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.

Do We Owe Anything to Ourselves?

The subject of fate may sometimes bring about agitation for some people; how everything is written in the stars and meant to be. But when we speak of fate, we mostly speak of the divine power which orchestrates the cosmos.

But what if we're a lot more helpless than that, even for non-believers. How much of anything that we think or do do we actually owe to ourselves, our conscious-self?

A Subtly Dictative Environment

During the year I spent teaching children, I learned that the key to achieving desired results with the least amount of whining, crying, or tantrums is to make the child believe deep down that he wants to willingly do what you would otherwise fight about. It's perfect mind trickery, even though no one regards it as evil because it's usually for the purpose of cleaning up some toys, or wiping booger off their faces.

But what if it doesn't stop there? Allow me to illustrate.

Have you ever come across one of those viral videos which roll out quite emotionally, and then they wrap up with a message to buy a hand cream, or a car? Personally, it always makes me wish the video were just for the sake of the beautiful emotional message it sends, and it certainly makes me regard the video as much cheaper.

Had it not been for the quite obvious message wrapping up the video, I wouldn't have known that someone is manipulating my emotions to achieve their desired goals. Only other forms of communication don't quite have the same clear message, do they? Movies for instance? History maybe?

We've been taught that humans are social beings that interact with their surrounding world, and live accordingly. And by surrounding world, I mean everything you can lay your hands, eyes, or mind on, be it in accordance with the customs and norms of your culture or otherwise.

How much of the surrounding world is as it appears to be? How much of what we know is true? And if we react to a lie, what does that make of our decisions?

The You Beyond Your Control 

It's fair enough to think that if you can't control the surrounding circumstances, you can at least choose what to do with what is available. And whatever you think, do, or achieve, you owe to yourself.

That may have been true until I read a book that discusses the subconsciousness. According to this book, Incognito, your subconsciousness is what really does all the work, and the surprise is, you have as much credit for its thoughts as your heart beating. Exactly, none!

The author gives a little example to explain the relationship between your consciousness and subconsciousness. He says imagine a city where a zillion things happen, from a mother nursing a child, to kids playing, to a janitor sweeping the floor, and uncountable other events. And then there's the news where you only read about the city happenings which affect your life.

That's how consciousness and subconsciousness correlate, where your subconsciousness is the city with all the activity you're unaware of, and your consciousness is the brief summary of important stuff you need to know.

Accordingly, each witty comment you ever threw, every eureka moment, every moment you took to praise yourself for your incomparable intelligence, that was your subconsciousness. It has been brewing this thought for hours, months, maybe years, and when it was ready for you to know it, it surfaced to your consciousness.

But...

Something feels off, like the pieces don't exactly fall in place. Because I have seen people aching to make something out of themselves. I have seen the tears trickling down a very dear friend's face when she told me how she swam against the tide; how her childhood was particularly the warmest.

I may not always know what to believe, but seeing people like her makes my belief in one's will grow beyond my comprehension of space or time. It can't be that helplessness would ever make way for a person like her.

But there will always be instances when I take a look around, and nothing whatsoever will make sense... And quite many will those instances be.

Celebrate.

For over a century, since the emergence of the first motion picture camera in the 1890's, movie makers have subliminally enforced visual affiliations to words and feelings. We have watched people fall in and out of love in the same manner till the romantic images became almost a given of how love should evolve. Sorrow, grief, happiness, success, beauty and many other concepts in life were not much luckier in finding sanctuary from the overruling grip of molds and stereotypes.

Unaware that what the mind projects cannot be simply projected on a silver screen, many sadly forget to shut their eyes and take a look inwards to enjoy the colors a human brain can manifest; for the colors of the human brain are only seen by the soul and not the eyes.

Colors. Noises and laughter. Parades and dancers in sparkly costumes. That's how a celebratory scene would usually look to the eye. But to the soul, a fleeting moment of celebration, the ultimate moment of celebration is void of all senses.

When all the light is shut out, and all the sounds fade, only then does the spectrum of all that lights within reveal itself.

Only then does your soul celebrate.

Celebrate Eloquence

The value of words is far greater than the sum of its letters, and the word I stands witness to that. A one lettered word that is home to past experiences that have carved a human soul in scars and beams of light. A letter which engulfed the birth and death of hopes, fears, and many more emotions. And a single letter that will carry the weight of a future in solitude.

Word jugglers in this modern world are mostly found in the realm of marketing and selling stuff most people don't need. Clever as they may be, their words are short lived and soon forgotten.

