Lessons From Robinson Crusoe

Ever morning, in the midst of the chilling cold, I would take a comfy seat in one of the sunny corners of the house to meet with, for lack of a better word, mentor on life, Robinson Crusoe. Despite receiving this novel from a dear friend ages ago, I'd never had the opportunity to read it in one streak. I begun reading Defoe's masterpiece during my solitary state back in Charlottesville, during which I accustomed myself to the individualistic and lonesome state of a cast away. Similar to Crusoe who'd made his island his kingdom, I created a world of my own in this newfound state of mine. Despite having to cut my acquaintance with Crusoe short due to being bogged down with studies, I always kept in mind the isolationist mentality of Crusoe and the benefits it entails. Despite my reunion with my family this vacation, I realize more than ever that, albeit paradoxically, my mentality of living the cast away life holds. To a certain extent, I am the same cast away I was in Charlottesville in the sense that I find little pleasure in the petty extravagances of the materialistic and consumerist culture that has come to preoccupy people today. Instead, I enjoyed learning the A, B, Cs of life from Crusoe, whom I can attest seemed to have so much more life than many of my acquaintances in reality.

In short, Robinson Crusoe is a novel by Danial Defoe, considered to be the first English novel, of a cast away who despite all his fortunate fate decides to venture out to sea to make his own destiny despite all the unfavorable omens that present themselves. During his isolation on this Island, which is presumably in the heart of the Caribbean, Crusoe recounts on his daily undertakings in the form of a journal. Considering my endeavor to maintain a daily journal, I attempted to learn from Crusoe's style. Crusoe's accounts explores the various facets of human nature and how man can create his own civilization. The island becomes a microcosm of the world and Crusoe's philosophies become representative of the various disciplines of knowledge that stem out to cover theology, morals, economics, etc... Dufoe explores the many dimensions of the human mind and reflects it through Crusoe's accounts. It is worth noting that Dufoe was likely inspired to write this piece based on the Moorish Ibn Tufail's Hayy Ib Yaqdhan, which is also the first philosophical novel that immensely influenced European and Middle Eastern literature and philosophy. Back to Crusoe, Defoe explores the various phases of solitude and the discovery of how man's true craving for life is finding a closer relationship with "Providence."

Subsequent to reading any work, I like to write a book review so as to share my thoughts of the piece, so I thought I'd make this review public considering that I found the novel to be quite entertaining and informative.

Relativity of Happiness
Upon leaving the life he delighted in, whereby he may have stayed in the comfortable lifestyle of his country and family, but rather decided to go to sea, Crusoe reminded me of my aspirations and apprehensions of leaving what I considering to be my comfort zone for the sake of pursuing my educational goals in America. "I might as well have stayed at home and never have fatigued myself in the world as I had done," is the feeling that I sometimes have while abroad that Crusoe expresses so well. This puts me on a stream of consciousness during which I begin to regret leaving it all behind, whereby I at times feel loneliness, question the value and merit of work, and begin becoming uncertain as to what I am doing at such a distance from home. These questions arise when comparing my current state to one that enjoyed more success or bliss, and this is natural, but it is also crucial to compare my current state to one that may be more destitute and to seek the merit and opportunity in the current state. Crusoe states, "It put me upon reflecting how little repining there would be among mankind at any condition of life, if people would rather compare their condition with those that are worse in order to be thankful, than be always compare them with those which are better, to assist their murmuring and complaining." It is a matter of attitude towards the present condition that will define your level of happiness, so it is best to make the best out of it, as Crusoe resolved to do while on his island.

"It was now that I began sensibly to feel how much more happy this life I now led was, with all its miserable circumstances...and my delights were perfectly new from what they were at my first coming," is Crusoe's revelation of coming to terms with his undesirable situation. Similarly, at times of doubt in Charlottesville, I look at how far I've come as to improving my state, in terms of my intellectual transformation and newly acquired hobbies as a result of my solitude. That in times of destitute, escapism may be a justified way out, whereby reading, traveling, writing and recreation are a few of my ways to vent myself. More importantly, as Candide concludes in Voltaire's work, Crusoe also concludes that "labor and patience carried me through." Crusoe resolves, as I have sometimes come to conclude, "It was possible for me to be more happy in this forsaken solitary condition than it was probably I should ever have been in any other particular state in the world."

Faith in God
Another essential theme that increased my awareness as to the importance of having faith is that belief in God may be a means of salvation in the most dire of times. Faith is a mere reflection of what is inside one's heart. Remembrance of God is a introspective mechanism that allows one to remember his own aspirations. Crusoe is overwhelmed with his deliverance on the island that his life takes a whole new turn with his faith that his destiny lies in the hands of God and he bestows his fear and gratitude in these same hands. For in solitude and destitute, it is most comforting to rely on a supreme being that may carve the path for one. I don't mean to preach like a priest, but I think that each of us can relate, on one level or the other, to these fatalistic feelings. Also, the lesson of karma is one that is emphasized, whereby Crusoe's actions are always rewarded or punished by his present conditions, for "what goes around, comes around." This is evident in the fact that we are not only tried for our deeds in the hereafter, but also punished for his sins in this world. This is evident through the Platonic action-reaction sequence that Defoe puts Crusoe through.

It is interesting that Crusoe points out that we expect God to remember us at all times, even though we only remember Him, out of desperation, when we really need Him. This is reflected by Crusoe's first prayer, which is "Lord, be my help, for I am in great distress." Also, despite the extreme faith that Crusoe puts in God at his early stages of his stay on the island, he later experiences fear that "banished all [his] religious hope. All that former confidence in God, which was founded upon such wonderful experience as I had of His goodness, now vanished."

