L & L

She annoys me. Something in her way bothers me. She could and probably is kind and helpful but I really can't be at ease with her or around her. My first direct feeling is that I feel tensed. Irritated. Maybe because of her pretentious way of speaking. The Arabic with this accent. The know-it-all attitude. The endless talks. The endless direction to her daughter. Her speaking with her eyes and way of speaking. Acting like a man: in command even around her husband. Don't really know.

I try that when she talks I look her in the eye. But obviously I looked annoyed that it didn't help. I'm just trying to figure her out. Who she really is. Why all the fakeness or insecurity or maybe too comfortable in her skin. I doubt the latter. I saw her before coming here. Was normal. Less than normal. Now had this attitude of living a role that is not her.

It could be only me.

HERE AND BEYOUND

It has been tough here. A different kind of toughness. Not a back bending one, rather an emotional one. It's not the place. The continent. Or the country. It's the empty spaces that surrounds us. In a slow suffocation tone. In a non challenging way. The lack of intellectual forum. And all the emotions and attitude that surrounds that. Who said living an easy life frees you to do more great stuff. All the great stuff happens in the busy streets.

CARREFOUR

And the destiny keeps changing. With the baggage getting heavier. And the soul not any lighter. And the choice limited and limiting. Squeezing and intimidating. Urging to take an action. Urging to take an action. But the fear and the esteem is drying it up. Keeping it low. Stressing it hard. To retreat. To take a shelter. To inflate. To keep on hiding behind fakeness. Behind love. Behind connexion that no more feels like one. But rather a fake one. You will never discover it. Yet uncover it. The longer you stay the longer you will feel lost.

The mornings seem long. Juggling between all and none. With every step you are one step away from the real one. That is you. Remember you? I? Do I exist? Hell no. Not anymore.

I just realised something. A deep down wound. That takes you miles and miles back in time. When parents were around. When things were getting shaped. When soul starting to peak. But every time it did, it was pushed down deep. To this corner of the soul. That no one can see. A deep wish to disappear. Yet urging to appear. And see through the window of the heart. And enjoy the company of the soul. But it is always down there. Alone. Not seen or heard. Does not make itself heard. Or seen. It tricks everyone that comes near. Even with those who think know it all. It remains aloof. Joining in and going out. Seeking its solitude. The only time it feels like home. Searching for these moments. Stealing these ticks. No matter how it pretends. It can see where the fakness rests.

I think I was mistaken. I did not enjoy it. I did not yearn for it. I just was playing. And now I can not stop the gaming. It is getting serious. And it is getting painful. I have no choice but continue playing. Pretend I am enjoying. Pretend I am in. Deep down I am out. Totally out.

I fear the separation.

The problem is not in them. The problem is right in. In this neighbour. In this rebel that is dying out. Faced with the selfishness that scratches it and turns it down. Pretend it supports while it actually kills.

Unable to continue......

MARGINS OF LIFE

On the margins of life. Now resting. Standing and waiting. In anticipation. In confusion. Wondering what had happened to the rebel soul. To the daring existence. To the wild aura. Something pierced through it. Melted it down. Without awe. With no respect. Just invasion. Not even barbaric. That would have been caught. Rather subtle. Like an army. An intellectual one. That never fight but rather hide. Hide within and act without. Without grace and with soul-deep impact. You realise not the change. You understand not the pain. And after many more you feel the change.

It hits right on. The centre of esteem. The heart of confidence. Crumble them down. Stomp them flat. With no music. Just plain and flat.With the apparent sarcasm. With the fake sensitivity that hides layers of arrogance. Palette of selfishness. Shades of humiliation. Apparent in every word. With every snarl. Facial or vocal. It is all snarls.

It's I to be blamed. For years I did me ill.

NOW

It has been an off and on thought. A conviction that I keep realising from the various situations happening recently-- if a year time is considered recent-- that is never believe anyone who tells you that you are cared for. On the positive note, no one will ever take care of you more than yourself. That is, be selfish. It's a permission to be so. Probably you denied it. Now time to attain to it and embrace. In all cases we are all selfish, so why not admit it and live it. You might not be very selfish as you thought you are.

Some people just are very good at doing what they want to do; convince others that they are taken care of; play on the guilt tone when in reality they care the least about anything but themselves. Which I think is by all means very legitimate. The annoying part is the manipulating aspect of it.
 

