The Cairene

In every home, the family members complete the place's ambiance of safety and warmth. Everyone has their fingerprint on the place and leaves a piece of their soul around. To me, I like to think that homes have stronger souls than humans, and that's why when a member leaves for any reason, I imagine the place and air weeping after they are gone. And it could be true because grief usually takes over and tasteless days feel longer. Happiness is usually replaced by indifference or grief, the place feels soulless and it becomes a 'house' rather than a 'home'. God gave us our souls and we give a part of us to our homes. *On a side notes, I'd like to add that home doesn't has to be a place. It could be a book, a hug, a kiss, a song, a melody, a street or poem. It's anything which you can make you feel safe. Also, I hate to break it to you, but you can't find home in people. You just can't. They will either leave and make you feel homeless, or you...

I don't know about you guys, but my brain always fails me when I try to stop overthinking unhealthy thoughts. Last night was on of those nights where I had to stay up late, staring at the nothingness, and contemplate my life. I thought about life, death and the in-between. As for me, I consider the 'surviving' stage the in-between stage. It's where we basically get deprived  from the act of living. It's more like breathing and getting along with the odds and unknowns because deep down, we know the God has a plan. Don't ask me about this plan because I am like you sir and you madam. I don't really know. My mind decided to shift to the last stage and it felt scary. Through out my life, I never feared death, not being an arrogant b*tch or anything, but it never occurred to me that I was scared of it. Last night, it felt eerie getting a thought about it. And I realised it was because my brain jumped into the in-between stage without passing through Life, the fir...

On a boring afternoon of a tasteless Tuesday, I decided to put on my dilapidated ivory converse and take a walk around the C-town. I wasn't so sure that I am strong enough to leave the house without a single penny, but I knew I am not powerless- not too powerful though.   I roamed around the streets, aimlessly and observed all the details, the blotted out ones, the presented ones,  and even more, I observed the nothingness. Old buildings encircled me as I walked, with the shops and retails armoring the entrance of, almost, every ageing building. The sound of shishas’ water being blown, the dices being thrown along with the aching sound cracked slow laughs of old men bring back my parents’ picture of long-gone youth into my mind. My wounds were touched as I watched these grey men play, laugh, frown and lour as if they are back to being kids again. The embarrassment threw cold breeze along my spine, yet  I caught up myself smiling every time a grizzly-headed cheered after ...

It crossed my mind that one day, I'll grow old, really old, with shaky hands, wrecked skin, grey hair, tired eyes and a face full of wrinkles and stories. The thought itself scared me that I went and look at the mirror and thought to myself: "One day, I'll look at this face again from behind my 80 year old eyes. I'll look at those picture and plead for the things I could have done but didn't, shou ld have said but decided to not to. That's going to be really heartrending". I am still scared of this painful thought.  Then it occurred to me that I might not even be there to watch my nephews, nieces, and -maybe- my kids grow old in front me, and I became more pained.  I grow up everyday, and my face is the proof. I grow up everyday, and my feelings are the reason. I age and age and age, till one day it'll strike me that I have wasted a lot and I will be too reckless to even take myself to the bathroom or have a walk to the market.  It's not just ab...

And for an instance, you feel like an idiot for giving them all while they gave you nothing in return; and for another, you feel alright because you know that you were just being you.

We keep needing things in lives and never get them. We keep getting getting other things in live and stop needing them. It makes us humans, but. I have been trying to think of something to write after 'but' and nothing to be jotted down. I think it's the humans' nature of wanting things or losing interest in whatever they own? We wait. We wait for many things, knowing that we are wasting hell of t ime of another things, but we wait. We wait for things we know that's not going to happen and things that we know we will never be getting; so much time wasted, but we still wait. I don't get the point of waiting because to me, the only thing worth waiting is basically a flight out of this place or for angels to take me by the hands. I wait. I'm not quite sure why we aren't so concerned about time even though it's never on our favor, but what? We wait and waste some more time. Yes, I wait for too many unrealistic things and it's not even funny. Lately, ...

For I have known how hard life is for each and everyone, especially in Egypt where we fight and battle to survive. For I have know how painful it feels to lose someone special. For I have known how stressed we all are, struggling to make a living out of something you might not be even interested in, but you just keep going because there's no other choice. For I have known how dark your soul is fo r being left alone or ignored by your world favourite person. For I have known how life is not being tender and is literally throwing all the loads on your wrecked shoulders. For I have known all the tough things I have mentioned, and all the tougher things I haven't mentioned since I haven't experienced so couldn't acknowledge its harshness, I am quite sure we all deserve to be a bit happy, or at least delighted. You don't have to be overly optimistic, but at least be a realist and don't break your back. It shouldn't be a Friday, a feast or the payment day to feel ...

