What is Love?

What is Love? Baby don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more. (Okay, I can move on now that those lyrics are out of my head.)

Over the past year, my world view has changed significantly, mostly because I moved half-way across the globe and got married. I've learned more about "love" in the past year than I have in my entire lifetime. Still, I don't presume that I know any more than just the tip of the iceberg. The things I've learned aren't all that commonly expressed in popular culture. Pop songs are all about burning desires and dramatic love gestures. And although that may play a part in our relationships, it's an insignificant molecule on a tiny piece of ice chunk on that big love iceberg.

Here are some of the things I've learned about love:

1. Love is practical. It's setting alarms so you or your spouse can wake up on time. It's hanging clothes out to dry. It's buying bread and yogurt and a new pot.

2. Love is cooking. The most amazing thing happens when I cook or bake and people enjoy my food. It's love, from my stomach to theirs, and that's the only way I can explain it.

3. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds. Shakespeare's sonnet captures it succinctly. Life throws hurdles in your way, and if suddenly makes you fall out of love with someone, were you really in love to begin with?

4. Love is family. Being apart from my family has taught me that a family is the very essence of love. Love in a family can go through stages...I think we've all experienced a certain chunk of hatred for siblings who steal our clothes or parents who we think are making our lives difficult. But you never fall out of love with your family. The bond of blood is unlike any other, and it has taken me so long to come to terms with that reality. My heart is owned by them.

5. Love is imperfect.

6. Love is conversations. You know, real conversations that make you feel like your life has meaning and you can accomplish just about anything. Those conversations over tea or french fries that shape the course of your future, but you don't know it yet.

7. Love is a friend. You know, the friend who is the first person you think of when you say "friend." That person who is part of your life, no matter what stage you're in, or how far apart you are from one another.

8. Love is your babies. Pure, unadulterated love. My sister had a baby boy two weeks ago, and although I have not met him yet, I love him like nothing else I love.

9. Love is sacrifice. The moment you decide you can't sacrifice something for someone, is the moment you realize you do not love him or her.

10. Love is your mother. No matter what.

Antisocial

My rather antisocial personality has led me to despise the overly social Egyptian customs. Okay, maybe despise it too strong of a word...let's just say "have difficulty with." I'm used to entering a grocery store or clothing store and being able to mull over the things I want without being disturbed, and when I'm ready, I take them to the cashier (or even more detached - the automated check-out). And I like it that way.

I hate shopping in Egypt, especially for clothes. I used to enjoy going into a store and browsing, and now it's extremely difficult to do so since a) I don't have my sisters to shop with, and my husband hates shopping (naturally), and more importantly, b) the sales person is on you like a hawk on a mouse in an open field. Right when you enter, they ask if you are looking for something specific, but that part is okay. The problem is this person begins to follow your every move, eying your every facial expression. And if you so much as dare to pick up a shirt, she'll quickly pipe in: "we have your size in this, and it's so pretty, it's totally in style!"

First of all, you don't know what my size is. Second of all, it's ugly and I was just picking it up to get a closer look at its ugliness. Thirdly, it was never "in style" unless you existed in a parallel universe where gold buttons, awkward frills, and incorrect English were in style. This is why I revel in the few stores here that are antisocial - those that are too big and too busy for people to bother you.

I miss the disconnected indifference of North American culture. People here are just in your face all the time, they want to know what you cooked today, and why you don't call them every single day of your life (they get offended if you skip a day of talking to them), they want to know WHY you do the things you do, or say what you say, or wear what you wear. They need to know. And when you don't cooperate, you're seen as a strange and difficult person.

Mostly, I just want people to leave me alone.

Nosy Egyptians

Egyptians are nosy (as per the title of this post). It seems that they can't keep their ideas and opinions and intrusive questions to themselves. Don't get me wrong, I think in some sense we are all "nosy" in that we like to know tidbits about others' lives. But Egyptians take it to a new level.

For one, Egyptians are very interested in knowing whether or not a woman is pregnant. If she is, MABROUK, if she isn't, WHY? Just a few weeks after I first got married, the "are you pregnant" questions began. To be honest, I was expecting them since I know many Egyptians are without boundaries. But the questions have become tedious now. Every time we bump into someone we know (or someone my husband knows, since I don't know anyone!), they always ask is there anything yet? And by that they mean IS THERE AN UNBORN FETUS IN YOUR WIFE'S WOMB?

