Tweet

Tweet…Just one. Tweet…A trivial two. Tweet…Now three. It was a sound that should have been as natural and as rejuvenating as the birds outside her window. Instead, it assaulted her ears mercilessly. It taunted her now. What nature had made a sweet melody had become a nightmarish refrain. Tweet…Only four.

She had promised herself peace. She desired this elusive tranquility despite her unwillingness to silence the source of her agitation. Tweet...Five messages seemed to beg for her attention now. It was a nagging sound, echoing in the depths of her consciousness, usurping her reason. Still, she endured.

Tweet…Six. This was not her first attempt to unshackle herself from the grip of this device. Tweet…Seven. However, the sound pursued her with the relentlessness determination of a cheetah stalking its prey. In an unsuccessful attempt to weaken the gadget’s hold, she had modified its voice, from a beep to a ping, a ping to a pop, a pop to a click and finally, from a click to a tweet. 

Tweet…Eight. The sound consumed her. Tweet…Nine. With a sigh of defeat, she gave in.

Becoming

I am becoming an oak tree. No longer an ordinary acorn to be collected by passing children, I stand tall, resolute. I feel my newfound strength with both the pride and uncertainty that come with self-reliance. With pride, my branches extend, ever-enduring, ever-reaching for unexplored horizons. With uncertainty, I hold on to my leaves, the only parts of me that I know may not always be.

I am becoming an oak tree, fearless, yet not to be feared. My stillness makes me yearn to bring the same lasting peace to others. Waiting for nothing in return, I offer the coolness of my shadow. Once only a sprout peering out from the soil, I can now give the gift of my encompassing vastness. I have long awaited this day, the day that I might return the kindness this earth has shown me and prove that I was worthy of its favors.

I am becoming an oak tree. Though my strength may be expected, to me, it has been my life’s work, not bestowed upon me by nature, but earned through resolve.  The source of this resolve has remained unseen by most; I owe my might to my unyielding roots. My life began in darkness. Buried deep beneath the ground, I wondered when, if ever, I would feel the warmth of the sun or its radiance. My roots knew what I did not: to reach the light, I would have to descend even further into the darkness. Only then would I earn the right to tower above the ground with the quiet fortitude I now wear humbly.

I am becoming an oak tree. Though my might seems infinite, I am not unmoved by the changes around me. My trunk, once smooth and fragile, is now a column of force covered in unforgiving bark. And yet, I must confess that I am not above the thrust of a winter storm or the innocent nudge of a summer breeze. Inflexible as I may seem, my branches sway in rhythmic submission, not wishing to question the wisdom of nature’s plan. 

Giving with no desire of receiving, firm, yet obedient, I have become an oak tree.

Only in Egypt

Only in Egypt...

•  is a pink teddy bear considered an appropriate gift for one adult to give to another.
• are there more pharmacies than supermarkets.
• can a man who has never driven a car expertly guide you out of a parking space where you've been double and triple-parked on.
• is it perfectly normal to pack a whole cucumber as part of your lunch and bite into it later as if you were eating an apple.
• does the guy who runs the fruit stand on the corner have a business card.
• is the longest, most convoluted route usually the fastest way to reach your destination.
• is an hour-long car ride called "traveling".
• can the official weather forecast refer to today's weather as "sandy".
• do veiled women seem to have more "hairstyling" options than do non-veiled women.
• is choosing the country's favorite chip flavor the most democratic process most people have ever experienced.
• can an entire empire be built on one concept: the long-sleeved undershirt.
• is it more unusual to be awake at 10:00am than it is to be up at 10:00pm.
• do children have such busy schedules that they might actually need those Blackberrys and iPhones.

Why You Need to Get Away from Your Getaway

Once you've made the move abroad and settled in for a year or so, you may be thinking, "I've got this down.  I've got Skype, I found out where to get my favorite cereal, and now that they've opened Pinkberry here I don't care if I ever see my hometown again!" You seem pretty sure of yourself. You've finally adapted. No more a stranger, you have arrived. No longer are you an unsuspecting foreigner who gets tricked into paying 50 pounds for a keychain with a plastic pyramid hanging off of it. With your newfound (over)confidence, you smugly take your visiting friends to Khan El Khalili and bask in the glory of snagging 10 keychains for 5 pounds. Your friends will return home and tell your tale. You've made the leap. You are a legend. And to prove that you've made it, you may foolishly claim that you don't need "home" anymore. Sounds like a well-meaning statement. Well, let me take a moment to be condescending and tell you why you are so very wrong.

When you first left home, you may have been looking to get away, to escape the ordinary. Hopefully, you found what you were looking for. But after a while, you may realize that you need an escape from your escape. Why, you may ask? Well, there are plenty of good reasons, but as I myself am busy escaping my escape, I will list just a few here.

