Stranded in Despair: The Syrian I Met at Europe's Crossroads

On my way from Budapest to Prague on a very cold and rainy day

It was like one of those Charles Dickens gloomy scenes which foreshadowed a bleak plot twist; for the first - and only - time during my two-week trip through Europe, the weather was exceptionally cold coupled with heavy showers. Even though I'd woken up at 4 am, I still managed to miss my 6 am Budapest-Prague bus.

Running in the dark early hours of the day, falsely hoping to catch the bus I was certain had already moved, I was caught in a panic attack of sobbing and heavy breathing. But little did I know that I probably was meant to miss the bus to be another helping hand along his journey back home.

By the time I reached the bus station, I'd calmed down, and figured that the solution was as simple as buying another bus ticket. Realizing I still had another eight hours to kill until my ride hits the road, I started to weigh my options between reading, watching movies or striking conversation with strangers who seemed to also be stranded at the bus station.

Shortly into my conversation with two Mexican backpackers, a man who roughly seemed to be in his early forties interrupted us asking the gentlemen if either spoke Arabic.

"I speak Arabic," I replied abruptly, given how scarce it was to bump into Arabic speakers in Eastern Europe.

Addressing me this time, the man explained that he was trying to get to Belgrade. "Can you help me?"

Not knowing what kind of help he was exactly hoping for, I felt a bit skeptical and was slightly taken aback. "I am Syrian, and I need to ask about the next bus to Belgrade, but I don't speak English so I can't inquire about the buses' schedule," he replied to my baffled facial expressions.

One of several information desks at the Budapest main bus station in Nepliget

On our way to the information desk, Mossaab Abo Fadel, father of six, briefly explained that he had been moving from one European country to another searching for a safe haven for his family to reside. The day we met was his fortieth day on the road.

Giving in to the fact that the only bus to Belgrade was leaving in 11 hours, Abo Fadel did the math to make sure the finances were still sufficient to get him back home to his family. Returning from a short visit to the cafeteria, he looked disappointingly at the three Euros that rested in his palm, and exclaimed: "they don't use Euros here! Can I buy some Forints from you?"

Despite his scarce finances, this time he returned from the cafeteria with bakery for the two of us to nibble on. With snacks at hand, and a long trip to Syria to plan, Abo Fadel and I had a lot to do.

Like a wanderer lost in the desert looks at his last sip of water, he carefully handed me a scrap piece of paper that he fetched from his pocket. "Could you please write in small handwriting to save up space?" he said as I unfolded the scrap paper showing all the contacts and remarks he had written down.

For the next hour or so, Abo Fadel explained the cities he needed to go through in order to reach Syria. Making sure he didn't face the same language predicament at any of the following bus stations, we wrote down the route in English and Arabic, including city names, bus numbers and the ticket prices. 

With a less vague journey ahead of him, one very important thing remained. "Can I please use your phone to text my wife, let her know I'm okay?"

While most travelers are keen to take pictures of themselves for the sake of documenting a memory or a fun trip, Abo Fadel on the other hand seemed to take a picture of himself to document his living moments whenever he could. 

Right about the spot where Abo Fadel and I sat for a few hours talking

Somewhere in a different continent where the skies showered bombs rather than rain, Abo Fadel's wife awaited eagerly, gasping for the short lived moments when he texted or called. From one voice note to the other, it wasn't hard to tell how he was trying his best to be concise in his communication, while his wife wanted to know as much as she could about his health and well-being. Overwhelmed with emotion to learn that her husband was okay, she saluted him in pain knowing that he may disappear for many days to come before he could get back in touch.

"If you win something, you must lose something," Abo Fadel said quietly, contemplating the two extremes he had to choose from, between his war-torn homeland and the peaceful, developed European countries which bore no signs of his culture that gave him a sense of security.

"They keep bragging about the beauty of Europe and its nature, but you should see Syria," he went on like a lover talking about the woman he was infatuated with.

Before the war broke out in Syria, Abo Fadel held a job in the government, but much like everything in his hometown, uncertainty was all he knew about his own life, let alone his career.

"Everyone in the media talks about Da'esh and their horror, but believe me, they're not the worst. At least when Dae'sh attack people and kill them, they are limited or specific groups, unlike Assad's army that bombs entire cities, or other militant groups that walk around town slaying people and stealing their money."

Yet in spite of all the horrors back home that Abo Fadel knew all too well, at least it was still his country where he wasn't a stranger. 

