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.