Four years of fluctuation.

Four years ago, I was full of hope. I strongly believed in my revolution, proudly talked about it and the 18 days of battles and glories. I praised the martyrs and was glad to see Mubarak and his gang finally behind the bars. I was excited about Egypt's tomorrows. I tasted victory, smelled freedom and saw happy dreams about a better future for my nation; I was satiated. I saw power, power of people and I absolutely admired our unity. Egyptians were happy and optimistic; for the first time, they felt worthy and lofty. Strangers felt like my people, we belonged to each other as we battled together. I remember the day Mubarak was toppled and everyone was hugging another around the streets with the fireworks above our heads. We saw change- I mean, we made it with our voices, struggles, sweat and blood. We touched glimpses of our future and it looked vivid enough. We saw a country that need to be built from scratch, and we were ready to it and the skies witnessed it all.  

Three years ago, things weren't going as planned. But, I knew the road was still long. With a bruised soul, I was ready to fight. I couldn't give up or let go of my beliefs. It was an unlucky year, but I was still holding my breath for a better country. I wanted to do more. I was told that the road is tough and bumpy, but I still had enough energy. I kept my hopes high and fought. I remembered my vow and stuck to it. Every time I'd feel down, I remember out martyrs and why they died for us to continue what they were killed for. I believed in the word "freedom" and wrote it everywhere as a constant reminder. I worshiped it. I decided to educate myself more, it was the only weapon. I learnt a lot and met new people. I started to become more aware of what was going on around me and followed my heart to do the right thing. I kept my humanity and never changed my mind. I feared no consequences and didn't think twice before doing the right thing. I still loved my revolution, but I missed the unity and found more "I" and less "We". I constantly reminded myself of the 18 days although things weren't fine. I felt robbed and taken for granted, but I still fought anyway.

Two years ago, I was feeling down. I felt betrayed and stabbed in the back, but this time, I was expecting it. I held on to my beliefs and dreams. I still wanted to fight some more. I still managed to see the light at the end of the tunnel every time I saw people like me still chanting for freedom.  I was ready to do more to achieve our three demand; Bread, Freedom and Social Justice. Every time I’d lose track of anything, I reminded myself of these three demands which drove the millions of Egyptians to the streets and freedom squares years earlier. I reminded myself of the chants and good old days. I saw how I grew up so fast, faster than I have ever thought I would, but it was for a good cause. I learnt about what lies under the covers and saw the real enemies. I ignored the sugared version of reality, and saw all the bad; barefoot and naked. The ugly truths were revealed and I had to lose whoever/whatever I had to lose. I stumbled, but then I wasn't let down. Egypt did it again and Morsi was removed. I saw "We", but it wasn't the same. I wasn't too optimistic, or at least, I lied to myself to keep myself going. I tried my best, but every good thing had to be followed with a "but" that told me to be cautious or I'd be foolish. It was the year of helpless sighs.    

One year ago, I didn't know what/how to feel anymore. I couldn't feel anything except despair and sadness for every drop of blood shed. I felt chained as I watched failure approaching my face . I was hopeless, helpless and apathetic. All I felt was betrayal in the seizure of justice. Martyrs were joined by more martyrs and the prisons opened their gates for more oppressed. I saw more blood and less humanity.  I saw my people, Egyptians, standing against the revolutionaries and pointing figures at us. I saw people clapping for the killers; idolizing and worshiping them as Gods. I tried to fight, every time I got the chance; I shouted "Freedom" and rewound my memory lane and my feelings towards Egypt but it made me flinch in a way. The battlefield turned to a huge graveyard for the revolution, its chants, demands and people. I stopped talking about the revolution even though I still had it in my mind all the time. It made me feel ashamed because mentioning it means mentioning how wrong I was and how much of a failure I am. My hope was fluctuating and I was confused. I started questioning myself and all what I have done. I felt disoriented and unwanted in my home.

Now, all I can think of is leaving. I never thought I'd really want to leave too early, but I can't find a purpose here and I am not heard anyway. I can't be denial anymore. I feel like a refugee in my own homeland and I don't know how to react to it anymore. I don't feel sad or deceived anymore, I feel so angry, at everything. I feel the blood in my hand although I have always stood tall against killing. I imagine the martyrs looking at me from heaven with tearful eyes and it makes me furiously helpless. I shout "freedom" and the government hears it "Kill me and jail me". I grew up and old and apart from what I had in mind four years ago. I look back at my writings and pictures four years ago and smile in agony for how foolish I was. I am blaming myself when I shouldn't, but I am. It's hard to keep my hopes up for more than an hour because every single day I have to come across some sorry news; starting from deaths, to accidents and life in prison sentences. It's getting worse, even worse than the days before the revolution. The way we are silenced, killed and jailed is beyond me, and the way some people are celebrating it all makes home doesn't feel like home anymore.

In my anger,however, I still fight anyway, and I will never stop fighting for the sake of the good, weak and the poor. I still fight, even though I am not convinced if I will reap any of its fruits. I am not really waiting for anything, but I see my friends in the battle, and I wouldn't dare to leave them alone. Yet, I can't keep lying to myself, I can't live in denial and I can't ignore my loss. I am angry, tired, and I am warring against myself. It's exhausting.  

Today, we know that we might be losing, but few little things keep us going. Trying, we die. Lost and fatigued we go; lost and fatigued, we shall be freed.