead you to one place, people lead you to another and your origins lead you to a third. How do you reconcile them? How do you wake up every morning with a purpose when you know that this purpose may mean that you may need to make a sacrifice, no matter how small?

I never used to leave a world-trotting trail behind me. I was so careful. I'd always be the kid who everyone says goodbye to. The kid who always left. The minute I was gone, I was gone. The people and the place disappeared. Out of sight, out of mind.

Home was simply wherever my parents said home was.

Not anymore. Whoever gave my heart the right to decide where home is, has clearly never encountered it. Because if home really is where the heart is, then home is everywhere but here.

B

Home...sorta.

I just arrived in Egypt. I don’t have internet and I am not sure if I will have the chance to post this while I am here, but I feel like my arrival is blog worthy, so imma write it all down before I forget.

So we arrived in the new terminal in Cairo, quite literally taken right out of Europe. My feelings are sort of a paradox, I feel like it’s all a dream. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve wanted to visit for so long and now that it has happened, it just won’t register. It’s just I feel at home and out of place all at once. Usually when I come to Cairo, I forget about everything else, it’s like moving from one parallel universe to the other. This time, I am physically here, but I can accept that my life isn’t.

It’s funny though because at the airport was also the first time I feel like I have roots. Usually when I come back, a few members of our extended family pick us up from the airport, which is great of course. But this time, people who didn’t have to meet us at the airport by virtue of their DNA were there. My bestest friend in this universe and beyond and two of my closest friends ever. I even got flowers. No one has ever brought me flowers at an airport before. I have…people. In Egypt. What a strange thought. I have had a shit eating grin on my face ever since.

My family went back with us to our old apartment. It’s the greatest apartment we have ever lived in and some of my most important memories come from the period when we lived here. In fact, some of them still linger on. Like the neon green I chose to paint my room in. That night after our high school graduation, May came over and we had pizza. She ventured into my room, and when I asked her what she thought of my walls, she said ‘its like living in a cantaloupe’. My walls are still that color. All my drawers are stuffed to the brim with memories, tapes with recordings of my French orals, photo albums, IB notes, Sweet Valley High books, picture frames, jewelry, my Garfield shaped telephone. My life. I have settled into a comfortable familiarity in the span of a few short hours.

One blatant reminder that I don’t live here are my empty bookcases staring at me. My bookcases used to overflow with books. Now they are a mahogany brown emblem suspended in stark contrast to the cantaloupe walls. My book case is an essential part of any life I begin, it migrates, grows and self-develops through time. Instead of Sweet Valley High books and my school textbooks which were at home on these shelves for 2 years, in Geneva I have Bill Clinton’s autobiography, a couple of Pulitzer prize books and Kurt Vonnegut’s life works.

As I write this, it’s 1:30 am Cairo Time and I can hear the sound of a bunch of guys playing soccer in the street. Familiar sounds, perhaps even comforting. I am torn. Being here feels right. Being in Geneva feels right too. This bringing together of the Egyptian 16 year old version of myself with my much wiser, Genevan 21 year old self is exciting. I can’t wait to see what they have in common.

Up, up and away: As easy as it sounds?

Today I'm going to watch Up. Up is a Disney cartoon about a grumpy old man who is frustrated with life, so he ties half a trillion helium balloons to his house so that he can finally just leave.

This post will be divided into two parts: my thoughts before and my thoughts after the movie.

So a lot of you still laugh when I say things like 'when I used to be immature' and granted, I deserve that, because, well..I am not exactly the epitome of maturity. Of course my love for cartoons, Disneyland, and Buzz Lightyear has always been a fun topic of discussion. But, the real reason a kindergartner and I can genuinely enjoy a cartoon together has never really been put out there.

And so I throw this thought out at you: I love cartoons because the worst that can ever happen can always be resolved by the likes of Buzz Lightyear - which really doesnt say much about the storyline, of course. But that's the whole point, isn't it? Becoming part of a world with absolutely no limit for success, happiness and all those rainbows and butterflies, but at the same time a world with a clear and always manageable definition of sadness and failure.

But then, what happens when you watch a cartoon, the root of which is essentially escapism? Here I am, ready to head to this movie in 2 hours time so that I can spend 2 hours washing away the stress of the week. There is nothing more ironic than escaping by watching a cartoon about a man escaping.

So this led me to thinking about something else entirely. Is the answer really as simple as tying balloons to your house? Does it all really come down to physically leaving a place? I've lost count of the number of times I've tied balloons to my house, willingly or unwillingly. Generally I find that even though I've left a place, I don't necessarily completely detach myself and not straight away. What I have found to be very effective, however, is time.