It is also through Crusoe's metaphysical pondering and questioning of life that he naturally discovers the existence of God. It is through asking such questions of life, such as "What is this earth and sea? Where is it produced? And what am I, and all the other creatures, where are we? Sure we are all made by some secret Power, who formed the earth and sea, the air and sky. And who is that?" questions Crusoe, and continues by stating, "Then it followed most naturally, It is God that has made it all." This discovery is followed by full submission to God's will, whereby Crusoe states that He has the sole power for Crusoe's fate and everything that happened in the world.

It is also intriguing to discover that, without us knowing it, God talks to us through signs, and even most directly through religion. Crusoe discovers a verse in the title that puts his heart and mind at ease: "Call on Me in the day of trouble, and I will deliver, and though shalt glorify Me." Religion becomes a way for Crusoe to connect to God through various rituals such as fasting, prostration, and other religious exercises. Despite Crusoe's religion is that of Christianity, his account affirms to me, more than ever, that religions are merely different ways of achieving the same goal, that is getting closer to God. Crusoe resolves that he wants nothing from life but to be able to make sense of God's goodness, care over his present condition, and be his daily consolation. These are the only requirements he has to achieve a state of benediction.

Money
Another theme that interested me tremendously was the worthlessness of money. Crusoe is in possession of gold, silver, and money but remarks that it is nasty, sorry, and useless, whereby he doesn't have the least advantage of it and it is of no use to him. It is ironic how people worship money whereby its intrinsic value is nothing. Imagine a perfect world without the disease of money, wouldn't people value life so much more then?

Society
Society is a very crucial topic when considering Crusoe's mentality. Although he craves for other humans with which to interact on the island, he is also driven into a fit of fear when realizing that others may have landed on the island. When seeing the footprint of a fellow man on the island, he imagines that the devil has landed on the island. This brings the interesting issue of our want for society versus our repulsion from it. It also draws a very existentialist viewpoint by which, as Satre claims, "Hell is other people." This drives Crusoe into paranoia, which ultimately leads him to hide in a cave for months on end without the slightest clue of the nature of his fellow man.

Morality & Judging Others
Crusoe is faced with the dilemma of executing some of the cannibals that land on his island because of their inhumane practices. Despite his superiority in weaponry, he resolves that it his not his duty to punish these savages. Although they were guilty of crimes, it as not his business nor duty to judge them, but rather he should leave it to God, for He is the ultimate and supreme judge. This brings a very interesting point in contemporary affairs whereby war is carried out by those who are convinced, by their judgment, that they must persecute others. Unfortunately some abuse the name of God in order to carry out these persecutions whereby they lack understanding that we will should only be judged by God. I am convinced that if people are given and give the prerogative to be left alone and to leave others to be left alone, this would would be a much better place.

Instinct
Crusoe remarks on how our instincts are sometimes inspired by some supernatural force to signal to us that there are certain dangers we should avoid and opportunities we should pursue. This is what you might call your gut feeling. Although it may seem logical at times to do a certain thing, certain dispositions from "Heaven" may persuade us to go against our logic for our own good. This is proof of our interaction with the supernatural world and how superstition may be explained. To be explained scientifically, this reminds me of Malcom Gladwell's Blink, which explores the power of taking decisions and thinking based on instincts and gut feelings, which I find to a modern version of Crusoe's discourse about instincts.

In conclusion, I truly grateful to she who recommended that I read this fabulous novel. Although this is a child's tale that our parents' generation would read in their schools, there are many lessons that can be drawn from this child tales. They range from very grave philosophical ideas to practical ways of leading one's life. I believe these tales are meant to instill lessons and ideas in the mind that can allow us to become more complete humane people. It is the lessons we draw from these tales that makes us who we are today. So quite frankly, I can admit that this is a book that makes me look at life in a completely new perspective.

China Rising

Since my arrival to Beijing, one pertinent issue has been boggling my mind. Upon my arrival, I entered the world's largest airport, i.e. the Beijing Capital Airport, which is a humongous dragon shaped beast. As we drove through the city on the way to the embassy, I noticed that so many skyscrapers sprung up since the last time I was here that I felt that I was in a different city. Even though the Siberian gusts of wind had dropped the weather below subzero, the city was still in motion as if we were in the mildest temperature. These mere observations showed me that China was rising, and rising with energy! I couldn't fathom that this was the same country that was plagued with poverty and radical political ideologies that led to the death of millions during The Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution.

Today, China was defining state of the art technology and Beijing was a mere example of how this country was unfolding. China may seem like it sold its soul to capitalism and consumerism, but I feel that this is an image, whereby it is merely embracing the trends that define international commerce world wide. Earlier this year, Beijing embraced the world with the 2008 Olympics. This embracing of the world will result in China drawing the world in its arms like the US has done in the past to ascend to superpower status and ultimately, it will stamp the world with its trademark, "Made in China." This will be the defining point whereby the world will witness a shift of power from Washington to Beijing.

I feel fortunate enough to be in the midst of this historical transformation. I have to admit that I am sympathetic with this nation that has lifted approximately 250 million people from below the poverty level to becoming a hub of affluence.

The Writer's Manifesto

Enclosing myself in what I have come to call my den, among the plethora of books, soothing Sufi music in the background, and tantalizing aroma of hibiscus whirling up from my tea, I write. I have begun to muse on this virus that has grasped my soul with vigor; yet, strangely, I have come to embrace its addiction. Pursuing this passion has allowed me to discover facets of this world that I once deemed unfathomable. A passion that has come to be as natural as breathing, as essential as observing, and as elating as nirvana. It is the passion of the simplistic activity of writing that I speak of.

The need to write puts me on a journey where I find myself frantically racing against time to record my thoughts before my flow has elapsed. Similar to my passion for reading, writing is a complementary activity that allows me to fully absorb, through reflection, my readings so as to fully comprehend and conceptualize the ideas of what I read. Writing, for me, transcends reason. When starting, I find myself unable to stop in my endeavor to explore every single notion that may be hidden in the depths of my mind. It is like my desire to examine every single artifact in a museum, read its description, ponder upon what use the ancients may have put it to, paint its every curve and edge in my mind's eye, and envision it in its original world and time. It is in this spirit that I examine my thoughts thoroughly and attempt to reflect them with sincerity on paper.

