10 Mar 2006


Last thursday, was 'just like heaven.'

It was all destined for us to meet. Not once per that day, but twice. Unexpected. Light. Lovely and inspiring.

I was slacking home. Didn't go to work that day. Decided to take a long weekend off and just relax. Have been a rough end of year analysis and decisions. So I stayed home. He was having a meeting at the fringes of Cairo. Called. Laughing. 'I went to the wrong place. Meeting was at the office and I thought it was at smart village.' I laughed. What an air-headed. So we decided to meet miday at Cilantro, on his way to work. And we did. Just a little talk over coffee. Enjoyed every second of it.

We departed only on the promise that we will meet again after he finishes work. Will pass by my house to pick me up. I agreed.

I walked home. Did some silly shopping on my way. Bought a cool bag, that he didn't like that much--but everyone did. Arrived home. Crashed on bed waiting for him to call, and he did.

I was planning to wear something nice, to match up with him--he was in a suite and very dressed up. I changed my mind. Just wore some perfume and jumped to meet him. Very casual.

So we hopped to the Grand Hyatt. We wanted to watch a movie. 'Just like heaven' was playing. We entered. Amazing hall. Never been to it before. Really impressive. We sat for 30 minutes, when I started to sigh. 'Hate it, right?' he asked. 'Oh. Yeah. It is annoying. Let's leave.' So be it. And there we left. Went up to the heavenly place: Grand Hyatt, 40th floor.

We sat there. Lightly talking. Laughing. Silent. Listening to the pianist playing the piano. He played arabic songs. Lovely. Asked him to sing, and he did. The scene there was amazing. As usual. Over the top of everything. Seeing only the creme of the old lady. The Nile. Boats. Pharoh. Everything was just out of focus, yet so wonderful and breath taking. Makes you so relaxed. The company too was insinuating you to feel contained. To feel classy. To feel loved and wanted. Just the silence is filled with emotions. That's what really matters. He smoked his cigar. I sat silent watching. I was tired. Tired from our separation. Tired from the heavy emotions. Tired from capturing them. From the expansion and contraction. Express. Hold. Hold. Hold. Express. Oups, just a tiny bit. Watch out. Ok. Let go. Breathe. Anyways, I was happy I am having this heavenly connection.

We were done with the classy settings. In the mood to mingle. Zoom in to real land. To taste this water, that we saw still from up top. To find flaws with this divenly picture. To smell the dust. Taste the sourness of this beauty. No beauty is absolute, but that of God's.

So, we went downtown to 'akher sa3a' to eat foul and ta3meya. We went there. Parked next to Naguib al-Rihany theatre. Walked up and down the street to see the area around. It was so dirty. Smoky. And really downtown cairo. It was almost 11:30 pm but stil this quartier was so busy.

We went to the fooul place. 1 omlette. 2 foul bel zeeit el-Harr, 2 ta3meya. He, went there with his expensive suite and tie to order. I stood outside. Very interesting. People watching us like aliens. 'Dont make eye contact.' He alerted me. I abided. Who wont.

We took our food and walked to sit somewhere. I wanted to sit just on the pavement over there over looking this absolutely amazing building. We did. Next to us all the lover couples sitting eating fooul and sharing. Middle class families brought their familes and sat there to enjoy the nice breeze. We started to eat. I ate the omlette. Gave him just a little tiny piece. It was his sandwitch orignially but I just loved it. He took out one sandwitch to eat. Ate one. Was potatoes. Oups, we didnt order that! Got the other. Potatoes too. Oups oups. The third. The fourth. All potatoes. We laughed. I want my Fooul bil zeit el Harr... So we walked again. To the same shop. I stood outside waiting. 'No eye contact.' I nodded. He went inside. Explained to the guy what's wrong. 'How much did you pay?'. 'I dont know', he answered. 'Ok. OK. pay extra 50 p.t and come again. He did.

We took our sandwitch. Walked past the same people and couple. Now our cool place was gone. Found another one and started eating. Delicious food. Really. The Fooul was absolutely good. Loved it. We ate. Shared. Looked at the magnificent building infront of us. Wondered how it looked before. Wished we would have an apartment somewhere there. The weather was great. People were talking. Laughing. Feeling very light. Gathered as families. Gathered as lovers. Gathered as friends. Gathered as humans just longing to enjoy. I wish they did. I did. We did. It was amazing.