An earlier image of Syrian refugees at the Keleti train station that was right across the hotel where I was staying. Credit: Mauricio Lima/ The New York Time

"You didn't happen to see any mosques while you were touring in Europe, have you?" he asked hoping I'd come across a different side of Europe that he may have somehow missed. "I can't bring my family to a country where they struggle with the language and a culture that holds none of the values I have raised my children to. How will they live?"

From Syria to Egypt, we both talked about the statuses of our home countries where he showed a lot of interest to learn more about how the political life was evolving in Egypt, and how people felt about it.

Before I knew it, it was already time for me to go. Insistent on walking me to my platform, he urged me not to forget him. "Please stay in touch, and don't forget my name; your uncle Abo Fadel," he said like a man who didn't know how long he still had to live. "If you're ever in Syria, please rest assured that we'll gladly be there for you."

As I sat in the bus, watching the road through the fogged up window, I couldn't stop thinking about Abo Fadel and his family. Every prayer he prayed for me in gratitude for my help  - which was barely worthy of mention - was more precious than the fanciest gift I'd ever received.

Two weeks later, as I prepared my morning coffee back in my cozy kitchen in Cairo, I wondered if my Syrian friend had made it safely to his family. Having saved his wife's number, I picked up my phone and texted her.

Bewildered and filled with heartache, she informed me that the last she'd heard from her husband was a week ago. "He had reached Greece, and called me through a fellow Egyptian's phone," she texted back. "But he hasn't contacted us again since then. I am terrified that he may have been caught and imprisoned."

Unable to find the right words to soothe her, all I could do was pray for the entire family to reunite once again.

A picture of Abo Fadel that his wife sent me upon his arrival back home

In a matter of hours, my phone beeped showing a new incoming text that read: "Abo Fadel just got in touch. He has been caught and will be spending the next couple of weeks in prison in Greece. Afterwards, he will be deported to Syria."

Overjoyed to learn what has become of her husband, she showered me with prayers that were as heart-warming as her husband's. "You are a dear sister, and I hold you very dear to my heart," she texted me the next day. "The day you contacted me was the day Abo Fadel called after an entire week of no news what so ever. Pray for us, and I pray we will meet one day."

From that day on, we have remained in one another's prayers and thoughts. Despite the terror that engulfs their days and nights back in Idlib, my Syrian friend whose name I do not know, makes sure she shares the remaining bright glimpses of life, such as her children's photos or news about the olives harvest season which is famous in Syria.

Even though our conversations barely go beyond morning greetings and mutual prayers for the well-being of one another's family, it worries me deeply every time I text, and she doesn't text back.

For Abo Fadel, his beautiful family, and all the Syrian families, I pray the day will come when they only wake up to the beauty that brought Abo Fadel back to his home with no regrets. 

An Ode to the Worn Out and Weary

Like the moth attracted to light, we are often attracted to all that glitters and shines. Fresh young beauty, new crispy clothes and mindless fun. You know, all those things we like to post on social media in pursuit of a few seconds of attention.

But what about those wrinkled faces, hardened skin and cracked soles? What about the minds lost to the abyss of thought, with no trace back to solid grounds? What about the worn out and weary?

There's something about wrinkles that I have always found quite attractive. Much like scars, wrinkles always leave me with nagging curiosity to learn how they have come to be. Always left yearning to learn what engraved such marks so deeply in people's souls that they surfaced to their faces.

I won't pretend I don't find exterior beauty appealing, but where has that got anyone? We're too careful about the things we love that we fear we'll overuse them lest they break. We're too protective about our emotions, our bodies, and our minds that we fear venturing into the unknown lest we're forever scarred. We fear jumping into life lest we mess our hair, and cover ourselves in mud.

However, this much I know. If anything, your scars tell your tale better than any fake smile ever will; for they are a map of all the places you've been, and all the adventures you have thrown yourself at. They are the stories that have made you who you are today. Wise or foolish, it's how you've come to be.

All those worn out shoes, all those sleepless nights spent on venturing into existential thoughts, and all those bones you've broken, they make you one hell of a masterpiece. Perfection is an impeding myth that does nothing but hold us back. So unbox that collectible item, wear those pair of fancy, expensive shoes, voice those ideas, go on that goddamn trip, and while you're at it, make sure you have a story to reflect on when you're asked about those wrinkles of yours.