1. Food - This would definitely be at the top of my sister's list. Depending on where you've moved, you may find that your dining choices, and even quality, leave a lot to be desired. A trip home will give you a chance to indulge in all your favorite foods. No, there is no need to feel guilty about cheating on the falafel sandwiches that you've been so loyal to. They have enough fans.

2. Friends - Remember those people who thought you were crazy (in a loving way, of course) when you left home? Well, they miss you. Reconnecting with old friends helps you refuel and re-energize. Even if you've made friends in your new country, there is a big part of your life that no one there will ever know or understand. Don't you want to go "where everybody knows your name"?

3. Sanity - For the sake of your mental health, you need to get out every once in a while. Particularly if you're living in what they now call a developing country, to be politically correct, "every once in a while" is more often than you think. Signs that you need a break may include, but are not limited to, the following: becoming irritated when someone actually stops at a traffic signal, deterioration of your language skills in both your native language as well as your new one (At some point, I began to worry that I would become alingual. Yes, that is a real word!), and an intense fascination when overhearing strangers speaking English in public.

4. Fresh Air - You know pollution is bad when you need to go back to LA to get some clean air. Unfortunately, living in Cairo has left many an expat with pesky allergies and other health troubles. It doesn't take long for a newcomer to make friends with his local pharmacist. If you're living in a country with poor air quality, the cost of the plane ticket is well worth that breath of fresh air that awaits you at home.

5. Reality Check - Some expats have a love-hate relationship with their new home. They love it for all its failings, for its stark contrast to the life they knew. They love the way it brings out the fighter in them. But, if this sounds like you, you may have noticed that somewhere along the way unfair comparisons led you to romanticize your former home. Thanks to selective memory, all you can remember is how easy everything used to be. Comments like "In the U.S., I'd never have to wait in a line like this!" or "Don't they know what real ranch dressing tastes like?" become the norm. A quick trip home will remind you that the grass tends to be greener on the other side and, sure enough, you'll soon find yourself "homesick" for that not-so-foreign country.

So, get some fresh air, both literally and figuratively. It'll do you good, I promise. And don't worry, those falafel sandwiches will be waiting for you when you get back.

Be

We've all spent a great deal of time thinking about what we want to be. That's harmless enough. I'm curious to know when we got the impression that we could (and should) actually decide who to be. It seems we're all shopping for new personas almost daily, testing out what will make us feel complete, or sometimes less wisely, what we know others will admire. Right down to the color of our hair, our taste in music, or the books we read, we can control our image, run our own PR. But, like Cinderella's maligned step-sisters, it may feel that we're trying to squeeze into something that just doesn't fit. (By the way, it's not nice to make fun of people with big feet! Maybe that's why they were so mean...?)

It would be inaccurate to say that this pursuit is derived solely from an inherent need to impress others. There's something about control that intrigues us. They say it's what separates us from the animals. Imagine if we told people that who they are is exactly who they should be, idiosyncrasies, tragic flaws and all, and that they should just sit back and enjoy life instead of constantly pursuing the ever-changing definition of perfection. Sounds somewhat defeatist, doesn't it? In the name of self-improvement, why settle for "less"?

Each of us is raised to believe that his identity and, ultimately, his destiny is in his own hands, and that may very well be the problem. We like control. On a whim, we can decide to be stylish, be a health nut, be funny, be driven, be emo (that could be another post altogether!) or whatever the passing trend may be. How lucky we must be to get to choose what we want to be at any given moment. But what happens when this supposed freedom becomes more like a ball and chain?

Control is a tricky thing. It's a paradox in and of itself. It can be addictive for many people and, therefore, turn on them. What we think we control often ends up controlling us. The strangest part of all of this is that we're generally unaware of, unfazed, and unconcerned by this transfer of power. We seem perfectly content to be run by our current compulsion to be something or someone.

So what's the point of all this? The point is that I'm afraid we might be missing out on life. Constantly seeking self-improvement makes us feel powerful; but is this pursuit of power really just a life-long wild goose chase? What are we chasing? Death? I believe that nature adjusts for us. We can actually accomplish more by living more naturally and letting things take their own course, including our flaws. It's not a crime to accept life for what it is. In truth, it takes strength to know when to let go of control.

Why Living Abroad is Good for Your Ego

Making the decision to move to a new country entails a tug of war of sorts between our sense of adventure and our ego. We imagine that our willingness to venture off the beaten path will be rewarded with some form of enlightenment. On the other hand, we're aware that leaving behind what we know almost guarantees that we will eternally be humbled by our own ignorance.

One of the most underestimated obstacles in living abroad is the language barrier that many people face once they've reached their destination. Potential expatriates give serious consideration to their job opportunities and living arrangements but often overlook this pesky little step. Interestingly, and maybe naively, English speakers assume that everyone is likely to speak at least passable English. This is, of course, a myth. However, even if it were true, anyone who has lived abroad for an extended period of time will tell you that you cannot fully understand and connect with a culture and its people without learning (or making an attempt at learning) the native language.