Every night, I rush to pen my reflects upon the events, observations, reflections, and ideas of the day. The activity of recording a mere wrinkle in time doesn't suffice in allowing me to explore my inner self. Writing allows me to introspectively divulge into issues, thoughts, and ideas that allow me to paint a world with mere ink inscriptions on paper. The plethora of stimuli that I have previously mentioned allow me to explore the deepest and darkest corners of my mind to conjure emotions and impressions, with complete spontaneity, to spill on paper. It is the nocturnal spirit of the night that brings about a flow of concentration and a mood of melancholy and loneliness that inspires me to reflect into the bottomless abyss of my imagination.

Subsequent to writing a page or two of my diary, I look down at my words to see a reflection of myself, that is my inner self. The words one writes at night mirror the observations of the world that one's eyes skimmed during the day; the words one writes on paper mirror the emotions that one experiences in the heart. Peering into the abyss of one's water well, one discovers a holistic reflection of himself. The true challenge of writing is to bring this inner self to life, viz. to allow your writing to endow you with life. It through writing that you discover your inner self and paint the world where this inner spirit runs free. Each word plants a seed that ultimately bears the fruits of the Garden of Eden, where my imagination stems up and wraps around this fictitious world like evergreen branches of ivy. Just like the vines of ivy crawl into every void of a deserted house, so does the imagination that creeps into every dimension of my mind to flood such impressions on paper.

Similar to those who find a passion in building things, as close acquaintance of mine (i.e. Omar) does, writing is an activity that witnesses words put on top of one another like building blocks to construct a masterpiece. At times, these blocks collapse altogether and I find myself tearing, crumbling, and shooting draft after draft in the bin until I discover a product that appeases my perfectionist spirit. Similar to "building things," it is not the result, be it a masterpiece or rubbish, that pleases the writer, but the struggle, the means, and the way. To carry out such a significant endeavor as to express the impressions and emotions endowed to you from a supernatural power is a feat that requires perseverance. To a very large extent, the discipline and rigor that engineering has instilled in me is what fuels this patience and steadfastness to produce the perfect work, at least that which is complete in my eyes. For isn't beauty in the eyes of the beholder?

This brings me to another point, which is that of the manifestation of one's writing in the art of literature. The novel, play, poem, etc... is a mere reflection of one's experiences. Recently, I have been reading a lot of Alaa El Aswany's works and have realized that his niche has come about from the fact that he draws upon his experiences to produce his writing. Wasn't it his clinic in the actual Yacoubian Building in Downtown Cairo that inspired his magnum opus? Or his study at the University of Illinois in Chicago that resulted in his latest novel, Chicago. Aren't the characters of his works mere manifestations of the various dimensions of the writer's complex personality? Similarly, I aim to portray writing as an outlet that reflects the internal stirrings, dilemmas, and indecisiveness that preoccupies my mind. Although I am not a novelist, or not just yet, I am to assert my viewpoints and stances in a manner that may take the form of different competing perspectives so that the most worthy contender may manifest itself in my writing as the victor.

Despite these feelings and aspirations, I worry that coming out as a writer will lead me to be shunned. It is unfortunate that being an intellectual in this age has come to be looked upon as being snobbish and arrogant. Will my dreams lead me to be alienated from others, whereby I will fail to relate to others because of our different levels of understanding? I as myself. Especially as a native of the Arab World, where the chances of success as a literary figure are slim to none, this dilemma demotivates me tremendously. It is truly saddening that my culture, which once embraced authorship as the source of its Golden Era, during which the likes of Rumi and Omar El Khayam were exalted, has come to look down upon the practice of writing and embrace backward ideologies. Prophet Mohamed was once quoted for saying, "The ink of a scholar is more valuable than the blood of a martyr." It is a true shame how we have fallen into the epoch of the modern dark ages. Despite the external constraints of becoming a writer, what intimidates me the most is my personal incompetence, viz. the fact that my work may not be worthy of others to lay their eyes upon. This turmoil leads me to feel vulnerable. It is for this reason I would never imagine of revealing these thoughts to those who expect the most from me. But here I sit revealing these emotions to those who are understanding of my intentions and share similar aspirations.

What truly inspired me to come out with these emotions of my dreams of becoming a writer was when C*, a dear friend of mine, bestowed me with advice on becoming a "good story teller." Suddenly, I was able to make the connection between my passion for books, as mentioned in my entry My Library, and my intense desire to write. It is in solitude that I have come to love life the most. Charlottesville was a blessing in disguise, where I have come to savor the experience of escaping to cafes and bookstores to read and write. It is this escapist mentality that craves for my solitude to discover different worlds that I can later divulge about. The downside to escapism, be it daydreaming, reading, or writing, is that it entails a very anti-social flavor to it. This seclusion from society is what gives the bitter taste of melancholy from losing touch with reality, but also gives the elation of being among his books and thoughts. Life's a balance and the challenge is to offset the risks, a dear friend once told me. I choose to live on the edge, to detach myself from reality, and discover the goldmines I have come to call my books.

It is with these books that I can confabulate by writing responses and reviews in my writings during which a dialogue with the writers allows me to relate with them and truly sympathize with their plight. My partners in pens are those who are both from the Orient and the West, whereby I call upon the former to vitalize my soul with the mystical works and call upon the latter to enlighten me with knowledge. Both genres of books share one similarity, i.e. they are of a classical nature. Why do I engulf myself in classics, when they are archaic and irrelevant in these modern times? It is because they speak words of authenticity from a time when knowledge was merely awakening. This is the phase of my writing. Gradually, as my writing matures, so will my taste for reading, but as of now, I aim to cover the landmark classics that have laid the groundwork for subsequent works to come about. As a finish Robinson Crusoe, a mere children's tale, I read a work that encompasses philosophies that the likes of Wordsworth, Coleridge, Rousseau, and Marx have drawn upon to revolutionize the way humankind thinks.