The Tantalizing Security Of Definite Answers

During the year I worked as a preschool teacher, I was taught that children find sanctuary in routine because it's always easy to anticipate what will happen next.

If you were raised in an Egyptian home like myself, chances are you hated the response "Insha'Allah" (God willing) whenever you asked your parents whether something in the future was going to happen, be it an outing or buying something new. You always yearned for a clear 'Yes' or 'No'.

Growing past childhood, our desire for clear answers is usually barely changed. The only difference is that it encompasses a wider array of matters. Questions about future plans, ideologies, beliefs, and existential thoughts engulf us, all pleading to be met with clear answers that leave no room for the bewilderment of doubt.

But much like a person lost at sea, we cling to the first form of a clear idea we come across, no matter how narrow minded, erroneous or incomplete it is. The thought of venturing back into that vast and dark sea of the unknown sends a shiver down our spines.

And before we know it, life is polarized into whites and blacks with a vast space of nothingness in between. Nothingness that either makes us scared, angry or defensive.

The Safety Net of Grey Areas

I believe that one has got to be a human being with purpose. Going with the flow does not mean you should be spineless or with no grounds to stand. I know how numbingly comfortable it is to know exactly where you're going. How confident it makes you to know every step you'll take, at least until you reach the horizon.

But are you even certain you'll live to see another day? Are you for a fact certain of anything?

No. And if you are, I hate to break it to you, but you'll face some really hard times ahead of you.

I don't like heartache, and unless you're a masochist, I don't think you do either. That's why my favorite strategy by far is bearing in mind that 'everything is a fifty-fifty chance.' For as long as you keep that in sight, you'll take whatever life throws at you with pleasure if it's good, or patience if it's bad.

It's much like how you never get disappointed if you never had expectations in the first place.

Weaving the Grey Bonds of Love and Understanding

The grey area is much more than just relief and acceptance for the life events that unfold. The grey area is where much of life happens, and where most of our emotions, hopes and fears lie as well.

It is this room where you feel confident enough to admit you've been wrong, and to venture back into the dark because you know it's the only way you can ever grow. You will do so knowing that chances are great you'll keep swimming for longer than you hope, and that you'll probably get exhausted along the way.

But it's like once you've opened up your mind and heart to the grey area, you can never tolerate the closing walls of definite blacks and whites. Because every time you look at them, all you see will be the greys that lead to either. Grey will be inevitable, and unlike how you thought it would be, accepting its uncertainty will be key to your inner peace.

I don't mean to come off as a wise ass, for I am as foolish as a king's jester pretends to be. But this much I know, that love brings me inner peace. And that I can't accept, let alone love myself or those around me if I fail or refuse to see and ponder the grey area.


It hurts me and greatly troubles me whenever I see people getting aggressive with one another over difference of opinion or perspective. This idea that there is only one right answer, and one right way to look at things has brought us nothing but hatred and an urge to hurt one another.

Life is in the here and now. Don't waste your time away swimming against the endless tides of 'what if.'

I don't know how many shades there are to grey, but I'm sure each one of them is unique and worth contemplating. Take it or leave it, but either way give it the respect it deserves.

But I'm a Creep

Courtesy of Menna Azmy

Music to me is more than just a playlist I play on repeat to keep me entertained. Music often channels my innermost thoughts and emotions.  And that's why when I grow more attached to a song, the bond usually connotes a phase I'm going through.

"But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here."
-Radiohead

For over a year, I have found plenty of consolation in Radiohead's "Creep". I believe it's fair to call this phase the post-graduation figuring real life (and myself) out phase.

Along the three years since graduating college, I have juggled jobs as often as I change spectacles (those who know me well enough know how frequent that is). While I was often criticized for changing jobs so often, arguing that this doesn't serve building a strong résumé, I never found those concerns logical. Because how could I have possibly stayed if I didn't feel like I belonged.

Belonging, that's a funny thing. As a kid, all you needed to belong to was a family, a group of friends,  or a sports team. Belonging wasn't an idea one would dwell on much.

But once you're out there, belonging involves a lot more than just your social life. We start seeking spiritual belonging, emotional belonging, intellectual belonging, and suddenly, the people you find sanctuary in start to change. Your comfort zone starts to shift.

"All we know is that we don't know how it's gonna be. Please brother let it be. Life on the other hand won't make us understand. We're all part of the masterplan"
-Oasis

I have for long believed that we are all like pieces of a huge puzzle, each tinted in certain strengths or weaknesses because we are meant to occupy this one specific spot in the puzzle.