But somewhere among these crowds, lie a clever few who know that the worth of their words should rise above the shenanigans of the marketing hassle. For those few, words were destined for more than just selling. Words are the only thing that can save a soul from drowning in its own darkness, or deprive another from seeing the good in the world.

As many words as I have exchanged throughout my brief life so far, I will always celebrate my short encounters with the most beautiful lady word juggler, whose words are so well picked that they make your heart tingle.

Celebrate Love

Slightly over a week ago, I was swept by a relentless wave that urged me to express my gratitude to the different people I know. Some of them are quite close and dear to my heart, while others I barely know. But whether distant or close, just the intent of expressing how special the people I'm surrounded with are filled my entirety with joy and appreciation for the little things. For the little sparkle that shimmers in our eyes when we speak of what we love. Those glimpses of life that escape us unwillingly to shine up the entire space we occupy.

Let alone their responses... Ineffable.

Celebrate Beauty

The beauty of beauty is that we perceive it differently, and that it affects the souls of those who seek it variously. It is bound to neither space nor time. Being receptive to beauty makes you quite selective, but once you have found it, it taps on feelings you never knew existed. A mellow tune can elevate your insides, while a smooth breeze can open up gates to dimensions only the mind and soul can reach.

Beauty is a feeling, and it's contagious. Incubate it, and spread it out.


I'm pretty sure that beyond every pair of shut eyes, a soul grows in sensitivity to all the good life has to offer. We often fear that if we blink, life will pass us by. But I assure you, if you blink more often, you will open up to a life you've been missing out on.

Celebrate.

The Inevitable Labyrinth of the Twenties

  As a kid, it always seemed that adults know it all. If you ever went into a debate with one of your school friends, you could always have the final say by stating that "my mom says so," and that was that, we had the absolute unquestionable truth at hand.

   Back when I was in middle school, one of my favorite ways of killing time was spending time with my friends imagining what we'd be when we "grow up", and by grow up, I usually estimated that around being 21. Well, they say it's when you're officially an adult.

   I always thought I'd have it all figured out by then. A stable corporate job, a healthy relationship, and however movies portray adulthood. I always assumed getting there would flow naturally, yet little does anyone tell you what to expect. No one tells you how to be prepared. What if I'm not yet prepared to declare myself an adult? Why does everyone else still regard me as one?

   You know all those cynical posts about how we used to wish we'd grow up, and how we now lament each time we wished for it? That never applied to me for two main reasons.

   Ever since I was a kid, mostly around the age of eight or nine, I started being quite skeptical. I was also the protective figure among my friends. I may have often come off as the wise ass, but I didn't like taking things for granted. So while many of the other kids were just letting things be and enjoying not having to think minor details through, I was busy being the over-thinking nerd.

   Nevertheless, I don't recall a time when my inner child and I were not intact and in sync. As we moved to college, it seemed that many girls of my age were quite unreluctant to tiptoe or dive into exploring womanhood. I, on the other hand, was busy exploring all the opportunities the world held for me. While people of my age were eager proving to everyone else how they've grown up, I went strolling with my inner child just having fun wherever we could find it.

   I never felt the urge to let go of the little dude inside because, of all people, he's kept me so alive by being so spontaneous, and by believing in the little things like love, trust, faith, and all the good that lies out there. This little kid makes everything seem so simple.

   But no matter how long you shut the world and society outside, they will eventually come knocking at your door, and bombard you with all the questions you never want to answer.

   What are you actually doing here? Are you good enough? Are you even good at all? What is right? What is wrong? Is everything I've been taught true? What's the cost I have to pay for doubt? How can I ever know if the answers I reach are correct?

   And while you're caught within this labyrinth which you have no recollection of entering in the first place, you hear all those people popping topics you couldn't care less about. Finding a suitable well paying job. Getting married. Being a decent tamed girl. Pleasing the society.

   Now I'm at this point in my life where I feel like I have nothing to prove to anyone. For once, I need to let down my guard and stop over thinking. I am foremost driven by curiosity to explore. I want to do the right things and take pride in them. I want to do the wrong things and learn from them, too.

  I'm 23, single, struggling to find a job that satisfies my potential rather than my bank account, not yet broke, but soon to be, and most of all, I feel free. I feel like there's so much that I need to explore and experience about myself by exploring the world outside.

   While they're all rushing to book pre-wedding photo sessions, I'm constantly eager for my next trip to a place I've never been to with people I've never met. I'm eager for the next challenge that makes me sharper and stronger.

