Readers, I apologize. It's been almost two weeks since I last posted. I don't know what happened to be honest; in some ways, I think it was the same combination of psychological impulse that makes me not call people back if it's been too long since I didn't return their voicemail. That same guilt and avoidance. Gross, I know. I also think I've just been wicked busy and there's been so much going on that I'm not quite sure how to write about it. But here goes, in trusty bullet point form.
- Protests in Palestine/Nakba Day: As most/some/all of you know (even you, random person in Japan who checks BoomtownArabia every day, why hello!), there's been some action lately in Palestine and environs. Amazing, lovely, dare-I-say-epic marches of freedom from the Golan, powerful demonstrations at Qalandiya, awkward celebration-esque demonstrations in Ramallah. It's been great, but not enough. I know that because...
- I got to see a demonstration in Tahrir yesterday. Wow. Wait, let me back up. I love Cairo. Deeply, truly. The way some people feel about New York when they first walk her streets, that 'I-must-live-here' compulsion, well, that's how I feel about Cairo. It's like New York, the chaos and heart and mass of humanity and run-down glamor (though, NY is just not run down anymore, it's so fancy there!), but it also has the lazy glorious Nile and the families smoking shisha on the streets and the laughter and the poverty and the dust and now, the glow of a people who called their own shots for once. And maybe for more than once. That, we'll have to see. So yes, I was in Tahrir and it was magic. Everyone should go to Cairo right now. And Palestine needs to look to Egypt for an example. The whole world needs to look to Egypt-- and some are. Spain is. That's incredible to me: a 'Western' country finding Democratic inspiration in the 'East'. The whole world just got turned on its head and not many seemed to notice. I sure did grin at that one, though. South-North transfer indeed.
- Expat-dom: I've been feeling those weird waves of disattachment that only come to me when in expat mode. I hate those waves. Maybe (blog-fession!) that's also a bit of why I haven't been writing. I've been sort of noncommittally floating - friends, cities, emotions all a bit disattached. I think there's a big bump of change coming up I've been dreading. Another blog-fession: I suck at change. For someone who has made a lifestyle of it, man, do I dread it. Especially housing change. I hate moving. It gives me deep anxiety. And I'm about to move into my own place, away from the apartment I love in the neighborhood I love. I know it was the right decision for a myriad of reasons, but it's still change. That being said, I bought some awesome home decor of the Tahrir persuasion in Cairo, and look forward to some quality nesting time.
- I'm coming home soon. I am so freaking excited. To see my sister's baby and whisper to her all the ways in which I will love her and protect her forever. To high five my friends on the beach in Cape Cod while we stand knee-deep in water and drink Bud Light. To share with the people I care about the things I chose not to blog about, like my job and how mindblowingly amazing it is, how privileged I feel to be working in the sector I do during this vital time in the Middle East, and how much I've learned about making career decisions and life decisions in the past six months.
- I think I'll end this with a brief and humorous snapshot I found both hilariously telling and humbling: I had a night free in Cairo before the roundtable I was attending started. I was staying at a lovely little hotel in Zamalek thanks to an old friend's recommendation, and decided to walk around the neighborhood, Zamalek being known for its bougie charms like art galleries and ice cream shops. I was so happy. Leafy streets, very little street harassment (man has that gotten awful in Ramallah lately), little shops. While in one of these shops I met another American who invited me to ice cream. Why not, right? New friend. So we went, and while walking we passed by this shop that was the shop of my dreams: racks of flowy loose cotton tunics and pants and such. Arab world heat clothes. I need these, it's already flipped into oven-time over here. I shot this place a longing eye, as I knew my new (male) friend wouldn't want to wait for me to browse racks of flowing garb. So I made a mental note of where it was (I mean, I really know myself better than that, to trust mental notes on directions or numbers) and, full of regret, kept walking. I spent the next morning in a desperate search for this place- I had researched cotton shops online, had a list of names, had a map, etc. It should be noted I obviously had forgotten both the shop name and street name of the shop of my dreams immediately after telling myself to remember them. After two hours of hot, dusty searching, I actually sat down on the curb and wept bitter tears. I couldn't find the shop. Let me say that again: I cried about a clothing shop. Even writing this is making me feel that anger and anxiety I felt then. I never ended up finding it. I guess it will remain a drapey, breezy oasis. But, good to know that even in the midst of a globalist orgy of democracy in action and in a city thick with significance, I still managed to weep like a spoiled child about a clothing shop. Some things change, some things I will remain my mother's child about forever and ever.
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