If you consider it that way, the equation becomes quite simple. The pieces either fit, or they don't. You either fit, or you don't!

I remember once reading "The Ugly Duckling" to a group of three-year-olds. I can never forget the concern they had on their faces when the duckling grew more and more emotionally scarred by being the outcast whom everyone mocked.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with how it ends, the ugly duckling finds out that he's not ugly after all, but a really beautiful goose. And to figure that out, he had to run away and leave his abusive family behind, until he came across a flock of geese, and he ever after found himself a new family.

"I'm not smart enough;" "I'm not pretty enough;" "I'm not good enough;" "I'm not special enough."

Most of what I have been seeing around me, and within, are a bunch of ugly ducklings scarred in different ways by being in circumstances that don't define who they are. Ugly ducklings who are in constant pursuit of finding where they belong.

The sad thing is that, unlike the intuitive three-year-olds who were concerned about the ugly duckling that was belittled by those surrounding him, society tends to force the pieces to fit, even though they weren't meant to. They'd rather see the duckling cope than leave everything it knows behind to find its rightful place in this world.

I think I have come a long way, but not long enough. Until I shake off that feeling of inadequacy -until I earn shaking it off- I guess I'll always feel like another ugly duckling.

I'll always feel like a creep.

Could Legalizing Hash Reap Good For Egypt?

*This is the longer unedited version of a piece that ran earlier on StepFeed.com on April 7th at 3:26pm*

Legislative reform has been a window of hope for many Egyptians since the eruption of the revolution in 2011; a glimpse of hope that was renewed with the formation of the supreme legislative reform committee decreed by president Abdel-Fattah El-Sisi in August 2014.

The committee, headed by Egypt’s Prime Minister Ibrahim Mahlab, has been looking into several reform proposals. Among the recent proposals is one that calls for legalizing the use and trade of hashish in Egypt which was presented by the Cigarette Dealers Association in Cairo and Giza.

According to the 2013 report issued by the National Council for Battling Addiction, drug use among people aged 15 and above has rocketed from 6.4 percent to 30 percent since 2011.

While many people may think of this proposal as a joke, the fact remains that it affects almost one thirds of Egyptians who smoke hashish. Upon speaking with a few hashish smokers, it was clear that they unanimously hoped for this proposal to pass as a law, but each had a different take on the matter.

“It is absurd. The government will never openly legalize hash,” expressed a 26-year-old who has been smoking recreationally for four years. “The government makes a lot of money off the trade of hash, and they wouldn’t just cut it off.”

Referring to the case of one of the biggest hashish traders in Egypt, Nagah, who was released with a fine, the 26-year-old believes it’s quite obvious that there are agreements between the government and the hashish traders.

“Even if it is a legalized, there will still be the social taboo which I don’t think will elevate easily,” he adds. “I wouldn’t be worried when I smoke that I may get arrested, but I certainly won’t be able to openly tell my mother about it.”

Yet a deeper concern remains for the 26-year-old, that if hashish is legalized among adults, it will find its way more easily to the younger teenagers and even children.

For another 26-year-old smoker who works in the music industry, he was both worrisome and skeptical about the idea of legalizing hashish. “If the government legalizes it, and enforces restrictions on the market, many dealers will be jobless because the government doesn’t secure decent jobs for them,” he speculated. “Everything seems to backfire in Egypt somehow!”

Furthermore, he expects that should the proposal be passed on as a law, it’s more likely to be bait that the government is setting to orchestrate a crisis and blame it on legalizing hashish.

“They might as well just legalize it. Everyone already smokes up,” was the instant response of 28-year-old woman who’s been smoking for 6 years.

“I know it used to be normal back in the seventies in Egypt, because my grandfather used to smoke until my grandmother forced him to stop when the government started being strict about hash,” she added. “I even heard rumors that Sadat himself used to smoke hash.”

One reason the young woman was hopeful for such law to be passed was to ensure the market starts offering better quality hashish. “The hash available in Egypt is never pure HTC,” she remarked. “When I tried hash in Morocco, the quality and purity difference was instantly obvious.”

In addition to her hope for better quality on the market, the hopeful 28-year-old who is also a multiple sclerosis (MS) patient shed light on the various medical benefits of hashish. “I heard it’s good for MS, and quite relieving for the numbness,” she commented. “It’s not all about getting high.”

