أنا لا أعلم إذا كنت على صواب أو على خطأ. أنا إنسان ضعيف، محدود البصر والبصيرة. أنا لا أرى ما يراه الأخرون ولا أريد أن أراه. أنا لا أسمع ما يسمعون ولا أعي ما يعون. أنا أدعي العقل والفصاحه وأنا أعلم أني أجهل ما يعلمه الطفل. أنا أتيه في ظلمة أحتاج فيها إلى من لا يشمت ولا يلوم ولايؤنب. إين هو هذا الذي يسمع ولايعاتب ولايعاقب ولايجادل … أين هو. ليعود الرجال إلى ملاهيهم ولتعود النساء إلى مجالسهم وليعدو الأطفال بلا هم وليكون الأموات كما كانوا أموات منسيين مع الزمن. غريب في أرض ليست أرضي.. أتكلم لغة لا أفهمها.. وأتبنى أفكارا ليست ملكي.. أزرع أرض بور ليس منها أو فيها أمل. أحرث لأزرع ولا ينبت إلا الشوك.. أقلعه وأزرع أخرى لأرويها بدم يداي ولا أحصد سوى الشوك. مجنون أنا.. أكلم الجماد وأداعب الخيال وأنتظر عودة الروح إلى الجسد… مات الجسد والفكرة تتبعه.. مات الجسد والأمل معه.. مات الجسد والفكرة والأمل… ماذا أنتظر… لقد رأيت بعيني كل الأبواب صكَت والآذان صدَت… والجموع فضت… ولم يبقى صديق إلا رحل.. ولم يبقى خليل إلا جفل.. ولم يبقى زميل إلا إنشغل أكلم نفسي عل نفسي تهديني… أشكو إليها ضعفها وسذجها.. أطلب منها أن تكون كما أقول.. ولكنها أبت إلا أن تشعرني بضعفي.. وأن تبكيني.. أبكي على نفسي وأنوح.. فلا أحد يستحق النواح بقدرها… أبكي دموع الدم وأشرب كأس الحسرة على نفسي… على عيني بكت عيني… على روحي جنت روحي… شعور قاتل عندما تستيقظ على قرع طبول الوحده.. لتجد نفسك وحيدا حتى من نفسك.. حتى نفسي هجرتني… وأنا لن أستجدي … إذهب.. فأنا لن أستجدي وجودك… إذهب .. فأنت علة لا أجد لها حلا.. أنت الا والممنوع والمستحيل والعار والجنون والمجون… أنت الخيال والأحلام واللامعقول… أنت قصة روتها لي أمي في سريري عندما كنت طفلة… وآن الأوان لكي تموت… حتى أقرب الناس لي ولفكري إضطر أن يسدد إلى وجهي صفعه لكي أستيقظ من نومي وأترك قصة أمي خلفي.. أتركها في سريري تحت غطائي… لأمضي في طريقي متجاهلة نداءات الأمل الضئيل في أن تصبح القصة حقيقة ولأعيش حاضري وألقي ما ليس ملكي.
In this life we are no more than just a number. When I was born in the hospital, I was a number to the nurses. When I went to school, I was a number to the teacher in the class. When I took my driving license, I am just a number to the police department. When I was in university I was just a number for everyone. But the worse number to be related to is age and that is why I’m writing this piece. Why would the society think of us as a product? Why would our love ones think of us as a product? Why would our families think of us as a product? Why do we think about our selves as a product? Girls/ women/ ladies/ females are all synonyms to the same problem- AGE. We are always stamped with age limits- just like a product. Was talking to my mother the other day and she said- you are 23 now and soon you will be 25- your chances in getting married will change significantly once you are 25. I was shocked to be honest- not because the information was new to me but because I couldn’t believe that although I feel so young, strong and full of life I still have to think about the days slipping away and that I should get married before I lose my youth. Oh my God- I’m 23 not 90 years old, although I feel like 90 years old now to be honest. I don’t know how men think about it- how do they look at us. Do men look carefully to the personality and the qualifications of the girl they like or do they just read a number that indicates her age. We are stuck in a stupid community that judges us on wrong bases. I have nothing to worry about now- but I will have something to worry about in just two years- tow years- freaky huh! I’m moderate in beauty- fine body and good age- that is all what people are looking at now. They are not looking at the degree I’m holding or the university that I went to (although they ask about it sometimes to barge about in front of other people if they picked me) - they do not look at the career I’m building or the personality that I acquired through the days of my life. People- in short- are terrifyingly and alarmingly superficial now a day. I’m sorry guys but please look carefully- ta7’ayaroo leno6afikom enna el 3ir8a dassas. God created all of us with the same aging system/process- we have wrong concepts in our lives that they need to change and it has to start sometime and somehow. Age is just a # people- it is just a boring number that keeps ticking in our heads reminding us that our life is in continues count down, it is a time bomb that will explode in our faces one day and the irony is that non of us- even men- know when the last day will come. Yet- men have the upper hand- funny how life treats people and how power among them is allocated in a strange way. This simple fact of age in my species- sorry to use this word but I can’t think of any better- is giving me mixed feeling- it is so confusing to be honest. I’m a strong individual but no one can live alone in this life. We all need partners at some point in time and the fact that I might cross my expiry date line in age is terrifying me to the bones. I think of it like I think of death- it is the inevitable that we can’t avoid or do anything about.
we are numbers
I'm leaving I had a very bad time at work- conflicts, fights, disagreements and I have to say I'm not the best project manager on earth- I tend to be very moody and demanding when it comes to work. But why to talk about problems and work, let’s talk about fun a little! I bought so many nice things from places that I never get tired visiting; Khan El-khalili, El-Husain, Wes6 El-Balad, Roxy...etc I was down when I left I admit that I can't live in Driving is impossible in Cairo for people who are used to lanes and traffic lights and intersections...etc you can see every possible way of commuting available in one spot; carts, cars (and in this category you can find cars from 1960's- maybe older- till 2007), bicycles, and pedestrians. You will be shocked at first- but you will get used to it with time. The traffic feature will be so funny if you are new to the country; you will be alerted all the time- setting on the edge of your seat thinking that someone will be hit by a car or some kind of a horrible accident will/should take place. Nothing happens (el 7amdolelah) and that is because Egyptian drivers re used to driving in that way. No one exceeds the 100 km/hr while driving as the roads are packed all the time. Crossing the roads is another story- you need a different license to be acknowledged as a "road crosser" :) Cars would be flowing as a stream and you should know when to cross the road; no pedestrians’ traffic lights, no zebra crossing lines- nothing of any sort can help you to cross the street but your experience and strong heart. I still enjoyed my visit. I wanted to share some of it with you all and I hope that I will be able to come back soon :D Regards, H.
Cairo Traffic
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