Doubt and Decision

Damn you Jason Mraz, for making so much sense.

Even though I've been keeping myself out of the blogosphere the past month up until yesterday -due to many irritable blogs that just make my blood boil- this man's blog was just too difficult not to keep updated with.

The fact that he's an internationally renowned artist (genius musician I say) and still blogs almost twice a week and allows people to comment on his posts, just blows me away! Respect, respect, respect.

His topics are genuine, they're humane, they're thoughtful and they make you feel that other than the fact that he has a gazillion fans, deep down there, he's just like you and me.

It also seems like he's out to get me. While my previous post had a mini rant against new year's resolutions and all the hype that goes with it, he posted this. Now, I'm still a 100% convinced that new year's is overrated, but I have to admit I can back off a little and recognize the fact that this is a begining of a decade.

In a decade, you will be grown up and moved out, possibly married and a parent of your own. In 10 years, our planet’s population will be almost double what it is now while the possibility of losing your own parents are even greater. The food demand will almost-certainly still be supplied by a military-industrialized system while our armed forces will either be assisting and rebuilding the world or adding more fuel to the fire. No matter what age group or demographic you’re in, 2010 is now and you are its generation.

That's just the tip of the iceberg.

It's my generation at stake here. We're going to be held responsible. We aren't kids anymore- I'm 21 for God's sake! Who saw that coming?!

I don't know about the getting married and having kids part; it seems highly doubtful right now (ha. ha. ha.), but oh dear do I know about the other big and small messes we'll have to manage. I believe in the power of possibility too Jason, but I also believe in the power of responsibility. It's scary.

I still won't come up with a list of things I will committ to doing for the year (nor for the decade for that matter), I know I won't follow through. But what I will do is two things:

1. Take pride in the fact that I actually admitted I might be wrong, and that I opened up my ears and mind to someone else's take on things
2. And I'll committ to being committed to daily resolutions that encompass not only myself and my tiny life on Earth, but also to my country and to Earth itself.

I will not hinge my life in the next year or 10 on one night, I'll hinge it on every night.

How about that for grand decisions?

Two Thousand and... Oh Give Me a Break!

I refuse to be the resolutions-forming kind of girl. I won't waste an entire week of my life thinking of sassy, witty, creative "new year's resolutions" that I'm bound to forget about a week later. It's a week like every other and time is precious.

Once a year we celebrate a night that takes us into a new year. We have this absolute conviction that the New Year will bring us happiness, that we'll change our lifestyle, that we'll lose weight, that we'll fall in love, that we'll be successful and independent. God bless man's forgetfulness; to repeat the same night and same mental routine year after year. I say "we" because, up to this point, I am a part of it. But that is no longer.

I'm a part of last year, I'm part of next year, I’m part of every year to date. Every year is a part of me.

A friend told me a couple of days ago "if you can't beat the system, be part of the system"... or something like that anyways.
I laughed it off at first. It just sounded too... preach-y. But then I gave it second thought this evening. I've never tried to fight the system. I was born different, and I did my absolute best to systemize myself ever since. Excuse me, but I think I've succeeded to an extent- at least I'm capable of humor that other people actually get.

Freak the system.

Self-righteousness is unbecoming. I am flawed. Seriously and in all the ugliness the word could imply: flawed. I hate it, I accept it, I do not brag about it. At least I try not to- I can at least admit that.

Borrowed from Postsecret

My graduation was on Thursday the 24th and it was to be one of the most signifcant events of my life. It was absolutely amazing to be there in cap and gown. My older sister was in tears the second she saw me step out in the march. Her tears brought tears to mine, only then did I realize how major it was. The excitement, the day, the rush, it flowed through my veins; I was high on "graduation-stacy". Yet the second my foot crossed my home's threshold, the bubble burst. It was imperfect, it was unsatisfactory- it was not what I expected. I ignored it and moved on. Just like I did my high school prom.

Actually when I think about it, I'm rarely ever satisfied. That's one more very common human flaw (duh?). Some people get over themselves and learn how to be contented and fulfilled, and some people fail miserably. I can safely say I'm with the second group. I'm not satisfied with the job I have even though I like it plenty. I'm not satisfied with my financial situation. And I won't even begin to discuss my personal life.
Will I ever be satisfied though? Do I need to be? Or does this come automatically with ambition?

Another friend snapped me out of it for about two seconds though: "saying that you lack inspiration and achievement is just lame, you just achieved something you sought for the past 18 years: you're a college graduate. From one of the best schools too!"

Eye-opener, while it lasted. But it has its repercussions.