The many benefits of hemp, or cannabis, may come in secondary importance to some smokers, but to one 28-year-old, it was the center of his attention. And it wasn’t just learning about the many industrial, nutrition and economic benefits of hemp that the 28-year-old delved into. “I have been reading about gardening and studying it for seven years to be able to grow my own weed,” he said. 

The seven-year-journey of learning gardening made him fall in love with all that is green, and he now plants a lot more than just weed, remarking that he loves planting flowers as well.

“To me, growing my own weed is a similar approach to those who prefer to buy organic vegetables,” he remarked. “This way, I’m sure of what I’m smoking, and I know that it’s pure HTC.”

For him, legalizing the trade and use of hashish is a decision that would loosen up many dire challenges in Egypt. “Can you imagine the amount of people who are imprisoned because they were smoking or trading in hash? Not to mention the amount of money and court cases spent on similar cases,” he added, commenting that those were all wasted resourced that could be better utilized if hashish were legal.

He also added that legalizing hash will allow Egypt to produce better quality cannabis and even export it. Not to mention the amount of tax money which they can make of such trade. “It would solve a lot of Egypt’s economic problems in a really short duration.”

The similar idea was suggested as Osama Salama, chair of the Cigarette Dealers Association, presented the legislative reform committee with the hashish legalization proposal.

“The illegal trading of hashish amounts to LE42 billion (USD 5.5 bn) annually, which constitutes 2.5 percent of the national income,” said Salama. “The government spends LE1 billion (app. USD 131 million) every year to fight it, only managing to uncover around 15 percent the total traded amount.”

While many hashish smokers found the news about the proposal to be uplifting and hopeful, the news wasn’t surprising for the 24-year-old computer science engineer who co-founded the Egyptian Campaign for Legalizing Hashish on Facebook.

“After the revolution in 2011, anything was possible, and we thought it was a great chance to start the campaign,” says the 24-year-old. The campaign was originally launched to raise awareness about the medical and scientific benefits of hashish. “We also wanted to educate people about what they were smoking, and how to avoid any harmful attempts.”

But as he mentions, people weren’t much drawn to the scientific and informative content that they shared, so they started posting more humorous content instead.

The 24-year-old brought to light the two stages that this proposal may lead to if considered. “It can either be decriminalize, which will make way for growing hemp for medical and industrial purposes, or fully legalized which would allow use and trade of hashish.”

While certain that legalizing hashish will reap many benefits for the country, he was quite doubtful that such law would be passed. “Given the political turmoil that the country has been going through, the people would be outraged if they wake up to such decision,” he commented, “they believe there are much more important stuff that needs to be attended to now.”

But between hope and skepticism, there remains a hope for the day when Egypt would join all the foreign countries who gained a lot by legalizing hashish.

The Most Marvelous Of All Books (A Kids' Tale)

*During the year when I was a preschool teacher, I wrote the following short story. It is worthy to note that I scribbled it down in 30 minutes, and that it was intended for a condensed week about reading at the preschool.*

Once upon a time, there was a magical book; a book that was like no other you have ever seen. With interesting stories and magical tales, the book had but one condition to let you in on its marvels; to treat it gently and with love. Otherwise, blankness would wash away all of its magic, and leave you with nothing but empty pages.

One day, five children went to a library where the librarian told them of a book that would open up their eyes to things they have never seen before. Like a portal to wonders they never knew existed, it was a book they would not want to let go of once they have read. But the lady warned them that unless they treat the book with respect and care, the book shall withhold its magic, colors, and stories. 

With eyes glittering with excitement, the children could barely wait, and they rushed to find the book she speaks of.

Skimming through one book after the other, all they found were boring stories that didn't match the description of the magical book. They knew they had to keep looking.

Immersed in the silence of the diligent hunt, the children heard a gasp so loud they instantly dropped their books and went to see what had happened.

Staring in awe, one of the boys had his eyes locked on a book that rested on a top shelf.

Among the many ordinary books, there stood one book which seemed to glow. Together, the children quickly helped one other, and reached for the book. Excited as they were to read it, they could barely wait to explore what the book withheld.

Around the book they sat in a circle, making sure it was visible to everyone. The first of them to have found it turned over its first page, and began to read out loud so that all of his friends could hear.

Rapidly and unexpectedly, one of his friends snatched the book to read it himself. In a blink of an eye, the colors and words of the book faded away, barely leaving the children with anything to read. The boy had forgotten the librarian’s warning, and did not understand what had happened. He did not intentionally mean any disrespect for the book, and soon afterwards, he started treating it gently again.  Right then, the colors and words popped in vividness once more.