To augment the thoughts of my favorite writers and poets, I write my observations to capture each moment in my life as if it were a photograph. Here I sit in China, where I can pull out my diary to flip through my memories of Turkey, Egypt, or America. It is this sense that I can access the archives of my thoughts that exhilarates me and motivates me to write more and more. Page after page in my diary reminds me of blissful times that I can reference during desolate times.

The more I read, the more I learn to express the inexpressible. As I mentioned in a prior entry titled Goethe & Impressions, "impressions are what I consider to be supernaturally inspired emotions or feelings. The nature of such emotions is that they may be sensual, romantic, daunting, and any other avenue that explores the multifaceted dimensions of human nature." Only one who is adept at understanding human nature is capable to penning such impressions; in my eyes, he who can ascend to this level of understanding may rightly be crowned with the title of a writer. To speak on behalf of humankind is the true challenge, but is also the true accomplishment of the writer. Similar to the anguish of Che Guevara in his Motorcycle Diaries, coming in touch with pain, poverty, and depression of society is one way to write on behalf of those incapable of expressing their emotions. It is through his actions and philosophical writings that Che truly lived and died on behalf of the oppressed, those treated with injustice, and those with no voice to express their plight. These emotions could be extrapolated from the impoverished of the Andes to the suffering of Palestine. Since all men feel the same emotions, truthfully an accurately capturing this emotions on paper is the true obligation of the writer. It is in this spirit that we must understand that the writer cannot completely shut himself out of reality, but rather interact with society. Khalil Gibran perfectly summarizes this notion in a nutshell when stating,"The receiving and giving of pleasure is a need and ecstasy."

I conclude by circumnavigating my thoughts to return to where I started. Why do I write? I write because it is a passion, a need, and a source of delight. I write because I endeavor to voice the hopes of the hopeless. Similar to the knight of knowledge or the warrior of light who puts his sword to the service of justice, I put my pen to paper for the sake of expressing the inexpressible, for the sake of voicing the the emotions for those with no voice. For picking up the pen, I understand the burden of the writer. For "to hold a pen is to be at war" as the esteemed Voltaire would remark. I write because I love life, because I want to record every single minuscule detail about this treasure that God has bestowed us with. I write because I wish to carry on the tradition that my forerunners have so perfectly carried out. I write because I wish to give others the elation that I have experienced by reading the works of others. I write because my writing is the solace of my loneliness. I write because I am a revolutionary and, as Che puts it, the most important quality for a revolutionary to possess is love, love of humanity, of justice and truth. I write to love. I write to be loved. I write to remember my importance, my dignity, and the due respect I owe to others. I write to transcend the mundane, to get closer to the source, to God. I write because it is my passion.

Am I A Character In Chicago?

Today, I skimmed through the first couple of pages of Alaa El Aswany's Chicago after reading several synopses of the novel. I was thinking to myself how many many of the characters reminded me of someone, and all of the sudden it hit me that I could be that someone. I believe that El Aswany gives life to each and everyone of these characters and their struggle as Egyptians attending univeristy in the U.S. Each of these characters carries his or her unique persona and gives a dimension to the different personalities of Egyptians, except in a Western context. I felt as if I could identify with each of these characters on a personal level and that each of them give a single facet in a multifaceted being, i.e. myself.

The novel dwells into the many stereotypes imposed on Egyptian characters post 9/11. Having experienced America as an Arab for the majority of the years after 9/11, I can definitely relate to the experiences of these characters on a spiritual and mundane level. Aswany gives life to these characters that I feel that they are fellow students go through the same struggles I go through. At times, I feel these characters personify me, they express what I keep bottled up inside me because I feel like I cannot share some of these emotions with others.

From Chicago, I learn that I learn to seek joy in the saddest places, which is what I used to consider Charlottesville. I have learned to put aside ignorance and close-mindedness and replace them with a sense of eagerness to learn. I hope that my observations will one day pay off, as they have for Aswany through his experiences in Chicago.

Egypt's Language Revolution

I didn't mean to make the title of this entry as catchy as it might seem, but after reading a very interesting article on Gaberism.net, I was astounded to see the launching of the Egyptian Arabic (Masry) Wikipedia. Immediately, this reminded me of Ataturk's language revolution of Turkey, whereby there was a sudden transformation from Ottoman (Osmanli) to Turkish in an effort to modernize Turkey. This saw the change of Turkish from Arabic script to the Latin alphabet. Although many in the Arab world look down upon this Westernized deviation of Turkish, it wasn't totally unjustified considering that only 10% was literate, where as now the literacy rate is 90%.

Now I wouldn't say that the establishment of Wikipedia in Egyptian Arabic signals a lingual revolution, but it definitely signals the spark that might ignite one. Today, Wikipedia is one of the most prevalent tools for the dissemination of information. Considering that almost half of Egypt's population is illiterate, largely due to the fact the public's inability to grasp standardized Arabic due to the dualistic chasm that arises between spoken and written Arabic. To some extent, Masry is hardwired into the Egyptian mentality as it is the resulting culmintaion of Arabic, Coptic, Turkish, and even French and English. The illiterate masses have only access to Masry, as it constitues the lingua franca for everything from television shows to the music they hear. So would an language revolution provide a solution to the widespread illiteracy that Egypt suffers, as was the case in Turkey?

Although this topic has widely been debated in Egypt, I see it more pertinent than ever in the Information Age. There has been a push by intellectuals, such as Qasim Amin and Ahmed Lutfi el Sayed for Egyptianization of Arabic. This was a very secular and liberal movement in reaction to British colonization of Egypt and a push to define and Egyptian identity. So if transforming Egypt's official language from Arabic to Masry was the solution to find our national identity and erradicate illeteracy, what was the obstacle?