We keep needing things in lives and never get them. We keep getting getting other things in live and stop needing them. It makes us humans, but. I have been trying to think of something to write after 'but' and nothing to be jotted down. I think it's the humans' nature of wanting things or losing interest in whatever they own? We wait. We wait for many things, knowing that we are wasting hell of time of another things, but we wait. We wait for things we know that's not going to happen and things that we know we will never be getting; so much time wasted, but we still wait. I don't get the point of waiting because to me, the only thing worth waiting is basically a flight out of this place or for angels to take me by the hands. I wait.  I'm not quite sure why we aren't so concerned about time even though it's never on our favor, but what? We wait and waste some more time. Yes, I wait for too many unrealistic things and it's not even funny. Lately,...

It has been too long since I last left my house to listen to people in the street. For more than two months, I wasn’t really interested in listening to anyone, especially after I have been through a lot of personal problems. I wasn’t feeling excited about helping anyone anymore. I usually had unhealthy thoughts ringing in my head and telling me that people don’t really deserve me. I used to tell myself that I can’t even hold my own sh*t together to hold others’. I simply spent most of my time alone, yet, I was still lost. I couldn’t find myself in locking up myself in my room. However, I loved solitary. I loved every moment of it and considered it precious. I searched for myself, but I still couldn’t find me. I can’t deny that I have found a huge part, but there was still a missing piece in my soul’s puzzle. I searched for it everywhere, but nothing. Until, at last, I decided to love out of my bubble. I did. I took the cardboard, left my locked room and roamed around the streets ag...

Who created the borders and countries? Why should a passport define me and my ability to move around earth? Why is everyone chasing resources like water, petrol and lands? Why do I have to say that I want to visit a country, not that nature's most beautiful spot? Why is it even hard to discover God's creations? Why are they making it like they have created the land's themselves? Why do I have to wait in long lines in front of an embassy and then get rejected? Why is everyone having wars with everyone for things they didn't even create on their own? Who give you the right to say that this country is a third world country or second or first? Why do us, humans, have to be that absurd and close-minded?  I want to discover every spot on this-almost-dead-planet before its dead. I want to cross every border and set my feet into every inch of this planet. I'd aim to discover space, but I am not that hopeful. I'd have loved to involve world peace in this post, but I ...

I don't know what's the thing with my generation and how shallow we are getting. I don't know who to blame, but I am surprised how they used to tell me at primary school that I shouldn't colour outside the lines, and guess what now? They want me to think out of the box. I still don't get it and the questions wouldn't let me fall asleep as my cheek touches the pillow.

In this moment, where I am writing this line, the world population count is 7,121,438,075 and it decreases and increases every millisecond of time passing by. I stopped focusing with the number and start thinking that I am one of that count, I am one of the seven billions other people struggling through life. Then I scrolled down and saw the number of deaths and I starting thinking to myself that one day, I will be one of that count as well. I found myself drifting away from all of the numbers and my head took me to self questioning. Who am I? I am one in an ocean of people. I started to think to myself, I am just a person; a tiny flesh compared to everything else, starting from humans and ending at atoms, molecules and every little thing created in wide vacuum. I, as a human, should live for self and others. I am going to admit that I, apparently, happen to not like people so much, but I am still something. I want to cross a line and leave my mark somewhere that I have decide...

Earlier this month, it was my friend’s birthday. I asked him about what he learnt during his folded year, I wanted him to tell me life taught him in three sentences or more. He summed it up in one word; Solitary. We nearly analyzed this word and talked the perks of being able to live through solitary and finding blessings within. I looked back to the moment since I crawled out of my mothers’ womb till right now. I didn’t really eye-witness the moment I was born, but I am sure I was crying like any other tiny baby during the delivery process. As babies, we are always crying, I really have no idea if it’s out of sadness, fear or pain. You can never read a baby’s brain, not even remember your own reasons when you were one. I am sure it wasn’t tears of happiness; it was cries of something far from happiness of course. The point is, we were crying. We are naturally sad. I know happiness can exist in few scenes or instants, but sadness owns the originality. I am just saying this to refr...

ساعة واقفة و قهوة باردة و كتاب صُفحه مش بتتقلب و مزيكا بتعيد نفسها و ليل و نهار مافيش فرق بينهم، و عين ماشفتش النوم، و ماضي و حاضر متخيَطين في بعض، و مستقبل مالوش وش، و افكار ملهاش مطرح و كلام مالوش غير ورق. 

A soft breeze in a hot humid day. A swirling falling feather flying over the air. A slow ocean's wave bringing cold water to my toes. A violin string and beautiful music from the other room. A blank painting that captures my attention with its mysterious nothingness. I sigh; As I let go of a long warm hug or a tender kiss, And feel it winding away my pressure, A I let my walls, safely, come down for a second, And I start letting air into my lungs once again. A little boy’s genuine smile, An old man’s tears coursing his wrinkles, A lady humming her song in the orchard, A solider seeing his son for the first time. It's every beautiful thing that's bound to make me feel lost. I sigh. A harmonica's melody; I sigh again. -RK.