LOORENA AND MARSHMELLOWS

Tonight is M. and myself night alone. We have been alone for sometime now. But this night is different. Consciously different. Yes we have spent a long time together. Most of it alone. But this alone is a different alone night. Maybe because it is a sad alone. Every one of us for her own reason. I know about mine. Not sure about hers. I could wonder a zillion reasons on her behalf but I am sure I will never guess right. Moreover, she will never share. Been silent for sometime. Finally, I found a silent partner.

So, what we decided to do is to stay home. Eat Hefa's Clementine, product of Israel!. Coffee. Assortment of cookies and wafer. Veggie sambousak. Listen to Lorena. Watch the gloomy sky and the rainy day. The flights passing by every 15 minutes. The crazy little black and red bird who sings all day. Go in circles. From the tree to the cable antenna. Too hyper with his newly developed flying skill. Happy with his screaming that we all hear as literally screams. Annoying screams. It does not stop. Screams. Screams. Screams. Even when we went out to get the coffee and the goodies, it chased us in a foolish way. Running after us. Catching its breath between one tree and another. Silly bird.

I feel responsible for developing M, musical taste. Or maybe I am using my commanding silence to impose my taste. Knowing that she will not really mind. Or maybe because I see her moving a bit with the music I assume she likes it. Well, again, she never complains. What I am suppose to make out of that.

So, why the sadness? It has been long time since it emerged. This sadness. Been captured. Immersed amongst many residuals and temptations. Errands. Ambitions. Empty moments. Active moments. Worries and fears. Did not have the chance to emerge. Just got pushed down. Forced inward. Maybe accepted to abide now. Confident that its time will come. Or maybe confident in me. That I will bring it up. And I did.

Main source of sadness is a realisation. Realisation that time passes. People change. Distance prevail. Coldness sweeps in and surrounds. Knit squeezed. Friends disseminate. Relations wear masks. Connexions rupture.

And we grow older.

Maybe the realisation is that I need to grow. Older? Not sure.

ON STAYING YOUNG

At heart? Not exactly. Maybe. I do not know really where. But generally speaking. This feeling that you are still young. Or maybe old. Playing with the contrasts to realise the exact state. It is a strange feeling. Sometimes it is better not to think of it. Why do that? What will trigger you, or anyone to stop and ask oneself: "how am I feeling? Old? Young?" And what is the definition. I mean, how would you know if you are feeling old or young. I am not sure if there are symptoms of that inner feeling. I am not sure what made me write on this at this particular moment. Nothing really triggered that on the age level. It is not that I am suffering from a midlife crisis or seeing wrinkles on my face. Not exactly. I do not look much into the mirror or trace white hair or wrinkles. THe only think I do, or try to keep it as a routine, is drinking olive oil. It does miracles to your skin. Yes, it is skin that I am after. I have to admit that I feel uncomfortable when my face looks tired or has breakouts. Other than that, I feel good.

So what is it? It could be, actually, it is this feeling that almost everyone around you grew older that made me realise that I am still young. Not in a good sense? Could be. Because it makes me feel naiive and still spontaneous. Uncalculated. Still act as if I am in my 20s. Does not carry, or even remember, who I am and what I have done or not done. As if what I do or achieve go to someone else. Or credited to a different account balance.

I stay, as I am, free of it. Unaware of it. Do not use it to get more scores or pin a better position or limit. I just enjoy, by choice or by design, to be 'it'. Whoever this 'it' is. But for sure the barebone one. very lean and very transparent. Hardly would I bring forward anything from anywhere. And now I am not sure if this is good or bad.

But I know that it is time to do that. That grownup tact. Speak like my age. Dress like my age. Be my age. I am still in somewhere else. Living in the 'me', 'it' realm. Choosing, acting and thinking with the same manner. Responding the same way. Not responding the same way. Avoiding same things and accepting with the same attitude. No matter how I say to myself: Act differently here, I found myself just doing whatever I do again and again. With total passion or total coldness. Depending on what it is.

<<>>

Some people manage to turn everything special into a practical one then blame you for it.

Some people manage to be selfish and then accuse you of that.

Some people decide know exactly what they want and just bet on your flexibility and stupidity for the lack of any better term.

Some people will just drag you along convincing you that their dreams are actually yours and your own dreams are subject to discussion.

I now know where I will end. I see it. Surprisingly unable to take a real step and be serious about it.

....