Sadly, it wasn't long before another child who was swept by excitement aggressively grabbed the book from his friend’s gentle grip. Everyone fell silent as the sound of a tearing page shattered the silence of the library.

They looked at the book, but this time, it had gone blank white. No words or pictures were to be seen at all. At this instant, they all remembered what the librarian had told them. They were so afraid, and felt the weight of what they had done pressing against their chests in angst. They mistreated the most amazing of all books, and now they would not be able to read it again.

Hastily, they tried to put the paper back where it was, but nothing seemed to change. The entire book was still blank. They tried to pat it, even hug it and kiss it, but still nothing would change.

It then occurred to one of them that the answer might be fixing it. She ran to the librarian and told her of what had happened. As she narrated the incident with guilt and concern, the librarian comforted her, and told her that the greatest of books was a very forgiving one.

Together, they went to look for some scotch tape. Having found one, the girl rushed back to her friends. She wasn't certain of the result, but she knelt down beside the book as if she were tending to a sick friend. Gently and carefully, she put the page back where it was, and slid the scotch tape across it.

She shut the book, hugged it so hard, and with the faintest sound pleaded, “Oh please, marvelous book, heal and forgive us for our ill-treatment.” She shut her eyes, and made a promise in her heart, never to treat the book with disrespect again.

As their anticipation peaked, they slowly opened the book to find that the torn page had healed, and that all of the pages were flooded with words and color once more.

Overwhelmed with happiness that the most marvelous of all books was back again, they all gathered around the book, but this time they made sure to share the book and take turns. And from that day on, they could never let go of the book, always finding their way back to it for endless reading sessions.

I Have More Friends Who Smoke Hash Than I Thought I Do... And It's OK!

One of the scary ideas I have about parenting, if I'm ever a parent, is how I'll possibly communicate right and wrong to a child while respecting their own space to make up their minds and form their own notions about the world. How can I do so without unintentionally planting any grudges in their hearts?

I grew up in a healthy family, both metaphorically at heart, and physically; two blessings I am forever thankful for. None of us are tobacco or hash smokers, or alcohol drinkers. I was always encouraged to eat healthily, and constantly do sports.

As one grows up, it is inevitable to encounter both means of learning about the world. You are taught what is right, and encouraged to pursue it, while you're also warned against the wrong, and cautioned to distance yourself from it.

Even though I'm not entirely sure when or how that happens, but we slowly start to associate wrong doing with bad people. We start to unintentionally label people early on at a young age.

It wasn't until quite recently that I was alerted to the prejudices I carry within but am unaware of.

Given the atmosphere I grew up in, exploring new realms of people came along with a multitude of new thoughts worth contemplating.

"Do you know why I arrive with such a cheerful mood everyday at work?" asked one of my ex-coworkers one day out of the blue, "It's because smoke hash before I come to work."

Unlike how I would have expected myself to react, I replied, "Well, I can't say I'm quite okay with smoking hash, but you're a beautiful person, and I have no problem with that. You're free to do whatever you want."

Not quite long afterwards, my coworkers were sharing when each of them started smoking cigarettes, when one of the people I would hands down consider very dear to my heart said, "I smoked hash for a really long while before I started smoking cigarettes."

What both surprises me and brings comfort to my heart is how I was farthest from startled when either of them shared that they smoke hash. Over the past couple of years, the list of people who I learned are hash smokers has been growing, but it is consoling to know that I have grown to be able to segregate between a person and what they do.

Many may argue that what a person does speaks volumes about who they are, which does make sense. But then, this is only one of many layers of what they do, and who they are.

Among the mentioned people, and those I haven't mentioned are people whose minds are brilliant , whose hearts are very pure, and who are always keen to remind me how I am loved for who I am. Among them are people who are in constant mental and spiritual pursuit to find sanctuary and equilibrium. Among them are people I truly love, respect and cherish.

At this point, it doesn't quite matter what my stance is towards smoking or drinking or whichever other habit which may not be welcomed by society. What does matter is that I have seen beyond those habits, and what I saw was beautiful.

We're never going to all be the same, nor hold the exact same sets of beliefs. As long as my beliefs don't hurt others, nor do theirs hurt me, I can't see one reason why I should hold grudges or build unnecessary walls.

When we just live and let live, the world exposes so much of its beauty that we previously chose to avoid or un-see.