   I can't give this up now. Not yet. I just can't see how growing up and settling down are even relevant. Growing up isn't by having fatter bank accounts and a ring around your finger; it's by being out there that I grow. This is how I want to grow.

   If growing up means letting go of a free spirit to conform and fit into the mold of womanhood, then I'm scared like shit of growing up. I'm scared like shit of not being sincere to my inner child. I'm scared I'll have to be like everyone else, grown up and lifeless.

Call Me a Sucker, but I Love Love!

   What a beautiful commercial world we live in, saturated with so many terms void of any value. Sparkly and eye catchy, but that's as far as many things go.

   People are too busy to stop and appreciate the real beauty of anything. Everybody's in pursuit of a quick fix, a rush of blood, ecstacy. And in the midst of this parade of pretence, they miss out on the real catch.

   As Elton John puts it, "there's more to see than can ever be seen; more to do than can ever be done." But some people's arrogance deceives them into thinking that reducing core values to an act or two will allow them more access to 'life'.

   Even though many of us seem to enjoy free falling through this glittery abyss of hollow pretence, there remains a few who summon as much might to swim against that tide.

Commercial Love

   Songs, movies, novels... even Super Mario sets out to save the princess. It makes us flap with joy everytime the main characters get to kiss (or God Knows do what else). It's in the air, it's everywhere. It's so tempting that everyone wants a piece of it. Relationships, Valentine's, Instagram couple photos, cheesy statuses... Satisfied? Are you all "in love" now? Are you living your favorite movies?

   I'm not joyfully rolling in mockery because I'm bitter, God forbid. May you all find true love, for it's a real blessing that I wish everyone is granted. But have you really found love? And is that the only form of love?

My favorite kind of Love

   I was raised in a family that taught me how to see beauty in the simplest things. I've been told of a God who has created everything with love. And I have heard songs that remind us that "all you need is love".

   Love is so inclusive that it touches all your senses; you can feel its energy, see it in the beauty around you, listen to it in the orderly melodies of nature, or orchestrated tunes of songs.

   Love is an energy, neither created nor destroyed, but changes form. It's so universal that it stops at no barriers. A plant feels the love of its caretaker and nourishes upon it. An animal feels secure when they sense the love of a bypassing stranger. A piece of work done with love will captivate its observers with its ingenuity.

   I love love because it's a silent language of its own. Once mastered, it cushions your falls, and tints the bleakest days with hope. But you can never master anything until you practice it first, and the first practice companion is yourself.

   A lot of people set out seeking love, and they overlook the fact that they have plenty of it within. If you can't love yourself, you can neither see it around you nor pass it on to others.

   You are worthy of love just the way you are. Take pride in that, and embrace it. Dig for the little things that make you shine. When you've found them, share their joy with the world out there. Believe me when I say, your love for yourself will inspire others to love themselves.

Seek it, and it shall find you

   Love, because when we love, we tend to see the beauty in people and in things. When we love, we tend to forgive. We tend to connect. We tend to be strong. We tend to grow. We tend to be human.

   Love yourself. Love people. Love all sorts of creatures. Love God. Be a hippie for all I care! Just let love flow from and through you. Pass it on, and when you have none to pass, be a beacon of joy and generate some.

   Love, but make sure not to degrade it, or boil it down to some cheap Hollywood scene.

My Ego, Alter-Ego, and the Blurred Lines in Between

   Many of us have come across a movie or two where a particular good character has been cloned, and where that clone goes bad. Eventually, there comes the scene when a third party is driven to the sweat-pouring point where they swing the gun back and forth with shaking hands between the good character and the bad clone. The question prevails... which one to take down?

Daughter (band)
Image seemed relevant

    Often when I contemplate my actions, thoughts or beliefs, I take a sweeping glance at the several alter-egos dwelling within, and each of them starts provoking me to put down the rest. So I summon my forehead scratching Inspector Gadget alter-ego, and I start tracing the roots of each bastard within.

   It's quite frustrating to find that often the most active and surfacing alter-egos are those which have rather illusive origins. They barely ever lead to any roots, for they always seem to stem from other people's conclusions, impressions, and probably deceptive alter-egos.

   I'm the kind of person who likes to believe in things and people until concretely proven false, but I keep sinking deeper into a void of disbelief. And the first suspect of fraud is me. 