I am disappointed. In many things starting with myself. This is who I wanted to be when I was growing up. Now I am rapidly changing into an ordinary person. Nothing special about. I used to be special. I used to be gifted. Now I am lame. Bit by bit transfering into a neutral, passionless person. I struggle to keep my identity but seems and feels that the subtle yet strong wave that sweeps and controls me is really getting into me. Under any name or purpose, I feel I am being dragged to places and things that are not me. That I never approved. That is not me. And for that I am angry. And powerless.

GREEN NOTEBOOK

I write there. I hide it. I use it to scribble. To take notes. To finish up what is entangling me and cut loose of it. I can not. Unable to. There are lots of things there. Making bigger knots. And sophisticated issues. Unable to resolove it. With myself first. Then with the other or others. I am unable to speak up. To open up. To say where is the pain. Where I am hurted. What are my concerns. I really can not speak up. Some issues are way deeper to talk about it. It needs more opening up. More clarity. I need to be able to feel free to talk and be sure I am well recieved.

I am not.

Unsafe. Insecure. Suffocated. Scared. Seeing myself pushed aside to give way to something else. But not particularly balanced. I feel I am losing it. Being stepped over. I do not like that. Especially if I am unable to speak up.

There is a core issue. It is pyscological. Cant get over it. I need help.

H N

It suffocates me here. I feel as if I am in a prison. Unable to move or do any action. Everything is so small and squeezed. I have to always be pretending. I am not engaged by any means. I draw this smile and pretend I am interested. I am not interested nor smiling. Nor wanting to be here. I just want some space and some distance. It is so different from what I like and what I enjoy. It is even so far from it. Everytime I go there I am turned ooff. I get kicked out of myself to a large distance. It is so uncomfortable to me. I am someone else. And I am sure it shows on my face that I am not interested. I crave some piece and some space, physical and mentally. We are engaged in weird conversation. I so not connected to it. It is not that I want to talk about some sophisticated things. I just want to be interested. Its either revolved around the kids present in the setting. Or a talk about a kid that is travelling or about some prejudgement opinion. I literally don't have anyrhing to say
Or do. And he turns to be sommeone else. An insecure. Controlling.here too? I am suffocating from trying to turn me into a replica of you with the endless over protection that I become intimidated to say or do anything alone. I always feel under pressure. It is amazing how I am so turned off.

ISLAMIC MUSEUM

Islamic museum. Parking garage. Customized. Inside a building and a mall. Not by any means close in shape or essence to the capital of cairo, city stars. Nor the empire states of the nile, nile city. Just an easy miss parking. In fact, an apartment building changed to be a parking. I am not sure where we parked. Living room or bedroom. Wish I knew.

We went to take the elevator. A typical middle class man. Not sure middle or lower middle class. Just a real man from this old time. He was not old. Late 40's maybe. He entered with us and the whole elvator smelled. I inhaled the aroma and I smiled.
There was this deep armoa of 'leb'. Seeds. He was 'az'az' leb probably on his way to the elevator and he simply filled the whole elevator with that smells.

This smell took me back decades. To the slightly disappearing 'tasaly' shops. This little but famous shop next to the church in heliopolis. Overlooking the metro. The small bazar that sold leather sandals that I so liked. Reminded me of the eurpoean missionaries. Of Soeur Germain and Ann Marie. Of my half swedish friend, Rony Sidky. To the enjoyable trips with my mom, brother when we were visiting in heliopolis. To 13 makabati. The red church. Truimph. Saphire. This back street linking saphire to saint fatima. To the small island that separated the empty street to two lanes. The island where my cousins waited for the bus. 3am nour. The toufi bonbon with a ballerina on its paper. The black and brown shoes of my father's moukasan shoes. How I tried to make a cadence while going up the stairs. Oxford book store. Groppi. To my sleep over at my uncle's house. The 'Basta' infront of the very old apartment that once belonged to my grandmother. Josline and Mireille. Tante Durreya and Soheir.

My brother.

SEE THROUGH

It might be a fear. A fear from getting drifted somewhere. To this remote area where you find it hard to hit a home run. It is spacious and neat. Maybe full of life or maybe not. I can not quite decide for that matter. I swing between this thought and the other. In sparks of realization, dreams and hopes. I try to moderately calibrated for the variation. Not successful at it so far. Again, not sure if I enjoy the swings but at least am aware of it. Can not deny that I am very lazy with it. With finding its real cause. I maybe know and sometimes touch on it, but it seems to be a little farther than I want to dig at this time. I do not know why though.