Achievement is engraved in the depths of me. "Demotivation" is a big recurrent word in my dictionary, but "quitting" is nonexistent.

She's the mommy, she's the sister, she's the motivation

A third friend whom I truly do appreciate got me a new truly fantastic book (that my mother started reading before me. So much for the concept of "property"!).

As I sat and stared at the book's cover and smelled its -then- unread pages, I made a grand discovery: I am not in the least bit interested in writing a book. I do not care about seeing my name in bold on a book's spine- I've already done that. I'm not one with fiction-writing talents either. Not the least bit. And I do not have a certain message that I'd like to convey to the world that I cannot articulate through my blog. Not that anyone would read a book I write, people barely read my blog.

There is a saying in Arabic "من يطلب الولاية لا يولى". He who asks for authority, should not be given authority.

Based on those exceptionally wise words I theorize the following: who ask for fame, should not be given fame. Fame, power, authority and all other similar concepts are consequences, they should not be targets. Does that sound too self-righteous? I apologize.

I have my eternal inspirations. I have inspiration that pops in every six months. I cannot be brought down -intentionally or not- for long. To a lot of people's misery, I do re-surface.

(Again this is someone's secret as much as it is mine)

And that is all I need to know to go on.

The Truth

Nobody cares.

Part-Timing My A**

I have no idea why I'm in this office right now. No seriously... no clue! I also have no idea why in heaven and hell I volunteered to come in the office today... what an idiot.

I'm supposed to be a part-timer. I'm supposed to work 3 days a week. Felxibility is good, stupidity is bad.
But I always try to get some sort of kick out of it anyways. So..ahem.. right now, in stead of working on an introduction to the hugest presentation I had ever seen in my life and in stead of working data on (yet another) excel sheet, I decided to watch Glee! My new absolute favorite show.

Glee!

Into good music, highschool retards, outrageous slushie-smacking and a whole load of perfectly delivered lines by an ex-army-hitperson-horse steroids-consuming cheerleading coach? Watch it! Just let me say that this show isn't for everyone, this kind of show isn't in the grey area at all either; you'll either love it, or you'll hate it.
You have been warned.

Pop Tarts and Their Mystical Powers

I walked very casually into the Quick store. Just browsing, nothing more.

Their vast array of imported sweets, candy, snacks and cereal proves to be irresistably tempting more times than not, but after much effort and wasteful money spending, I had finally taught myself how to resist the irresistable. So now I just walk in very casually, buy a pack of Egyptian made gum for 1 pound 75 pt and just as casually walk out. This time, however, something happened that made the system I had programmed myself on go haywire. There it was, sitting innocently on a shelf was a box of pop tarts... not just any pop tarts: S'mores Poptarts!

Now, I'm not a poptart fan or anything; wrapped toaster baked thingies don't really get to me; it was the word "S'more" that did me in.

20 pounds later, I walked out of there with a memory in my pocket.

here

First time I tasted s'mores was almost a year and half ago during my first ever All-American camp night and I have to admit they were sensational. Who could ever say no to fire roasted marshmellows sandwiched between biscuits and melted chocolate?

S'mores American National Holiday!

            Recipe with a "Skinny" twist              

That specific camp night is one to be cherished, not only for this exquisite introduction to what may very well be the most delicious dessert on Earth, or the magnificent view and open greenfields I have never seen in my life before, but also for the spectacular introduction to fireflies!

Lake Elmo

Like most people I've heard plenty of stories and songs about fireflies, -mostly about how people try to catch them and put them in jars- so when I first saw some light blinking about 2 meters away from where I was sitting after night fell on the camp sight and the camp fire was almost out, I had to blink twice and register what I just saw. However, seeing how "out of it" I was at that moment due to a sever case of s'mores-over-consumption, what I registered was that someone was walking the distant trail with a flashlight and that they weren't 2 meters away at all, more like 200.

...not very bright with too much chocolate and marshmellows in my system it seems... it took me at least another 5 minutes and 10 more blinking fireflies to realize what I was looking at.

Getting up ever so slowly, I walked closer to where they were.. or at least I tried. Fireflies are mischevious creatures, they flash their fancy lights, and just when you think you know where they are the go dim and reappear 50 meters away, how on Earth people manage to catch them still baffles me to this day. The thing is, the more you concentrate, the more you can see them; you could be walking right through them while immersed in a conversation with someone and you won't even notice they exist, but if you're out there in the wilderness with the soul purpose of finding them, you'll find them every where you turn.

After some chasing, I decided to stop. Watching them dance around me was beautiful enough, there was no need to waste so much energy and breath in trying to catch something better left alone: wild, free and provocatively stunning.