Arabic is the language of the Quran, which provides the only link for Egyptians with their religion. Moreover, by letting go of Arabic, Egypt loses its only link with the Arab world. This would lead to isolation that could be irreversible. Countries like Morroco suffer this isolation from the rest of the Arab world due to the distinctness of their dialect. Moroever, standardized Arabic is what holds Egypt united and prevents the fragmentation of Masry into various other regional dialects, such as Nubian, Sa'idi, etc...

Or... the initiation of Masry could lead to a modernization revolution throughout the whole Arab world whereby Masry could be adopted as the modern lingua franca between the Arabs due to its simplicity, which could in turn solve the illiteracy problem in other Arab countries. This is very possible due to the prevalence of Masry in many other parts of the Arab world due to the widespread and popular dissemination of Egyptian media.

Reading the article on Gaberism in Masry, I was able to read the text twice as fast as I would be able to read any classical Arabic text because it is written in the language I speak. I think that the transformation from from Arabic to Masry could immediately make any Egyptian fluent because it would expose him to what he is most familiar with, his language. Although, I find classical Arabic to be much more stylistically beautiful, I would advocate the transformation to Masry as the only pragmatic solution to eradicating illiteracy in Egypt. Wikipedia in Masry could indeed be the first step of a collaborative effort for Egyptians to post, edit, and convey information to the masses of Egypt. I think that if the Egyptians want to really bring about this lingual revolution to educate themselves, they will have to take the initiative to read, write, and modify this new collaborative platform with a voluntary spirit that defines any revolution. I personally will endeavor to refer to Wikipedia in Masry from now on as a way to profess my support and strengthen my connection with the Masry movement.

My Library

I've been reading some book reviews on Orhan Pamuk's novels for the past hour or so. While doing so, I crossed one his memoirs of how he took fancy upon literature and writing, which I find that I can definitely relate to. In a Guardian article titled The Collector, Pamuk reminisces on how he put together his own library when he was around my age. What's truly surprising was that when I finished buying a hundred or so used classics I'd been compiling on a list, the store owner mentioned to me, "Looks like you're building a library." Never had I considered that building a library would be one of the prerequisites to becoming a writer like Pamuk. Alright, I'll admit, now I'm being a bit too ambitious. But I recall that subsequent to reading Pamuk's Istanbul: Memories & The City, I was deeply moved by the conclusion whereby he found peace of mind when finding that the profession that his soul was yearning for was to become a writer. I don't think he'd calculated that he'd end up becoming a Nobel Prize winner at that point, but he merely followed his passion.

Another snippet I recall from the couple of words I exchanged with the store owner was that of all the books I purchased that day, he singled out Naguib Mahfouz's Midaq Alley and claimed that it was his favorite. I took pride in saying, "Oh Mahfouz! He's a compatriot of mine." Its not a coincidence that the likes of Pamuk and Mahfouz grew up around libraries. I too have my own story behind building my library. There is something about books and their proximity to me that makes me at ease. Where does this affinity for books stem from?

Well, if there is a main source to which I will attribute my love of books for its my father. Its quite funny how my father will rarely argue about anything but who gets to keep a book in his collection. Even though my family has relocated several times, I recall since my earliest memories that there was always a library in our house, even if just a book shelf. I recall before the family sold the old mansion in Helwan, I would always go there to play what seemed to me like an old deserted, haunted house. There, I would experience my first encounter with a plethora of books from my father's adolescence. I recall some of the first books I came across during those childhood adventures were books about the cold war and a biography of Abraham Lincoln that even though I started reading, found too tedious to complete.

It wasn't that I was given a biography of John Paul Johns, the American revolutionary naval captain, upon my departure from New Delhi that I began to take reading seriously. I recall this was the first book I completed and was so proud of myself. I marked the date of completion inside and celebrated my success...by myself. But this was a new page in my life. Since then, I have always attempted to become a prolific reader. Whether it was going to my grandmother's house across the street in Maadi to browse through the collections of my father's books, where I came across an-almost-complete collection of the Britannica Encyclopedia, travel guides, spiritual and religious books, and every possible genre of books you can imagine. It all seemed to fascinate me. I recall that it was also one of our recreational pastimes to go to the Barnes & Noble near our house in New York City.

Having a father around makes it easy to have access to books, I assume, so when I came to college, I always felt that there was a void that needed to be filled. It wasn't until the beginning of this semester that I realized that was missing was a good collection of books. I have always compiled lists of books that I was keen on purchasing. Whether on random sticky notes, journal pages, emails to myself, I have had such a scattered array of lists of books that I'd intended to purchase. Once, while walking Downtown, I walked into one of the used bookstores, a favorite pastime of mine, and for some strange reason, I found almost all of the books I'd been listing for ages on the same bookshelf ahead of me. To be frank, it seemed quite surreal to me, almost a sign that I needed to scoop them all at once. Considering that they were all used, I found some for a buck a piece. I couldn't resist and scooped up about a hundred books that day.

Obviously I haven't gotten to a fraction of the books this semester, but every time I pass my new friends on the way out of my room, I say to them, Oh what pleasure I well get from devouring each and everyone of you. I've mostly gotten to short stories and poems because that is all my time allows. I've also taking a particular liking for the classical works of the Romanticist movement, i.e. the poetry of Wordsworth, Coleridge, Voltaire and some of the more traditional, oriental works of Omar El Khayem and Jalaludin Rumi. What I value most about this mini-library of mine is the diversity it cultivates. I want to learn everything there is to be leaned, and the more I learn, the more I find out that there is so much more to be learned. Interesting, huh? So I try to diversify my collection to encompass everything from Shakespeare to Lenin, with the focus of having a romantic touch to all the works I collect.