We were shopping for baby gifts a few weeks ago for one of my pregnant family members, and even in the stores, people would look at me, then look at my stomach to see if there was anything. Argh!

Well we came to an unorthodox solution...now whenever someone asks if I'm pregnant, I say that my husband and I agreed that he would carry the first child. And that seems to shut them up.

HAH!

I was on a microbus yesterday, driving on Alexandria's highway that runs along the sea coast. It was surprisingly cold and windy for Egypt. When I looked to my right and saw the winter sea, it was absolutely wild; waves as far as the eye could see, all eventually crashing violently onto the shore.

It was intense, mesmerizing. But then I noticed that no one else besides me was looking at the sea. I was alone in wonderment, except for an old man wearing a heavy jacket just standing on the rocks, staring into the depth of the sea.

It makes me wonder if I will ever be too busy or sad or lonely or preoccupied to see the sea.

being "religious" in context

I've been in Egypt for a little over 6 months now. The experiences have been strange, enjoyable, lonely, and maddening all at once. Soon after I was married I learned how to use micro-buses - before I figured out their haphazard yet somewhat systematic methods of operation, it seemed it would be really difficult to get a hang of riding them. But now I can flag them down, look for a seat that hopefully doesn't involve a man's body pressed up against mine, bring out a pound to pay the driver, and yell at the top of my lungs when I want to get off.

I know the best places to buy fruits and vegetables in our neighbourhood. I now know the kinds of food that I like - it took a little discovering, but now I know never to let herring (and other icky Egyptian foods) touch my lips again. I've mostly figured out how to cook, and I've generally got a routine going in my life. So I'm slowly getting used to it here, and not to say that I wouldn't jump at the opportunity to leave, but it doesn't seem as hopeless as it once did.

And now, the problem; I haven't yet learned how to be 'religious' in Egypt. Don't get me wrong, I do all the same acts of worship I used to at home. The essentials haven't changed. And yet I don't feel as though I'm at the same level of religiosity as I once was.

Being raised as a Muslim in the western world gave me a certain attitude towards religion. It was something precious that needed to be constantly maintained, and this meant you needed to be a struggling soul swimming against the current. If you didn't hold on to religion with every ounce of energy you had, you could lose it in an instant.

Everyone thinks it's easier to be religious in majority-Muslim countries, and perhaps that is correct in some senses - i.e. close proximity to mosques, more opportunities for learning, being surrounded by people who don't misunderstand you and therefore having more freedom to explore religious issues within your own community, etc. But for me, I feel that it's harder to be religious in a majority-Muslim country because there is less of a drive for me to struggle.

Perhaps I have always been a bit of a rebel ready to swim upstream, always ready to snap back at racist comments made to me, always holding on with my teeth to my identity as a Muslim woman. Many of those things defined my very existence as a Muslim. And now suddenly I don't have to exert the same kind of effort anymore. Most Egyptians are 'religious' at least in a basic way. When I walk down the street, I'm like every other woman - nothing distinguishes me from her.

And so that external struggle has gone. I know in my heart of hearts that the struggle should never end - rather it should be inverted into an internal struggle instead. I do know that just letting yourself swim along with the current makes your muscles weaken. The last thing I'd want is the atrophy of my ability to hold on to my identity as a Muslim. I'm very slowly re-learning how to be religious in a different context. It's hard, but I refuse to give up. After all, what would my sad rebel soul do if it wasn't struggling against something, even if that something is myself?

did you know that I cook things?

When I first got married, I had very few cooking skills. Everything that I knew about cooking came from vaguely passing through the kitchen while my mom was cooking, and from watching MasterChef and other Food Network shows. I had no desire to cook, but I did love to watch food shows.

In the months prior to getting married, my mom offered several times to teach me how to cook. But me being the clueless and uncooperative person that I am lead me to adamantly refuse while saying things like "my husband can cook for himself" and other nonsensical strings of words. Needless to say, when I was finally faced with the reality of having to cook, I felt like a chicken with its head cut off. Some of the things that happened to me while I was learning:

-Once we bought a freshly slaughtered chicken and it still had the head attached - I refused to cook it until my husband cut the head off while I was not present.
-I once had to clean a chicken that still had its guts intact. I gagged all through the experience, then was unable to eat the cooked chicken due to my squeamishness.
-I made rice that was the consistency of lumpy oatmeal.
-I burned myself (and continue to do so) on a regular basis. And I burned food.
-I didn't think marinating meaty things prior to cooking was that important.

etc.