Time makes me forget everything.

I am going to my movie. I will report back on Disney's conclusion.

So I just got in.

My perception of Up is apparently upside down (pun completely intended. ha.). Up isn't about a man trying to escape, it's about a man fighting for his life. Mr. Fredrickson built a house with his wife and promised her one day he would take it to Paradise Falls (a land never before explored by men). Time and life flew by and she eventually died so Mr. Fredickson became the grumpiest little old man known to humanity.

Disney and I agree: Time changes everything.

You see the house that Mr. Fredrickson and his wife built together slowly becoming sandwiched by skyscrapers. You see a man so deeply entrenched in routine, so desperately trying to hold on to his wife despite her death. Then you see a man who realized the only way he could hold on to any sense of familiarity, stability, to his wife's memory, is by embarking on an adventure. He tied balloons to the house and flew the damn thing to Paradise Falls, because he'd be damned if he couldn't take her there.

I haven't quite pinned an ending to my adventure yet. But my question to you is, have you found an adventure worth embarking upon? Is your adventure disguised as everyday life? Or is it a little bit more? Or is it something you didn't see coming? Are you afraid of time? Of becoming so consumed by one adventure, that you miss out on one that could have been IT?

I'd like an adventure in the form of a house without balloons. But I had to spend my life continent-hopping to realize it.

Disney and I also agree here:
Mr. Fredrickson found a scrap book that his wife had put together called 'My Adventures'. Pictures of their marriage and life together filled the book.

So sometimes tying balloons to your house is an adventure. Sometimes going to a land unexplored by mankind is also an adventure. But sometimes, your adventure is not a race around the world, but a race against time.

Start running.

B

A day at the car wash

Today I tried something new. I washed my car. With soap and a sponge and a hose. Then I vacuumed it. All by myself. I screamed a little when the hose backfired and washed everything within a 10 meter vicinity, I also got a whole bunch of soap in my hair. Then of course I vacuumed a plastic bag by mistake and for a second I thought something was going to explode.

Normally washing a car isn't a blog worthy event. But for me, it represents a different type of lifestyle. I could have gone to the automatic car wash and left dry and in tact. Better yet, if I was in Cairo, I could have paid the guy who works at the gas station 10 pounds to wash it for me himself.

See, that's precisely the problem. In Cairo, it's really easy to fall prey to the 'damsel in distress' routine. The scenario involves a few key ingredients: pretty girl, nice car, a little please, a small smile, a whole lot of 'thank you I didn't know what I would have done without you'. Egyptian men pride themselves on chivalry. Sometimes it goes a little farther than opening your doors, or picking up the tab. They will walk you to your car at night even if it means they are walking in the opposite direction for 30 minutes. If your tire blows, they will call their uncle's cousin's bestfriend's son who is a mechanic who lives 45 minutes away but who can come tow your car anyway and then drive you home during rush hour. If you are haggling with a cab driver over the infamously undecided cab fare, the men randomly hanging out at your destination will usher you inside and then threaten to start a fight with the cab driver if he doesn't leave.

The concept of self-service is non existent. The whole society is based on hierarchical service: the poor service the rich, the men service the women. Even the simplest thing in life like filling up your car with gas - there are gas station employees who do that for you. Your laundry? Someone will come pick it up for you and drop it off. Your groceries? Call the grocery store with your shopping list and you'll have your items in front of your doorstep in 20 minutes. Your kids need to walk to the end of the street to catch the school bus? The doorman will walk them because its 7 am, too cold for you, and you don't want to worry about them crossing the street on their own. Can't take your garbage down to the designated boxes for garbage pick up? No problem. The garbage man will go up all 7 floors to pick it up right from in front of your doorstep. Too lazy to make it to the hairdressers? The blow dryer will come to you.

So my problem is this: I have been brought up based on Egyptian culture. I am a privileged female. I can choose to have two sets of people servicing me, men and the less privileged. Add to that: I have lived abroad all my life. I don't always have contact with extended family or a constant network of friends. I have my parents and my sister. We are four extremely interdependent people just surviving one move after the next. We know that we are the only stable, physically present people in each others lives. The biggest proof: none of you reading this blog are in Switzerland.

Outsiders give different names to our dependence on each other: spoiled, privileged, sheltered...It also doesn't help that I can't cook. But being spoiled isn't the root of the problem. It's the mindset. The culture which promotes the idea of 'damsel in distress', combined with our forced dependence on each other, that's what is blog worthy. That is why I went to the manual car wash. That is why I mow the lawn. That's why I will continue to attempt cooking until I get it right.

Because I'm not a damsel in distress. I'm just someone you are going to have to learn to keep up with.