يو م الخميس اللي فات، نزلت الزمالك كالعادة اني بنزل في اليوم دة، كان اجازة رسمية "عيد تحرير سيناء" ف الزملك كانت شوارعها فاضية لحدّ ما،علي عكس طبيعتها كل ايام الخميس. قررت اني اتمشي شوية باليافطة بدّل ما افضل قاعدة في مكاني اللي ماكنش قيه روح اوي لغياب عمّ مصطفي اللي بيجلس جمب فرشة جرايد و كتب. اتمشيت في شارع البرازيل و انا ماشية لمحت عامل من العُمّال اللي في محل الكاب-كيكز الشهير “Nola Cupcakes” بيدّي طفل صُغيّر من اطفال الشوارع قطعة كاب-كيك، و علي بُعد خطويتن تجلس امراة عجوز و تطلب من العامل انه يدّيها قطعة ليها هيَّ كمان. اقتربت و سالتني الست المُسّنة: "ايه دة؟؟ مكتوب ايه؟؟". ردّيت عليها و قُلتلها مكتوب: "لو عاوز تتكلم عن اي حاجة، انا هاسمعك". فردت قائلة: "هتسمعييني ازاي؟ معاكي ميكريفون؟؟" ابتسمت و قلتلها: "لا، انا باسمع الناس عشان اساعدهم، بس انا مش وعايا ميكريفون ولا بصوّر". فردت: "اه، حسنة يعني، ربنا يكرمك يا بنتي و يجعله في ميزان حساناتك". افتكرت موقف الكاب-كيك و سالتها "انتي عايزة واحدة؟" فردت عليّا...

Roaming around my room, feeling numb but moving; my legs were holding me hardly when I couldn’t hold the weight of my world. I saw a body looming in the mirror. I don’t know who that was or why it was moving unsteadily, I didn't bother. I approached the mirror and I was antagonized.  I looked closely and I saw her. A girl, in her latest years of teenage, was staring at me. Something about her caught my breath away, and I couldn't point that thing out. He face was pale, dim and bloodless. Black circles around her eyes like the seven colors of spectrum, but in black shades. Her eyes weren’t scary, but jaded kind of scary. I couldn’t know where she was looking or what she was staring at about me, but I saw my face in her eyes’ pupil. I noticed her fading green of her iris, and was haunted my image inside her pupil once again. I wanted to know what she was seeing in me, but I never knew.  I swallowed my saliva and grasped for a single breath of air. ...

Feelings; as much as we hate them, we can't make anything beautiful without them. Without their presence, there wouldn't be any writers nor artists; Art wouldn't have even existed. Feelings are those scatters of illusional nothingness. It's the world of non existence, intangible threads and invisible robes that tie\pull a person together or tear them apart.  Art is the road and  the maze, what you want to get on, and what you want to get lost within, and for that to actually happen, you must be filled with the tools aka feelings. They'll take you to places you never though you'd ever been, they'll take your mind to theories you never thought you'd ever come up to, they will make you write what you never thought you'd have the courage to say, and make you paint what you've never thought your vision could reach. Feelings tell if you are dead inside or alive. Emptiness is what most of us wish to feel, but point is that emptiness is a kind of feeling...

“Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines he wrote a poem And he called it "Chops" because that was the name of his dog And that's what it was all about And his teacher gave him an A and a gold star And his mother hung it on the kitchen door and read it to his aunts That was the year Father Tracy took all the kids to the zoo And he let them sing on the bus And his little sister was born with tiny toenails and no hair And his mother and father kissed a lot And the girl around the corner sent him a Valentine signed with a row of X's and he had to ask his father what the X's meant And his father always tucked him in bed at night And was always there to do it Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines he wrote a poem And he called it "Autumn" because that was the name of the season And that's what it was all about And his teacher gave him an A and asked him to write more clearly And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door because of it...

Some things happen without a sign or a miracle. I lost all my wars and battles, and I don't know why. I feel sad, all the time, like there is nothing that ever make me smile again although I try. I fail, and I don't know why. I am always down, being grabbed deeper below by some abstract force and I don't fight myself. I don't know how. I have lost interests in all what I have always loved and I can't go back. I can't get you, nor my old self back. I won't try because I know my inner voice will say 'I don't know'. I don't know what I am writing now or what's the point, but if you are asking; here's my answer: I don't know.  I take long walks into the dark side. I like it in a way that I have never known. I am messy, emotionally numb and confused. Don't ask, we both know that I don't know.  I watch people and sank into their moves and unspoken words. I know them all, but when it comes to me saying what I saw out loud, I just...