Its interesting, because at one point, book buying becomes an addition and you realize that it will almost be impossible to get to all those books before life's over, but there's something special about bringing back a book home. I feel as its adopting a child that you will actually give care to someday. When my eyes survey the expanse of books that in bookstores, each title pops out at me and contemplate for a second or two what discoveries I could make if I take a minute to leaf from cover to cover, but I know that would lead me to spend days in the bookstores.

What worries me at times though is that these books make me feel a sense of detatchment from reality. Why am I so obsessed with the past? How can my passion to learn about irrelavent emotional and artistic movements help me in any way in becoming a successful engineering student or a better Egyptian citizen who could be of actual use for my country? Is this quest and passion for learning futile then? Sure, these books may fuel the fire that aids me in writing this entry, in expressing my emotions, but how can I ever put this knowledge to practical use that will allow me to achieve my idealist aspirations of "making a difference in the world"? A contrast to springs to mind is that of two great philosophers: Che and Sartre. The former "lived his words and spoke his actions" as the latter would put it, while the latter only philosophized but never actually did anything. I strive to identify with the former, but how?

I think that it is natural, and even healthy to be in such a dilemma at this point in life. I know that as my library grows, so will I and my understanding of the mysteries of life, so what's the rush, I've still got shelves of book to read help me do so.

To my relief...Syria's booming art scene

Just as I was about to end my blogging session of the day, I stumbled upon some inspiration that gave me hope after my disgruntled mood, as manifest in my last post. So maybe the art scene in the Arab World isn't so bleak after all. While consuming my daily news feed on BBC's website, I caught a glimpse of a refreshing article in the midst of the the dismal headlines that flood the BBC's Middle East page. Never would I have imagined to view an article, or rather a slide show, on the art scene in a country one hears so little about in Western media, i.e. Syria.

Syria is honestly one of the places I have been simply yearning to see. Of the two Arab countries that top my list of places to see, Syria and Morocco, the Eastern and Western endpoints of the Middle East. Despite hearing that Syria is much more conservative than Egypt, I know that I feel like Syrians are very intellectual and sophisticated after exchanging some conversations with the professors here. Moreover, unlike Egypt, I feel like Syria is a pearl that hasn't suffered the same negative repercussions of الانفتاح that Egypt has witnessed after the 1980s. To some extent, I consider Syria as an untouched pearl that has some of the age-old traditions of the Arab world. Anyways, that's just the impression I get from this exotic land of the far east of the Arab World.

Of all the Arab countries, it seems that Syria art scenes is booming beyond imagination despite the limitations on freedom of expression. Not surprisingly, the art scene is driven by Syria's bohemian subculture that congregates of landmark cafes in Damascus. I can almost picture them as shabbier versions of Naguib Mahfouz's Cafe in Khan El Khali, where I absolutely loved going especially for their delicious Omm Ali. What intrigues when reading about the clandestine Cafe meetings is that it is an expression of classical and modern Arabic art, be it poetry or music, whereby the Arab world's art renaissance will come about.

What is unfortunate though is that these artists are forced underground. I was especially endeared after viewing a slideshow of renown Syrian artist Hala Faisal, which is a mere specimen of the conditions that Arab artists have to endure. Its saddening to witness how dire the conditions under which these artists live in. It is almost a deja vu of tragic stories associated with some of history's prominent artists, such as Van Gogh and Matisse, whom we don't give recognition until after their deaths. I just wish that we would appreciate the talent that we have before its too late...

Click on the link to view more works of Hala Faisal's galleries.

A Critique Of Modern Arabic Literature

"Art is one instinct of our nature."-Aristotle

Why is our modern literature plagued with satire, criticism, objectivity, and melancholy? That is the question that preoccupied for the past three hours, as I sat my Arabic Fiction final. As my eyes skimmed the works of سعد اللة ونوس، هالة سرحان، غادة السمان، كليوت الخولي, I couldn't help but think to myself that Arabic literature truly mirrors the bottled-up expressions of the Arab people.

In our part of the world, "art for the sake of art" is a notion of complete absurdity. Art, for us, must voice the resentment for the status quo; otherwise, it is rubbish. In my eyes, it defies logic for art to be logical, as ironic as that sounds. Art should be an expression of, or rather sublimation of, the artist's imagination, purely appreciated out of its historical value. Unfortunately, I there to be a void when it comes to this in the Arab world. For us, Art is a tool that serves as propaganda by the government, criticism by the intellectual, or a mere distraction for the masses though mind numbing pop music and soap operas.

This all started with the initiation of الحركة الفنية الملتزمة where art for the sake of art, or for the sake of creativity, romanticism, and impressionism was looked down upon at a time when the State needed to mobilize the nation to recover from النكسة. This saw the likes of Umm Kalthoum, Abdel Halim Hafez, Abdel Wahab, and others divert their attention from singing of the romanticist time period of the Arab World to that of nationalist populism. Unfortunately, individualist spirit that inspired the births of some of the most ingenious art movements, such as Cubism, Surrealism, and Expressionism in the West, was regarded as being apathetic since they failed to sacrifice for the sake of the national struggle. Instead of becoming an outlet for artists to project their natural artistic tendencies, art had to have a meaning.

I might have this impression due to the academic milieu in which this class was set, but even from my readings outside of the class, such as Alaa Al Aswany's Yacoubian Building, that has become world renown, the success that seems to stem from his work is his criticism and bleek depiction of Egypt's society. Would he have enjoyed such success if he had focused on the merits of Egyptian society? Are there even any merits to the Egyptian society that an artists eye to produce a masterpiece from?

To conclude, I am going to go on a tangent, but who deems whether art is popular? Isn't it Western critics? Why have the critical works of Middle Eastern society, such as Orhan Pamuk and Naguib Mahfouz (with all due respect to these eminent writers), reaped Western recognition and the ultimate medal of honor of Western civilization the Nobel Prize? Isn't it because of their appeal to the Western audience of perpetuating the image that the Middle East is in a state of social decadence?