   Even though I would regard myself a quite confident person who's not likely to have self-esteem issues, but it isn't quite hard to tell that something is wrong. I often convict myself of fraud because my sense of security and achievement is to a great extent a by-product of external approval. If I share my thoughts, I keep an obsessive eye on all the channels where people may complement them. The same happens with basically anything I share.

   Yet, there are the times when I just feel inclined to step away from the herd. There are the times when I intensely feel alienated from everyone. And those times feel the worst because I know that sharing what I feel probably won't be met with a nod of approval. Worse yet, I will probably end up with a label I resent.

   Sue me, but I feel distant the grimmer social media and  mass communications get. I know that there's a lot of ugliness out there. I realize the amount of heart ache humanity has to bear. But I'd rather be joyful about the little good left in this world, because one day, in this life or the one after, all records shall be set straight. Call me a fool, egocentric, or shallow, but I feel alienated from what most people are expressing. And it's frustrating to be gasping for air in a pool of questions on my own.

   As everyone around me 'seems' to understand what's going on, leaving me clueless and the least curious to understand, the only place where I find sanctuary is silence. But little do I realize that in silence is where my insecurities are loudest. To numb them, or silence them -if it's my lucky day-, I then engage in a mindless marathon with the crowd I feel most comfortable with, the one which is least likely to evoke more demons.

   God have mercy on me, for I live in a damned era of corrosive and core-decaying "mass communications" where people have become more outspoken than active; more pretentious than genuine. Where every shred of authenticity in thought, feelings or behavior has fled to sanctuary in silence, or ripped to pieces upon expression. We like to believe we're true, but how much of anything that we do or say is purely honest?

SHE Dudes

   Picture a loud party with, well, a lot of people partying. Do you know that person at the distant corner of the hall just observing and smiling with absurdity? Yippy yay, there you’ve spotted me! That’s my favorite seat at the relationships arena… the silent observer whose contributions are manifested in mockery.

   Sounds pretty pathetic, don’t you think? Why, I beg to disagree…

   Sarcastic female observers have fun differently, because they’ve got their “dudes”, and in return, they become “she-dudes” themselves. While winged eye-liners and pointed high heels (and of course, rich characters!) may crown some girls the shimmering label ‘girlfriend’, the road to being a ‘she-dude’ is paved solely for the hard core.

   Now here’s the fork where girls walk different paths. There are the girly girls (God forbid I become one, الشر برّة و بعيد), and there are the girls who are no less intact with their femininity, but they’d rather high five and punch than hug and blow kisses in the air. I’m not saying either is good or bad, but people naturally have preferences.

   I was the kid who watched G.I. Jane with dropped jaws, and I still am the one who punches and high fives.

   Although girly girls and she-dudes rarely ever share common grounds, it seems unanimously agreed upon that male company is much more fun and interesting than that of females.

Here’s what the GIRLS have to say….

   When I inquired about the reasons making male company more appealing, the majority of replies came in similarly stating that males seem significantly less dramatic, more fun, more willing to take risks, and generally more laid back and chilled.

   Even though the previous seemed almost indisputable, a few girls did some reality check and wound up sharing how some guys can be the most royal of all drama queens. Some others even concluded that it has nothing to do with genders.

   Yet at the end of the day, the facts to most girls imply otherwise.

   But hey, guys pretty much have a say, too. Even if they are courteous enough not to embarrass girls and ask them to back off, how much are they actually okay with female presence in a casual manner? And most crucially, are ‘she-dudes’ a truth or a myth?

Here’s what the BOYS have to say…

   What came off as good news to me is that the guys who responded ascertained that certain girls can indeed become ‘she-dudes’. Not only is it a truth, but also a social bond that comes in handy to a lot of guys. As one of my dudes put it, “most guys, like myself, can't understand the way a girly girl's brain functions. So you always end misinterpreted. You might even end up offending her or making her feel uncomfortable without even having the slightest idea!! On the other hand, girl dudes think like dudes (or at least know how dudes think) so it's very easy to have a conversation with one of them.”

   In addition to ‘she-dudes’ being a rather functional intermediary  between the masculine and feminine worlds, at a certain level they become a safety zone for the guys to confide in them. Although this is more of a personal conclusion, I believe ‘she-dudes’ are quite practical to converse with, and especially when it comes to personal matters. They’re logical and analytical listeners who balance out matter by incorporating emotional intelligence (which might often be undermined by the dudes). “However, it is much more common for girls to completely confide in a guy which results in the phenomenon known as having a "gay" friend,” added one of my friends.

What’s the Catch, then?