Being Egyptian myself, and more of a repat than an expat, one would think that my transition to Egypt would present only minimal challenges, language being the least of my worries. This is true to an extent. Arabic is not quite foreign to me. Perhaps not foreign at all. But the truth is my Arabic gives me away almost as soon as I begin to speak. In some ways, this can be more frustrating for an Egyptian than for a foreigner. I look like I belong here; so why don't I sound like it?

Of course, my Arabic has improved a great deal since I first arrived. But perfection (or anything in the vicinity) is elusive and perhaps not worth attaining in the first place.

...Which brings me to the title of this post. I suppose it's somewhat misleading, as I don't believe that living in a new place is a means of inflating one's ego. Rather, I think that the cultural missteps and awkward moments that come with living abroad actually force us to swallow our pride, get off our "first-world" high horse and connect with the people around us.

Here's an article about an interesting study done at UC Berkeley that explains how embarrassment actually allows people to warm up to you more easily. We all need to be humbled from time to time; living in a new place just creates more opportunities for it. So go ahead and embrace the awkwardness!

Are You Happy?

It's been about one year and two months since I packed up my things -- for the third (and final?) time, I might add -- and moved to Egypt. It's strange, but sometimes I feel like I never left, like that year I spent in California in between my two moves to Egypt was actually further mental preparation for the final plunge. During that time, I never felt quite right. Though I was technically "home", I felt like a sellout, like I had given up on Egypt when it had needed me most, and maybe more importantly, when I needed it most.

When I arrived last June, and as my first post reflects, I was apprehensive of what remained of the Egypt I remembered. Had I romanticized it to make the transition easy, or was that the real Egypt? Truth be told, the first two weeks back were tough. A heaviness set upon me that made even the slightest task seem difficult in this not so new place. I did not feel that rush that I had expected upon reaching my supposed homeland. Though I tried to conceal my anxiety, it didn't take long for my family to see that I was feeling a little overwhelmed. Fortunately, my father was not having it. He could see that I was homesick for California. "This is not a revolving door," he warned me. I remember laughing it off at the time, but those words forced me to jump back in. Regardless of how I was feeling that moment, I was going to make it work.

While it's only been a year, I can now say that my reasons for coming back to Egypt may have had less to do with the country itself than I had originally thought. There is no doubt that this country and its people have been through (and are still undergoing) radical transformation and change. It's certainly an inspiration and an honor to be part of it. But that's only part of the story.

Last week, I had the pleasure of spending some time with my good friend Amira, who was visiting from California. Like others before her, she was curious to hear my answer to that all-important question: Was I happy here? Truly?

...in case you forgot what these states are supposed to look like

My answer to this question changes depending on various factors. If an acquaintance is asking in passing, I answer concisely, "Yes, it takes some adjustment, but it's good." If a close friend on the verge of her own leap of faith asks with wide eyes and has an hour or so to kill, I offer a more in-depth analysis of my ongoing journey and the challenges and triumphs associated. My response is also influenced by whether the questioner is fond of or detests Egypt. For my idealistic friends, I make sure not to sugar-coat my experience any more than they have in their own minds. To those cynics who think I'm simply playing the part (until I crack) while suffering in silence, I am more than happy to boast about the privileges of my supposed prison, which include but are certainly not limited to 24-hour delivery services, the best fuul and ta3maya sandwiches in the world, and enough scarves to satisfy even the most devoted collector.

So, what did I say this time? Well, Amira was none of the people described above. She was simply a sensible, level-headed person curious to hear my answer. I felt no need to justify or glorify my decision, nor did I need to offer her a sobering account of the fragile state of this country. My reply was that the question itself seemed irrelevant to me. People, particularly those who are unsettled by the thought of living in a so-called third world country, seem so preoccupied with place. I don't quite see the relationship between location and happiness. I told my friend that of course I realize that California is beautiful, and that life is "easy" there. But when the demands of daily life kick in, you hardly remember where you are. You seek happiness from the people around you, not from the traffic-free roads or those "How-in-the-world-did-I-spend-so-much? I-only-came-in-for-batteries" trips to Target.

Whoever said to choose your company before your destination was right. It doesn't matter how many malls are within a five-mile radius of your house, how many different kinds of cereal you have to choose from, or how big your backyard is. If you're not with the people you love, it won't be worth it. On the other end, there are people in the world living in unfathomable conditions who are content simply because they are surrounded by the people that matter. Life may be difficult, at times impossible, but being with the right people helps us forget, even if just for a moment.

Of course, if you're lucky, you won't have to give up much from either side. Life is good, and, though each day comes with a bigger dose of unpredictability than it once did, I am now with the people that mean most to me. Yes, Laila, I'm talking to you. Actually, mostly your kids, but I guess that includes you by association.