This may be a very pessimistic outlook, and I truly hope that I am wrong on every point I make, but it just seems to me that art fails to serve its true purpose in the Arab world, and that is to abstract the humanistic sentiments, instincts, and imagination from social objectives, propaganda, and entertainment.

It is in this spirit that one can understand Aristotle's philosophy that Art is not only a sixth sense, but a necessity, just as natural as breathing, to ensure human survival.

Augmentation:

I just found this quote by Orhan Pamuk that described Turkey's literary/artistic scene of the past that is representative of the state in which Arabic Literature is still stranded:

"There was little interest in the problem of the individual creative writer who drew from history and tradition, or who went in search of the literary form that best accommodated his voice. Instead, literature was allied to the future: its job was to work hand in hand with the state to build a happy and harmonious society."

Cairo College Life in 1957

For some reason, I adore black and white photographs. Maybe its just the old timer in me who craves anything vintage, but more specifically, I think it is the feeling in me that yearns to have been born in a different, more romantic time period. I like to see how older generations at my age would dress and behave. I like to imagine what it would be like if I lived among them.

I was blog surfing today when I stumbled upon a priceless collection of vintage black and white photo series on a fellow blogger's page, The Egyptian Chronicles. I just spent hours listening to Umm Kalthoum and browsing through photos of Cairo, King Farouk, and Nasser. This is the first comprehensive collection of photographs that trace Egypt's history in black and white. But what struck me out of the collection was bunch of photos students at the American University in Cairo. I studied for one semester at the AUC in the summer of 2007 and enjoyed it tremendously. I would have to go to the extent of saying that it was the highlight of my college career thus far.Honestly, I could spend days just swaying my head to Umm Kalthoum or Abdel Halim Hafez's music and flipping through these photos as if they were a reminder of my past generation. Anyways, I hope you can enjoy the couple I've posted here and those on the Egyptian Chronicles page. Here, I just post the ones that truly intrigued me about college life in Egypt back then.

My Aspirations: Economic Development

I took my Economic Development class's final exam earlier this week, and now that I look at it, I lament that the semester has concluded. Of any of the classes I had taken at this university, this was by far the most fruitful and applicable to my aspirations in life. This was a class that truly covered such a wide array of topics that I feel equipped to go out and solve the world's predicaments...believe me, that's only fraction of the idealist zeal in me.

While taking the final exam for that class, I thought I was a member of Egypt's technocratic, neo-liberal economic cabinet drafting solutions to tackle corruption, poverty, and the various other problems that developing countries like Egypt face. This was truly a class in which every lecture awed me. I felt that my mind was being stretched beyond imagination, where, for once, I felt knowledge convert to insight. This class truly brought me to the realization that it is a true shame that 1/6th of the world's inhabitants lives in extreme poverty and that one must be the change they want to see in the world, as Gandhi would put it. Hopefully this class will only serve as a stepping stone for my career aspirations to become an asset for my country and the developing world.

It all began after attending a lecture given by Nobel Laureate Robert Solow here at the University of Virginia. I recall Solow walking past me when entering the room at Newcomb Hall. I was amazed that I was seeing a role model before my eyes. I recall his lecture divulged into the complexities of labor and its supply in the Solow Growth Model, but to be quite frank, I was almost clueless about what he was discussing during that lecture.
I never would have imagined that Solow's model would be the core theory of economic growth in the Economic Development class I have just taken. The fact that I had seen Solow before my own eyes was a tremendous motivator to grasp the concepts behind his proposed model that have revolutionized how policymakers finetune their economies nowadays. What I truly appreciate about the model is that it bridges the gap between my two major fields of study, i.e. economics and engineering by factoring in the indispensable variable of technology to account for output growth per worker. Empirically, this model predicts that 4/5 of growth per worker in the US is due to technical progress. I am an ardent believe that only through technilogical innovation can a country "catch up." Solow currently is a professor at MIT, my dream institution for continuing my economics studies and where some of Egypt's brightest economists, such as Egypt's Minister of Finance Boutrous Ghali, earned their PhD degrees.

It is only after earning my education will I strive to attain a position in a multinational institution, such as the World Bank or IMF so as to attain the foremost experience that international economics has to offer. Ultimately, I hope to bring this wealth of knowledge back to Egypt. I am a firm believer that import of knowledge and technology are the core mechanisms to advance a country's economic standing. My dream is to someday speak at one of the World Economic Forum conferences, which in my eyes represent the forefront of global policy making.

These are all dreams of course, but I believe that it is only when you dream big and aim for the moon that you may land amongst the stars. It is the little things in life, such as merely seeing a personage, such as Sollow, or taking a college class that an inspire you to change the world, at least I believe.

Travel & Expectation

"If our lives are dominated by a search for happiness, then perhaps few activities reveal as much about the dynamics of this quest-in all its ardor and paradoxes-than our travels"
-Alain de Botton
As promised to a very special friend who is currently traveling, I will reflect upon experiences traveling as a prelude China excursion this winter. I've always used my diary as a travel log, but for once, I'm going to experiment with travel blogging to track my experiences, feelings, and stream of consciousness when traveling.

I won't go so far as to dub myself a globe-trotter, but I can testify that I've seen a fair share of this world since my youth to say a thing or two about the experiences entailed with traveling. As a child, traveling was a nuisance, being pulled from one corner of the world to the other without my consent, but today, it has become a passion that I yearn for as I sit in my desolate room. I miss the excitement, the anxiety, the joy, and the stress of it all. Although I sit for long hours in my room with the dim light on, I am actually traveling beyond your wildest imagination. My mind takes me from Fiji to Switzerland in a matter of seconds. In lieu of the nomadic lifestyle I once led, I have resorted to books as the cure to my longing to see the world. Whether it's Flaubert's oriental description of the Nile crocodiles, Wordsworth's poetry of the Alps' grandiose scenery, or diary entries about Che's cruises on the Mambo Tango down the Amazon, I devour these experiences with a spirit that makes me hungry to get out there and make my trails in the world.