   Obviously, this social sphere seems like a win-win situation; tough girls get to freely be themselves away from the clichés and drama, while the guys get their free ticket to understanding this mystifying female world. Yet what grants girls access to this obscene harsh manly world?

   “We absolutely have no problem with a girl entering "دائرتنا الذكورية" (our masculine circle) as long as she can handle it.” And that’s that!

A Few Obstacles along the Way

   Seems like a perfect case scenario, don’t you think? Too perfect to be fully truly though. Here are some loopholes my friends have encountered…

   “From what I see, some guys don't like having girls as dudes because it's a matter of perspective mainly, being that girls are girls and boys can't share certain stuff with them girls because they won't understand that.”

   And to some others, shared content wasn’t the only issue. “I don't think that such friendship can last for long considering societal and communal constrains and stuff like that.”

   As the conversation drifted to that perspective, it seemed logical that with “girls being girls, and boys being boys”, such affection would naturally be translated into more intimate emotions, which leads my friend to the conclusion that a girl becomes a ‘she-dude’ “if there is a conclusive and reasonable explanation making it impossible for our friendship to turn into a relationship.”

My Personal Take

   I know that no social relationship will ever truly fulfill our desire for having the significant other who comes along with a lot of bullshit, yet manages to make our lives complete. Whether or not I’ll manage to keep my ‘dudes’ if my significant other comes along some day, I don’t quite know. But until then, I want to give you all virtual squishy hugs (err, I mean high-fives) because you have added so many layers of value, excitement and safety to my life. I honor that your keenness and blunt honesty have brought me closer to realizing much about myself. And last but not least, thank you for letting me in دائرتكم الذكورية! *screams “SEXISTS”*

Peace Out!

5 Things Jogging Taught Me

  I've always been attached to sports for as long as I can remember. Never quite the athlete, but it’s always been part of who I am.

  Of all the sports I've tried, track and field was the one I spent the most years practicing. Needless to say, as previously mentioned, I was more of the team member who cheered rather than scored! But, it was fine by me.

  I may have never returned with a medal or a trophy (for SEVEN goddamn years!), but the psychological impact it left was much grander than any medal could leave.

  Briefly put, that’s what the track has subliminally taught me.

Set your eyes on the finish line

  It’s quite important to know where you’re headed, and what you want to achieve. If you just aimlessly go with the flow, you’ll always settle for less, and you’ll quit trying at the first glimpse of fatigue.

  You may not always reach the desired end goal, but the presence of one makes you go an extra mile.

People set different goals; just stick to YOURS

  It’s inevitable as you jog to notice how many people may be rushing past you. It may kind of bring you down, but there may be some other considerations to bear in mind.

 

  Even though joggers may all be doing the same thing, more or less, but they do it differently. Some people jog faster, but cross less laps. Others take it nice and slow, and aim at crossing a further distance.

  And even those who perform much better than you, are most likely to have worked much harder than you have. So give them credit for that!

  Bottom line, the more you occupy yourself with others, the more you’ll find yourself forced under uncomfortable pressure that simply leads you nowhere!

The grave need to understand yourself

  One of my jogger friends once told me that one key to longer distance jogging is choosing a comfortable pace that I can keep up with for long. As I did so, I was surprised by the outcome. But isn’t that key to a lot of changes we pursue on life? The need for sustainable choices?

  Another reason why it’s quite important to understand yourself is that there’s a fine line between the extra mile that will make you, or break you. It’s quite admirable to face challenges with enthusiasm and confidence, but it’s also very important to know when to stop, and when to carry on.

As long as you’re not quitting, you’re not failing

  It’s okay if you’re out of shape, and it’s okay if you’re not as good as you used to be. You just need to realize that most probably, you won’t reach the desired goal at the first shot. It’s also true that you won’t be able to reach it until you try… and keep trying!

  Along the journey of trying to score the desired goal, or even yet setting a new one, you need to acknowledge your need for rest. Sometimes giving yourself the proper rest at the right time is what helps you go the distance. You’re human!

 If you’re not performing well, you probably have the wrong playlist on

  … and by ‘playlist’, I mean all sorts of external stimuli. Don’t underestimate the impact and quality of energies you surround yourself with, be it opinions you accredit, activities you immerse yourself in… etc. You name it!

Stop using stationary bikes and treadmills, and cycle or jog out in the open!

  It’s quite dumb; all you do is look at yourself in the mirror as you go nowhere. I honestly have no further comments in that regard!

ps, I did not miscount. Obviously, this is not a learnt lesson. Just something I had to get off my chest.