I find God in pain. Pain is our savior and we just deny it.  It's the sweet and bitter method of survival. It saves us from ourselves, even when we don't want to be saved.  It's where I find God the most. Many people cut, and if they feel no pain, they'd have gone so deep down their flesh and killed themselves. Pain saved them;  God is there. Pain makes you shiver and fall.  It makes you palled and relieved. God is there. Pain comes with and without fear. It can make you feel scared but safe. God is there. Emotional pain is there almost all the time,  but it's still indefinable.  Physical pain is there and we fear it although it makes us feel less numb.  Some run to it while others others run from it. Just lik believing and disbelieving,  Just faith and infidelity. God is there. You can't see it, but  You feel it; beneath your skins,  inside your spine, and around your bones,  It can...

Right now, I am lying in bed. It's a busy day and it's noisy and loud outside my room's window. Cars' horns, people coming and going, and kids playing loudly. I stared and felt tired. The view could bring one headache and unease.  I grasped for silence and inner peace while reaching to my hearing aids and decided to take them off.  The striking difference made me feel those strong goosebumps in my spine and veins.  My world. It's divine and peaceful in a way I can't describe. I knew how peace is never a simple word to describe. I knew how it's more than few actions between nations and its people. I knew Peace, the real peace that dissolved inside my inner gaps, healed my wounds and tenderly touched my scars.  In this moment, I am not hearing anything. In this moment, my world is all about silence and its non categorised levels. The good part is how it kills my inner voices and unhealthy thoughts. It's strange how the silence beats everything in my...

On my way to university, the bus passed by an Elementary public school. It was the morning line where all the young girls are veiled. I don't understand. Why do traditions steal their innocence and childhood at the very beginning of their life? I don't think their age exceed 10 years old and it's really sad. Aren't they beautiful young girls? Don't they have the rights to enjoy their hair like all  the other girls from higher classes? The funny thing is that the people need to know that it won't make their girls go the way the want? Veil is not a matter of covering your head and I am pretty sure when these young girls grow up, they won't be so convinced although it could be the time when they are obliged to wear it according to Islam's rules. I find it equally similar to Child Labour because it's unfair. It's not a matter of acknowledgement, it's an educational problem. This society needs to be educated so we get rid of many more issues aga...

I know this topic is too repetitive, but I couldn't help not writing about it. Yesterday I was in Zamalek at 3.00 pm. I saw a red-head foreigner, who seemed to be in her thirties, walking down the street uncomfortably with fast steps, and t hen I noticed two Egyptian guys walking behind her and uttering few words that I couldn't actually recognize. The woman was trying to escape from them, and even tried looking to the other people in the street, but of course nobody moved an inch. I was in the Taxi when I saw her taking a a side to pretend to be getting into the pharmacy or looking at its vitrine(display cabinet). It saddened me that she wasn't even wearing any kind of revealing clothes, even if she was, it would still be sad. It saddened me more the fact that there was nothing catchy to look for at the PHARMACY'S Vitrine, I mean, who stop to stare at what the pharmacy is displaying? She did that till the boys kept on walking as she took that side. They really walked ...

It has been a long while since I let out my inner bullshit on my blog. I haven't been writing anything about my own feelings, or I didn't try to put them in words, pour them out through my shaky fingertips pressing on the keyboard buttons, confused and bewildered. I am not sure of what I want exactly and I am not sure if I going to do anything about it. As for now, I am trying to put the letters next to each other to end up making any sense. I have to let it out. I need to. I need to runaway, and by running away, I don't mean from the place where I am sitting right now. It's not about home, it's not about land and it's not about this fucked up country. Those things are really small compared to all what I have inside my head. It usually feels like a whole new universe but without a sun or a moon. Light and dark comes in the form of emotions and feelings. The worst thing is that there's no time or clocks and it only hits me. It hits and grabs me along as I ...

The boy who cleans shoes and laughs.I came across this picture on Tumblr, and it made me smile. Normally, I reblog, like and flip to another picture, but this time, I didn’t do that. I found myself turning off the music I was listening to, and staring in silence into this little boy’s face. There’s something about it, something happy, yet far from the happy we all know. In his dilapidated undershirt, that is no longer white, and the old jeans, he sits there smiling like he is eating his favourite chocolate bar or candy. I stared and found no candies or chocolate; just a little boy and a man’s foot. His job is repetitive, boring and not fun for a boy at his age. He is not supposed to be doing this. He is supposed to be drawing, dancing or playing around with his friends. With his box of tools and restless, tiny body, he is cleaning peoples’ shoes for living. He is obliged to face feet everyday and clean the shoes of the customers, not caring that at some point it would be humiliat...