Chosen Family

What she said. Exactly.

I miss being able to escape to a private place when life became too overwhelming. Whether that meant going for an undisturbed walk, or holing myself up in my room and vegetating. I miss downtime. Downtime in Egypt exists, but it's collective, which means that you're in someone else's face while having your downtime. Apartments are generally too small, sidewalks to full, mouths too busy yapping to find a quiet moment of rest and contemplation, separate from all else.

I miss being alone.

I'm still alive

These are the days leading up to my walima, and boy oh boy did I underestimate the amount of things that need to be done.

The problem is, life in Egypt is hard. Yup, that's the crux of the matter. Getting stuff done here is so much more difficult than in Canada. It requires knowing people as opposed to just showing up and buying something at a store. You have to know someone so that you don't get ripped off or get stuck with a defective product.

Also, when moving into an apartment, you literally need to buy everything except the walls and the floors of the place. Nothing comes included, even doorknobs. So, as you can imagine, there was shopping to be done every single day for the past month.

Also it's really hot. And Egyptian culture is confusing, and I'm trying hard to navigate it without offending people in a major way. Pretty sure I've done that several times thus far. Oh well.

Also, my English is suffering in major way. Writing used to come easily to me, but now I'm searching for words that are commonplace. For example, I was about to type "searching" like this: "surching." And that's not an exaggeration (which I just spelled with 2 Xs instead of 2 Gs).

Life in Egypt is hard.

But Alhamdulillah, this is what was meant for me - so what state is appropriate except that of thankfulness, right?

(but it's hot)

Til we Meet Again

I'm in Egypt right now...Ramadan in Egypt is different. When it first started, I longed to be back in Canada with familiar faces, getting Ramadan Mubarak emails and calls. It didn’t feel the same to be in a different country – the emotions that I had always associated with the beginning of Ramadan weren’t there.

It has gotten better in the past few days – I’m noticing interesting things about Egyptian culture and how it melts into the Islamic tradition. On the second day of Ramadan we went out slightly before maghrib to go to an iftar at my in-laws’ place, and the streets were like that of a ghost town. The shops were closed, there were barely any people walking about – the only people on the streets were young men wielding bags of pre-packaged dates to give to drivers of passing cars to break their fasts with. It was quite the sight to see men throwing little bags of dates into the open windows of cars.

Egyptians only bake certain kinds of bread in Ramadan. And only eat certain kinds of foods – the week before Ramadan, grocery stores sell massive amounts of oil (go figure) and Ramadan-specific foods including dates, Amar Al-Deen (dried apricot sheets, sort of like fruit roll-ups).

Praying taraweeh here is different, too. I prayed in the largest congregation I’ve ever prayed in at a famous mosque in Alexandria. The streets all around the mosque were blocked off and we prayed on the asphalt in rows upon rows of worshippers. And the imams…I can’t quite describe how it feels to be praying behind imams who sound like some of my favourite reciters. Imagine praying behind Abu Bakr Al-Shatri, or Muhammad Jibreel or AbdelBaset Abdel Samad.

To be honest I felt lonely when Ramadan first started. I missed my community, I missed the quirks of the multicultural mishmash that is Ramadan in Toronto. And I still miss it, but the thing that always brings me back is listening to the same Qur’an, the same du’aa, the same sweet words of celebration that surround this month. It reminds me that there is one thing in my life that is consistent no matter where I am. It makes me feel like maybe I’m not too far from home.

pack it up

I'm currently in the process of packing up most of my belongings to move to another country for a while. I leave in just under 3 days inshaAllah.

Packing for a long trip with no definite return date means that I have to go through nearly everything I own, and makes me re-examine the purpose of a lot of things that I'm leaving behind. Limited suitcase space gives rise to a lot of personal judgement/decisions about what true needs are vs. the frills. We go through our lives accumulating items that have either intrinsic or sentimental value - but at the end most of it means nothing.

Packing up my life is hard. I have a lot of stuff to go through, but that's not why it's hard. Rather, I now really have to deal with the fact that I'm leaving the home tree that has always had stable roots, for a life of a seed trying to burrow itself into the ground to grow and make its own roots. What if I get tired and a slight wind blows me away?

I just discovered this series of songs. It's very entertaining to me, and surprisingly halalish.

Punching Stuff

Do you ever have days when you're so frustrated that you feel like punching babies and old people in the face? And it has to specifically be babies and old people, or it's not going to work.

Disarray

This is the current state of my desk.

Just thought you should know.

More meaningful episodes of disarray to follow.

Lists

I'm making lists in the hopes that a) I won't forget anything important, and b) it'll ease the sadness of departure by making things technical, straight forward, unemotional.

Growing up is Hard

The thing I wanted the most when I was younger was to grow up so I could be independent, make my own choices, move out of my parents' home. I craved these things - I craved the thought of the hypothetically brilliant process of self-discovery I would go through when I was "older." I can't remember how many times I've thought about how great it would be to leave home, or mutter under my breath "I can't wait to move out" or some angrier variation of that. I thought everything would be easier, better if I didn't have to put up with the quirks of my family anymore.

But boy was I wrong (as I'm discovering that I was/am basically wrong about everything I thought was true).

I'm currently in the mental gear of finally moving away from the people I've lived with for the past 25 years. And it's not all it's cracked up to be.

Now I'm dreading this stage of life where I'll have to make real decisions. Decisions that involve thinking about uprooting myself and moving to a new country. Decisions involving finances - and not just "can I afford these shoes" decisions; now it's more like "if I don't get this job what will I do for rent" decisions. Decisions about starting a family. These are stressful things to think about.

My ever-coveted "independence" is naturally also hard on the heart.

Growing up sucks.