You know when there is a deep nostalgia that scavenge in these areas that are the most tender. It does not bleed though. Leaves no scars. Only untraceable pain. Haunting you. Associated with every deep smile or laugh or feel of love. As if it is a reminder of some sort. A ghost from the medieval time that is wearing a black head gear. Pretty scary. Even if this ghost is busy haunting others, it succeeded to leave you in worry. To engrave its presence.

I can allocate this ghost. I can trace it. But again, too unwilled to face it and look to it in the face. I preferred to see its reflection but not to just turn my head and face it. I know one day I will.

BORED

I am. Something is not clicking. Is not working. Is missing. What it is? I do not know. But there is something that is creeping there. Hidden. Can not be detected in the midst of all the details and the happenings. Does not make sense when exposed. As if it enjoys being hidden in my feeling. A line that sews all the events and knit all the different cadres of this movie. I have no clue what it is. Is it me? Or is it me? Because the other does not seem to be aware of it. Or maybe denying it? Or it might be that I detect it first and then energetically turned it into a reality that casts its shade. It is then that the other will acknowledge its existence. By then? I dont know if I will be there when this happens.

I am. From waiting for her with a no showup. Accomodating this attitude that never got approved. Accepting the fakeness and self centered connection. It is not hidden to both of us. Nor is it apparent to both of us by the same degree. It swings between realization and denial. Dealt with it with kiddish and grown up mix. A mix that get diluted by the day. Get ridiculed by every remote connection. Shrugged at by every struggled meeting. In brief, this connection lost its connection. And it is ok. But not only the connection, the respect. I do not. Not hindered from admitting its new reality by a naiive attachment to a long ago memory. But by being patient for a while. Indifferent for another. Sarcastic the rest of the time. Until I dropped it. Sad? Not really. But interesting the connection cycle. You can never trust it to last forever. Or maybe it needed another personas to handle it.

VIEWS ON THE MARGIN

It has been so long since we met. It is not that we were disconnected. We had what you can call remote relation. Remote connection. Remote something. What is it, I dont know. After been close for couple of years, since the new location, things have tremendously changed. For whatever reason. It changed. And it is ok. I suppose I live with that 'change' thing. It does not really matter to me much. Maybe, as always been accused of, i dont really care. Or it might be that I grew wise and practical that I deny myself the attachment to 'people'. It is ok I would suppose. You need me, you connect. You get busy, you disconnect. And on we both go. I admit I am ok with either. Never felt that it is disrespected. I just feel that it is normal human thing. Over and above, it suits me to some extend. Saves me the burden of expectations. Of obligation. Of having to be totally open and sharing. Although, I hardly have time to share. Or hardly like to share. The time is mostly, recently I have to admit, is about the other.

So the other. I am not sure but I now started to get annoyed. Before I used to brag about my ability to accomodate and accept any ideas or whatever is told to me because I dont really get attached or too involved. I am not a good friend? Not particularly. Just I listen, comment, be involved but once I am in my car, I forget. Maybe wonder a bit about the situation and tell myself my true opinion of the other. But at the end, I just forget. Disengage.

With this friend, I am on the margin of being annoyed. I start to have a strong opinion of what is happening. To 'disrespect' the endless play and twisting of realities. To disrespect the manipulation and the betrayal. I simply disrespect. I am not evaluating or judging. I just can not find any more excuses to what is happening and what is getting led to. It is outside my comfort zone. I can accept weird stuff but when it comes to betrayal I find myself a bit disgusted.

So this meeting, I might call it the last, virtually, i got annoyed. I think I made up my mind regarding this relation and connection. We indeed have gone different ways. We no more match. No more meet at a familiar place. It is clear the choice of mates, the choice of attitudes, the choice of interests. It was before that we were connected with this tiny thread that against all odds stood strong amidst everything. But now, this tiny thread is utterly a thread. A thread that got torn apart with the straining and fakeness that greesed its outer. Made it easy for any dirt to accumulate. And it did. I see no purpose of continuation. No purpose of attempting for rivival. It is actually the end.

The booster got to healthy boost the ruptured thread from so much trial to tighten the knit. Well, it is a knit after all. A knit is suppose to get unravelled to be back again to thread. You wonder about all these threads that once covered the nakedness. But now just used to trap you while walking. The end result is the bin. It is useless to try to re-knit another one. For all the reason that starts from the thread itself.