And in that I learnt the most important lesson of my life.

Borrowed from Postsecret

The poptarts didn't taste so good afterall, but the forgotten memories and lesson were definitely worth every piaster..

To Learn and To Label: Venturing Into Delta

Almost a month ago, I -finally- found a project-based job that I consider to be appropriate for someone aspiring to be a respectful economist; I'm now part of a team working on a development plan for one of Egypt's new yet run-down cities (to me it isn't just a worthy job, it's one I could've killed for, for many many reasons; working with a multinational highest-ranked consultancy firm being one).

In addition to some economic research, analysis and reviews of 442 638 pages of strategic development reports, this new job requires that I sometimes make short one-day business trips outside of Cairo, usually to Delta region cities, seeing as it is the main region we're concerned with.

Delta Fields (pictures I took)

Now, as an upper-middle class young woman who was raised in Cairo and has only ever been to the beaches and tourisitic cities outside of Cairo, having to make business trips to cities like those in the Delta was a huge step outside of a certain bubble I grew up in... not to mention of course an enormous step outside my comfort zone.

First time they asked me to go? Almost cried trying to find an excuse to get out of it. I didn't want to travel 2 hours by car to some rural, run down city and I definitely did not want to go meet a bunch of old Eyptian bureaucrats who'd most probably regard me with disdain seeing as I'm a woman with no scarf on her head covering her hair.

End result? I found no excuses. I ended up going. I also ended up enjoying the experience, the exposure, the ride, the company and the lunch we had on the way back.

The second time I was asked, it was a different situation and a different city and it was by far more intense than the first. This city is one of the biggest cities in the Delta with almost 200,000 inhabitants and being the capital of the governorate.

I called every single sane person I know trying to find only one who would tell me not to go and not to waste my breath even considering it.

...

I ended up going after all; my curiosity peaked one hour before we were supposed to move out and as usual it had to be satisfied. So again it turned out that I enjoyed the experience, the exposure, the lessons learnt, the ride, the company and the lunch on the way back even more than the first time, even though admittedly this time I sensed a certain odd vibe from officials and people on the streets.

A gas pump on the side walk... right next to a qahwa!

(Our French co-worker made fun of me for acting like a tourist and taking this pic)

 The whole city is one big informal settlement

Last time they announced an upcoming trip to that city? I was all for it. I wanted to go. I needed to go. I knew I would learn more if I go, I knew I would have a chance to discuss things about my work there and I knew that I could have had a lot to offer in the discussions and findings because I know I worked hard preparing for it.

End result? I never went.

This specific business trip included -among other more important meetings and discussions with officials- piloting a quantitative survey. In plain English, we would've had to walk around the city and ask random people specific questions that we need answers to.

What happened? Well...I got a phone call the night before:

"I don't think you should come along with us this time, even though we really need you there"

Why?

"Because we'll be out on the street, and it wouldn't be safe for you"

Because I'm a girl?

"Yes, and not what people there are used to typically seeing"

Typically?

"You see... your hair isn't covered and you significantly look like you're from out of town...and that might attract unwanted attention."

Unwanted attention. Interesting what young female Egyptian aspiring economists can be labeled as sometimes.

** Links are from wikipedia (which is shameful) but no other website has any info on any of those places!

Lame John

At the age of 12 my mother handed me down 2 Beatle's tapes. Having been bought in the 70's and survived almost 3 decades, I guess it's safe to say they're vintage.

(Bad image but it's mine!)

I still listen to them daily, and I still sing along with every single song. Honestly, you can't help not sing to those ballads. The songs are short and to the point, usually with the same verse being repeated over and over and over, so it isn't that difficult to know every song by heart.

I had a friend in the car one day as the cassette played and she made a comment that immediately rang truth: "those songs are made for simpler times and a simpler world".
Well... it isn't entirely true seeing as the Vietnam war was underway, Japan was still going through its post A-Bomb reconstruction and Egypt was still in a state of War with you-know-who and had just witnessed its greatest defeat at their hand. "A simpler world" isn't really the right description, but we get the gist of the comment: musical tastes were simpler and music itself was more to the point.

Take the song Michelle for instance: who on our planet today could ever get away with a song in which the chorus says "I love you, I love you, I love you" in the cheesiest way possible? Some might... but I doubt they'd win a Grammy for it and I guess it would hardly ever be the 42nd most played song in the world.

Rumor has it was John Lennon who suggested this "I love you" bridge to McCartney (who was the mastermind behind the song that was intended originally as a slight mockery of the French Rive Gauche culture that was taking England by storm).

Oh John... how lame!

(better image)