Sometimes you just want everything

I was chatting yesterday with my best friend and she said something that I can't stop thinking about. We were reminiscing and we recalled the night 4 years ago, when I was at her apartment for the last time before I moved to Switzerland and of course as I left we were both crying like little children. Afterwards, one of our friends said that there is no reason to cry, because Bassant will come back. The logic: I am an Egyptian, and by virtue of my egyptian-ness I was bound to come home eventually.

That day, as I was leaving her apartment, a process I had long ago become accustomed to had begun. I was leaving my friends, my family, my life, my home, everything I'd known. We said our goodbyes, our we'll keep in touch's, it's not au revoir, it's only à bientot..But this time it was a little different. Every time we traveled, I wouldn't want to leave, but the potential adventures, the traveling, meeting new people would overcome my inhibitions and everything I had left behind would be forgotten in a few days.

This time though, I made a vow to myself: I was coming back as soon as I possibly could. And, I'd sure as hell be staying for good.

Reluctantly, I got on a plane, preparing myself to reject this new life. It was temporary - there was no reason to make friends, because well, I had ones back home (for those of you who actually managed to befriend me despite me, congratulations). There is no reason to like Geneva, because I wasn't going to be here for long. I chose my major, made my plans, lined up my career, all so that I can move home.

Our 4 year post is coming to an end on August 11th.

I am not coming home.

One of the problems with my super plan (besides the fact that I planned it) is that I had to give up a career I've wanted since I was 14 and I did. Temporarily at least. I want to become a lawyer. To do that in Egypt I have to study Islamic law. Since I am neither a beacon of religion, nor well-versed in the arabic language (I am easily outdone by a 5th grader in that domain), I decided to pursue a different career if it meant going home. Then I started my Masters in International Law and it all changed. I realized that, besides shopping (which, FYI, is not a career), it's probably the only thing I will ever be good at...something about being outspoken, sarcastic and a generally unpleasant individual makes law a pretty good career choice. Who knew?

So I find myself applying to law schools and considering which Bar exams I want to take and making plans which will keep me away from home for a few more years.

I am young and I wouldnt want to settle down in one place any time soon, but there is a part of me I am afraid of - the part that loves adventures, and traveling and exploring, the part that will pursue law at all costs. That part of me is trying to reconcile itself with the part that I left behind in Egypt.

It is an uphill battle. My life would be incomplete without Egypt. But if I walk away from law, I'd be a little less me - which would be a shame for all of you.

One day I aspire to stop being a walking contradiction. But for now, I am an Egyptian and an almost lawyer. And I will do my best to keep it that way.

So here's to you guys being able to reconcile all your aspirations. Best of luck.

B.

All As One

I hail from everywhere.

Every place I visit has a place in my heart, every place I've lived in has become part of me. But the one country that still makes my heart beat and gives me butterflies in my stomach will always be Egypt. The smell of the air, the liveliness, the people, the history, the noise, the traffic, the sand, the will to live, to move forward.

Over the years, Egypt and I have had a strange love/hate relationship. When I am not there, I want to be. When I am there, I want to leave. More recently, my sense of family and friendship and belonging has overcome the hate part. My childish bouts of wanting to leave Egypt for the hell of it, have been replaced by a sense of pragmatism and career goals which may or may not lead me to Egypt. All I know is that the country has me eternally bound. One day, I'll go back. One day, I'll call it home again. One day.

Until then, this blog is going to trace my sometimes trivial trials and tribulations as a child who is almost always lost in this world.

In Egypt, I am always seen as an americanized anomaly. 'Why is your accent so americanized?' 'It's the only way I know how to speak arabic?' 'Don't forget who you are, you are Egyptian afterall'.

Abroad, I am an Egyptian anomaly. 'So where in the States are you from?' 'I'm not.' 'Oh. But your accent?' 'I'm from Egypt. American schooling is all.' 'Oh.'

This is my life. A collision of cultures. How do you explain to an Egyptian that an American accent doesn't make me any less Egyptian? How do you explain to a foreigner that being an Egyptian doesn't make me any more {insert your favorite stereotype here}?

Hopefully this blog will unite all of you. I have lived my life straddling the line between westernization and well...everything else. What I've learnt is that at the end of the day, we are all the same. We want the same things; we strive for success, happiness, satisfaction.

You all come from different ends of the world, with different cultures, backgrounds, beliefs but you have all changed my life in one way or another. So I offer you this in return: a place where the exchange of cultures and backgrounds will enrich you. And maybe I can give you a little bit of insight into life from my perspective: raised an Egyptian, educated a Westerner.

B.