As much as it feels weird, but it feels it is right. It is unwise to continue. But I am starting to see how this relation actually hurted me in ways that is a bit subtle. I always joked that it was purposely separating me from everyone, breaking connections with my connections. But now, I think it holds a grain of truth. It is a way to possess and control.

Can it be that wicked? Why not suppose that. It is not wrong to think so. It is not an insult as much as a technique. That works.

FROM HERE NOT CAIRO

I spent a good two hours browsing through my very old posts. God! It has been 5 years since I started this blog. I read those initial posts where I was talking about Religion; this endless debates with Dallula and her friends; the decent Muhammad who was so dear on the blog. I miss you. If I am allowed to say that.

I at times could not believe that I am the one who wrote all that. So filled with ideas and passion not to be compared with the situation now. I am still passionate but in so many different directions that I cant even recognize. I am not sure if I will ever be able to write again in the same way.

I wonder what has been of me during these 5 years. No clear answer. A word from here and there. A nostalgic feeling from cairo and from within. But the real thing is still in the making.

Where ever you are from Cairo, I send you my salutation.

HR

FORGET

Seems like I forgot how to write. I substitute this blog with a random thoughts in my diary book. I now write. Not as elouquently, not as crisp, not as real like I used to do. I now write 'Fake' stuff. Fake not that it is unreal, but I write just to keep the habbit. To preserve the memory. To persuade the emotions to stay, and the feeling to not flee away in despair of its owner that once took care of this place. The west of the soul; the nucleus of the spirit; the ancient of the being. This endless glimse of something that I failed to capture, yet once recognized the existence.

I wish to come back here often. Naturally though. How can it be when most of my time now is captured between the worlds of fake and unreal. There is a difference? I am not sure. I guess I have to discover this little field that lies in between. It is so true that once you forget, you are forgotton. Not by someone, but by your ownself. 'انساهم انفسهم' not sure how this relates. But it does.

WIll connect to the submarine.

CAR FRESHNER

I bought a car freshner from 'on the run'. It is vanilla. Intersting. I am not sure why I bought it, but I did. In fact, I am excited about it. I keep spraying it until today I was coughing from the dense smell. I prefer the lemon-ish one much more. I prefer the car to smell like me, naturally, my smell without having to impose a smell or another. Not sure why I bought the freshner.

Well, it is part of the mental state I am in. Cleaning. Cleansing. Reshuffling. Embracing the many changes that will carry me somewhere.

So, Vanilla.... Let it be.

I ate the best ice-cream today at Cilantro. 'Mr. Cream', he said. Well, it was good. I got Choclate and strawberry. Worth trying.

CONSPIRACY THEORY

We are forever haunted by this idea that jews are the enemy who is trying to destroy egypt, islam, arabs; lived and breeded on the conspiracy theory from this enemy who is monitoring us so close. Almost all flaws we have and any critical situation we attribute it to the 'Enemy' and the 'conspiracy theory.

Well, this is the Egyptian vs. Jews.

Now we are in a different conspiracy inside Egypt. Muslims vs. Copts... Copts vs. Muslims lest they pick on why I put Muslim first!!

So the Copts are really under the impression that there is a conspiracy against them from the Muslims. Ridiculous as it is, but it is really alerting. Not only so, but the people who are really believing that are a well educated people who are suppositely enlightened.

- Muslim Brotherhood are the ones who burnt cairo during the king's time! (Never heard of that...)
- The Pigs were all slaughtered to destroy the christians financial situation and to annoy them and was called for by the Muslims at the parliment because Muslims hate Pigs
- All the license plates for the people living in Shoubra is ق ب ط followed by the numbers. It is a way to distinguish them so that.... (not sure easily kill them?) Dont understand. Very annoying actually

And now it is my turn to believe in conspiracy theory....

here is my share:
the christians are currently distinguishing themselves from the muslims. They fight and reject so hard if anyone refered to them as arab. They would say, 'I am not those ignorant arabs. we are copts. original egyptian.'

On a different side, I joke and feel that more and more christians are immigrating from egypt to north america and australia. as if it is a conspiracy theory to leave egypt to those ignorant barbaric muslim arabs who will destroy egypt and bring it down to the flush.. Later on, the christians, after building their strength and power, will come back to egypt to revive it and take their land back from the barbaric people!!!!