We walked to our car. Passed a low class cabaret. 'Parisana nightclub' with a picture of a woman, artist, on the front. I peaked a look inside. Green bottles of beer. Guys sitting on the tables. Totally wasted. I wondered what kind of guys go there. What kind of prostitutes go there. What kind of dancers dance there. The answer came to me from my company, 'anyone who is just wasted.' Wasted. Wasted I repeated in my mind.

Wasted his life. Wasted her life. Wasted in life. Wasted and want to waste more. Just cling to anything that breaths to make sure he is still wasted. And everything around him or her is wasted too. It was sad. Wish no one is wasted.

Walked to our car. Put the radio on. Here started Um Kathoum singing a lovely song. Slow and deep. Strong voice yet really touching us. We sang with her. Each in oneself. Big smile on our faces. We are so energetic. Can go on driving for another day. Over night. Just cruising. Slowly and calmly. Peace in the air. Love in the heart. Tranquility in the soul. Completness of the nafs. God everywhere.

I love you, God. I love you God.

9 Mar 2006


Salma... who is Salma? Well, she didn't come yet. But she will be arriving on the 9th of April. Wow!

You are pregnant still, however, you:
Already knew she is a girl,
Already gave her a name,
And definetly knew her birthday.

I couldn't help but feel a little sarcastic. Not from R., who seems from the first while like a sweet lady, but from our nature. Our pre-deterministic nature. Our deep need to control what we don't have or see. Invent tools, and seek guidance just to know the future.

I admit, I wont like to know the gender of my baby. I won't give it a name. I won't seek to know the exact date of his birth. I will leave it all to be a surprise. A gift, from the Giver. Change in it as He likes. Name it as He likes. Shape its destiny as He likes. Bless it whichever way He chooses.

3 Mar 2006


I see lots of them everywhere I go. Sometimes I sympathize. Sometimes I get so annoyed. I watch them over the course of time. One or two have been there forever. This 'rababa' man, I have been seeing for decade now. I initially used to give him something, now I literally hate him. Get so annoyed by him. Whenever he approaches me for money, I tell him to fuck off. I say that, 'Fuck off bugger.' I look into his eyes, and I just see greed and 'makr'. He is so greedy. If you know this man, look into his eyes when you put your hand in your pocket to give him money. His eyes would jump, racing your hand to the money. His eyes drip with greed and need. I urge you to take a look. In case you are interested, check 26th July street, Zamalek. The 'rababa' guy over there. If you are more interested--alif you might do that--follow him to where he lives. I am so curious to know how he lives after all these years of begging.

I am not at all careful with money. I dont have an organized purse. I just throw my money in it. I like it like that. I hate to count my money. Put them in order or even carry a purse. Just a bag and I throw the money in. Although my company begged me to make an ATM card, I never did. I prefer to get my money cash. In 100's. In fact, I dont have a bank account now. No money in the bank. For religion reasons? I don't know, and I don't care. Could be that I don't see the benefit of money thrown into a bank account. Sitting there. Accumulating interest. Fixed. Variable. Complex. Bank statements. Fees. All these transactions and effort for something I dont know or get personal with.

I tend to think that our relation to money handling is a reflection to who we are. Yes. Just like anything else. I hate to work so hard everyday. Spend all this time at work and when I get paid, I found it transfered to the bank. I want to see the translation of my effort. To touch it. To spend it. To enjoy it. To invest it in stocks. To lose it. To win it. To wrestle with my effort. But deposit it in a bank and cash it through a plastic, non recyclable plastic card is annoying. It is as if I am throw who I am in a blackhole that I don't see.

As a kid, when my Pa spoke about his money been deposited there, I give him a blank reaction. I had, and still have, no clue what he is talking about. I ask myself, what on earth is he talking about. The poor guy doesn't even know where his money sleeps now. He never even saw his money. Never touched it. Never felt it. Never had any connection with. The only connection is this piece of printed paper that arrives every month to our mail box. He stacks them. A statement over the other. Numbers, numbers, numbers. That's it. It is as if he had an illegal kid who just pays for his meals but refuses to have any emotional responsibility towards. Could it be that my father doesn't want to spend the money, that he doesn't want to take its responsibility and thus give it away, energetically, to a bank?

I don't really know!