In the months following this, I came to realize that there are just a few general rules to cooking, and then all else is pretty simple. It's kind of interesting to produce edible things. Allrecipes.com is now my ultimate favourite website. Here are some of the things I've cooked:

Meat and spinach pies, YUM (If I do say so myself)

Home-made pizza

Fried chicken fingers and fries

Spinach Spanakopita

An Egyptian twist on chicken biryani

Chicken goulash

Stuffed peppers

Chicken soup & rice, mom's style

I'm getting hungry now. Awesome.

things

They Hate Me.

When we were young we believed that love could conquer all - that just by hoping with all your heart that the world would be a better place could make it so. I used to think that the louder I shouted about injustices, the faster they would be resolved. I used to know things for sure, I used to believe in the goodness of people over their evil.

The last few years have been like anchors, slowly pulling my head down out of the clouds. I've begun to see that there are very few things in life that are simply black and white. I've begun to lose hope in the world. I don't know when exactly I started to feel this way, but I think that all the hatred for Muslims and Islam that is now a part of worldwide political and social dogma is at the root of these feelings. It's now becoming apparent that it is acceptable to insult and humiliate Muslims without facing substantial criticism. Entire governments are anti-Islam.

Even in Egypt where I am now stationed, the case is the same. You'd think that in a majority Muslim country, you'd be less exposed to anti-Islam rhetoric, but unfortunately that is just not true. Recent elections brought the Muslim Brotherhood and a Salafi Party into "power" (and I'm not yet sure what that even means considering the turmoil surrounding the military's current rule). I'm alright with people disagreeing with these parties' politics, as I'm sure I don't agree with all of them myself. But the anti-Islam rhetoric coming from "liberal" media has been so immense and heartbreaking that I usually just stop reading or turn the TV off.

And my heart hurts more every time I read or watch something about some new person or entity hating me. And I say "me" because the personal is political and the political is personal. Part of me wishes I could escape to a mental state where I was more hopeful in people seeing truth above propaganda. I want to be able to look up at the clouds and not be distracted by the ugly ground I'm standing on. I want to be free of hatred and full of love. I wish I was, I wish I could be.

Jannah Crescent

Over the past several years, my family has been scattered around the world. It seems to happen intermittently - one sibling leaves to pursue some dream in another city or country, and another simultaneously comes back home. I think the last time we were all together was over five years ago.

So there's this small crescent on my street in Toronto that has 6 or 7 beautiful houses - it's actually more of a glorified semi-circle driveway. When my sister and I used to walk past it, we would talk about how awesome it would be if we bought those houses in the semi-circle and everyone moved back home. All the nieces and nephews and brothers and sisters and our parents, and we all got to see each other whenever we wanted. We'd talk about how we'd just all take turns cooking, and how we'd knock on each others doors when we felt like going someplace, and we'd all definitely take food from our parents' house.

It was a happy thought, and it still is. And then we would just sigh and my sister would say "maybe in Jannah, inshaAllah."

Over the years I've realized that all happiness is marred my some sadness. Even if for a moment or two everything seems just exactly right. It doesn't have to be some immense life-altering sadness, it could just be a loved one being too far away for you to share your happiness with her or him. It could be the distant memory of what you wish you could change from all those years ago. It could be anything.

This is not to be confused with pessimism or deep-seated regrets. Far from it. All I mean to say is that there is no pure happiness, sadness, anger, or other emotions. You aren't just one thing at any time. When you realize that this life is more emotionally complicated than you once imagined, it makes Jannah feel more real.

We are continuously journeying towards stations of happiness, but when we arrive, there are always memories of sadness or fear of future troubles. The thing is, when you arrive to the ultimate station of happiness, paradise, none of that exists anymore.

I just hope that someday we get to live in a Jannah Crescent.

It's December

Regardless of where you are in the world, December is just plain old December. And it sucks the words right out of my mouth.