They laugh at my theory. But I am sure it is true!

1452 SUPPER

So if Islam was not the religion, and Prophet muhammad invented everything and the koran was stolen from poetry, hinduism...etc as the christians now are trying to claim and exerting all efforts to dig this out, still what will make me take christianity? What is so certain about Christianity that is beyond debate that will make me choose it without any doubt. Nothing

They still eat biscuits and drink wine as a symbol of blood and body. They fast after this event for hours after they eat and are not allowed to get anything out of their mouth lest 'part of the body' gets out! PHEW!!!! Sounds like pagan times to me! I understand it is a symbol, but still, what is that!

If u are smiling and nodding...yes, we talk a little about islam and christianity.. I maintain a cool face and dont debate almost at all. Consciously diffuse talks away from islam..As much as i can I let him talk about his christianity and ask clarifying questions. Opinionless attitude (who does that better than me) and everynow and then pick on something he said and play. I cornered him actually when I wanted couple of times but I let him out of the hook quickly. I am for sure not interested in a debate. There is something that makes me empathatic that is so not my nature.

En bref, I am happy I get to know more about christianity because it makes me sure that if i'd pick, i wont pick it. It is so not me--too much miracles and myths for my taste. They claim it is about logic, and it is all greek logic and myths... full of miracles that is by mere definition, defies logic.

Thank God I am muslim. I feel good about my religion because it taught me to do accomodate those whose heart are still yet to open up to this complete religion that is beyond all man-made ideas and logic.

To the beauty of the heart.

DIVINO-WMOUNT-ILE DES SEOURS

Same group. My brother's friend, A. I played social and connected with him. It was first time to see him and his wife since he got married. He used to come to our house a lot, and we were friends because of my teasing to him. It is this connection that allows us to be super simple with each other, yet know almost nill about one another. But we liked each other.

His wife, N. Never saw her except in the wedding. I had one impression, 'Sloppy'. When I first came to see her was at their house. Chateau. 816. She was inviting me to ftar. I did not particularly like the attitude. She is simple and all, but not this elegant, understanding simplicity. More of this shallow simplicity. The thing I noticed is her sloppy way of eating. Twisting her mouth to catch a bite. Her way of dressing up or down, i hardly understand. Her hair too unmanaged. Maybe her face, a but undefined. En bref, this elegance aura is all missing. Coupled with her attitude, I got the point. So we ended up talking me and A, with some sharing from her side while she sitting on the sofa, her legs up and manicuring her toes! Disgusting actually.

An incident that I learnt to shut-up regarding is 'who the girl looked like.' I said, 'Oh she looked like A.' I was stupid. Should not have uttered that. It was a negative point aganist me. I knew that later...

Divino I went. 2 more friends. A and N. and their friends (K and M). I expected something. I took the bus and metro. A 45 min transportation to meet them. I was dressed as my usual. Jeans. Shirt. Jacket. Just myself. I looked to see the 2 women coming. The one thing I recognized was that the women (N and M) are having this huge BOOOZ. Not a smile. Hi-Hi. and we sat.

M. is a german school. Very sharp face. No smiles. Nothing. A solider. She checked me out. No word to me. Looked at the other woman, N while she swallowing the pasta and making a mess. Gave her this judgemental look. Very annoying. Again, I ended up silent and the whole outing was slient. We just ate and left. So damn boring.

I got a message on my cell. K. is inviting me to ftar at his house. I had already sworn I would never go out with them again. ENough socializing. When I socialize, I pick the wrong company!!! What's with me? ANyways, I agreed. Why? Not sure. I went to pastry shop, picked gateaux and tarte. took buses and metro (1 hour) and reached their house. For sure they did not expect me to bring anything, but it is just a statement I am making. I didnot even bring a tarte, pecan or strawberry as everyone, but a pastry..... Again, a statement. If you are playing snob, I am too.

Again, not a word. The women dont speak to me. They just have this booz and talk some words to one another about kids, family, food.... but not to me. And for that, me no word to them. I just eat and have this smile.

Dinner done. I go sit watch Tv. The women gathered on teh table to gossip. I overhear N narrating the incident that I said that the girl looked like A? And How stupid that was. She looked over to me to see what I am doing, and she saw me looking. I did not turn my eyes. Smiled at her and winked!

Later, we hear a noise of something falling. Girl started to scream. N rushed to see what happened. N screaming. All rush to see what happened. I did not move a toes. THe girl obviously fall on the stairs. No harm or anyhting, but it obviously was just a moment of panic. I found myself saying, 'Ahsan! Testahel.' and smile a wicked one to myself.

'weleya habla wee baladi...'

MARA HABLA

He is from singapore. A 51 years old person. I am stuck with him for almost 10 days. Initially, he is this cute person who talks his life out. And I used to listen while working on my computer when he goes in circle asking everyone what are their plans, what are they cooking, ...etc. I would just mumble couple of words with this smile and back to my laptop. But he does talk a lot. Not only that but he has this 'gayish' attitude. Not particularly 'gayish', but maybe i am harsh. Just woman attitude.

here is some of his statements, (along with some facial and body language....)

' I have to wash my teeth. I am used to that. i can sleep without washing my teeth. oh oh, the bathroom is not empty.' What the hell.... why do you have to tell me!!

' I will cook beef. Beef is so cheap. It is 2$. I will go get beef. the brocoli is 99c. i got brocoli.'

'I dont want to change my room. I like it here. I cant sleep in the other bed. They can move. It is darker here.'

Then he had to change rooms because the french girls were reserving a private room.
'why do they move me. i will go back to my room after they leave. it is my problem, right? i wont be able to sleep.'

for 3 days he would screw my head with his stupid coins. he had 1c coins that adds up to 2 dollars! so every morning, he would come to my table open his purse while looking to me, 'i put it in a small purse to keep it.....', ok ok. no problem buddy. and then bombard me with stories how the lady didnt take the damn coins because they are not wrapped. and everyday he would come from shoopping and count his cents. Now they are down to 60c. good lord!

He is simple. Yes. Sweet. Maybe. But he annoys me. In my head I called him a 'mara habla'.

Ah, he burbs all the time. All the time. Very disgusting.

And he every morning would look in the mirror to see his body. I am like, 'typical mara habla still'.

Now he said, 'Today I will sleep well because I am sleeping alone. Yesterday I didnot sleep at all' I said, 'Oh yea. But you snored very loud all night that we could not sleep.' And I smiled. 'ME! Really! IIIIIIII snooore.', 'Oh yes. Big time. SO loud. And so much...... but anyways, you can snore as loud as you can.'

And smile!

Mara habla indeed.

DEUTSCH

There is something about people from this culture or part of the world.

Panic!

They are always scared. Panicing. Worried. They feel strangled in their own thoughts and rules. Maybe because of the too many rules. Could be from the so many expectations. And for sure the very limited space and tolerance for mistakes and errors.

I remember my friend volker, who used to literally panic and get ulcers before exams, told me when I exclaimed about this attitude in a sarcastic way, he said: 'everything you do, all your history stays. It all goes in the C.V. Nothing is passed unpaid for.' And I realized the word 'forgiveness' not tolerance. Forgiveness. And suddenly I realized that this western culture has no forgiveness. It is all governed and managed by a huge interrelated system. Who will forgive you. No one.

On the other hand, in Egypt, we are so forgiving that we end up in a mess.

Balance is always good. But until this happens, i prefer the system. For sure.

P WORD

So everything is about this P. They wakeup in the morning and a bee hive is at it's peak. All revolve around that. They impress me but much nore than that, inspire me. Make me wonder about where we will be in a decade, and how far away we will be from them.

So they wakeup. Brush teeth and wash face. Get dressed simply but in what I call elegantly. And breakfast. And they do that fast too. Healthy and fast. Cereal. Milk. Juice. Toast. Coffee. All that while reading the papers or working on their computer to see what their plans are for the day. Later, they go up take a shower and get ready.

What I like, and have text my partner about but he turned me off as usual, is that they always seem clean. They smell nice. Look clean. Feel clean. And although we claime to be knowing all the etiquette things, they do eat in an elegant way. It is not about knowing the etiquette, but about this balance thing we lack. This 'self-knowing' attitude. Know who I am. What I want to do. Why I am here. I actually chose to be here. I like that I am here. I have options. I am free. And I SEE where am I heading. It is a culture of certainity and hope. Productive. Practical. Pragmatic. Proud.

I like that. And no wonder when egyptian live there, they initially stand out from their uncertain, selfconscious body language but when they are mature enough, they become used to the assurance and the sense of purpose.