As a sit in this box I have come to call my world, with Henry Mancini playing smooth jazz as the rain drips outside, all I can do is expect...i.e. expect the next time the wind will blow me off my feet to another continent. From my experiences, this is the first step of travel: expectation. As the dull gray clouds paint the sky, I reminisce on the exotic sunny days of Hainan where all there was to worry about was who would get to the beach volleyball court first. Hainan is the ideal retreat for the mind, soul, and body.
When I reminisce about my stay in Hainan, the subtropical island in the south of China, I conjure images of palm trees on a bright sandy beach set against a magnificent background of misty hills, where coconut juice is the traditional thirst quencher, and the only form of commerce is the sale of peals and sea shells. And the best thing about this jewel was that it was undiscovered by the irksome tourists that seem to infest every natural beauty that exists on this plant. Now don't get me wrong, I am a tourist myself, but I try to avoid being one... I endeavor to experience life as the locals live it. Anyways, before I go on farfetched tangent, let me return to the subject at hand: expectation. When reading about the great voyages of Captain Cook, Ibn Battuta, or even the fictional Robinson Crusue, many expectation to travel is set in motion.
An intriguing conclusion I have come to subsequent to my readings of travel literature in my expectation to actually travel is that there is a stark difference between the imagination and reality that travel entails. Thus far, I have painted a positive image on travel based on my experiences and readings, but to reveal the other side of the story behind expectation may be rather cumbersome. There is the pessimist's view that travel may be an incessant nuisance. The stress of packing, long hours of flying, tedious waits at transit airport terminals, different time zones, jet lag, etc...why bother, when one can stay in one's comfort zone. Moreover, the disappointment of reaching the destination and finding it below one's expectations can all take the toll of detest for travel. In my eye's its a matter of attitude. You make the best of what you've got. I was once told by a foreigner in Egypt that you can paint Cairo with the colors of clamor and chaos or with the colors of beauty and serenity. You are the painter and the strokes of the brush are up to you. The dark side to expectation is that the imagination that it encompasses may deceive the prospective traveler.
Unlike in literature, where travel is fed to you, it is your duty to proactively experience travel. It is easy to experience travel in art, music, and literature because the best elements of the experience are presented to you. Expectation only sheds light on the highlights of travel and omits the boredom. Some may argue that "imagination could provide a more than adequate substitute for the vulgar reality of actual experience," as Des Esseintes discerns, yet I have always resolved that those who have not traveled have not lived life.

Art Gallerying

Although I should be studying for exams, I am going to take this blogging break to reflect upon one of the most enjoyable activities I've taken part in since coming to Charlottesville. Aparently Charlottesville has a very eclectic art scene that I had no idea existed. I know of UVa's lousy art museum, but that didn't cut it for me. The only thing I found remotely appealing the only time I went to the museum was this Aphrodite-like statue:
I was craving something more profound, something more reflective of Charlottesville that gave it its own taste of art. Luckily, I have two friends who attend the Art school. Serina is a art printing major and Denise is a photography major. They nonchalantly invited me to tag along on as they went art gallerying last Friday. I was reluctant to go considering that I have final exams, but I promised them I'd go, and I'll never regret coming. Apparently, art gallerying is a Charlottesville tradition whereby all of the city's galleries put up their new art work on the first Friday of each month. I had run into a couple of hole-in-the-wall art galleries but would have never fathomed of hopping from one gallery to another until I would see all of these galleries in one round! Luckily Serina and Denise were there to be my tour guides. We first went to a holiday party at the art school, which was packed with the artsiest people I've seen on university grounds yet. The art school is structure of magnificence in and of itself:
All this art was such a breather for someone who is used to living the rigid life of an engineering student. Serina then showed me everything from how to make paper, the print pressing process, the photography dark room, and actual painters who were working on some of the most amazing works I'd seen yet. After nibbling on a few snacks, we hopped on the trolley to the downtown mall, where we viewed one of their professor's galleries that was on display. The work was magnificent as you can see below:We then went from gallery to gallery downtown. We stopped by the Mudhouse, which is my regular stop when I'm down at the Mall and realized that there was a new photography exhibitions. One of the galleries even had a mini-jazz band performing to entertain the art viewers:
What truly fascinated me about all this new art was that it all had a message, that it all showed the artists' perception of the world, it expressed those emotions that one can only transmit through art, those impressions that Goethe can only express through literature. In this case, art captured a moment in time and allowed the viewer to infer it as he wished based on his own experiences. I was amazed at how art artists could be so passionate about what they do, the extent to which they could become so hysterically eccentric about their works. It hit me that art was a reflection of their life.
For someone who comes from a very technical background like myself, it was difficult to fully absorb the essence of the art we were viewing in these galleries, but I was gradually learning to appreciate the art. It really captured my imagination. For example there was a painting to an island that led me to drift into thoughts of myself sailing to distant exotic lands, where the climate is tropical, but then I was brought back to reality when seeing that it was freezing outside. We then went into a very unique gallery of a friend of Serina's. This gallery was merely a garage with jars in it. Each of these jars possessed a object that was collected from different parts of campus and hung up over a map of the university corresponding to where each of these objects were found:
I thought it was a pretty subtle idea. That's what it is...the idea behind art is what makes it Van Gogh quality or rubbish. The longer I was exposing myself to this art, the more I felt it sink into me... I was beginning to appreciate and live art.

We then ended the night at some Chinese dumpling place where we discussed the two worlds we come from, I from one that looks rather dull, grey, and systematic, and they from one that is vibrant, dynamic, and vivid. The grass is always greener on the other side I remind myself, but I am glad that I can include art gallerying to another one of my escapist hobbies.

On the Greek Riots

On the topic of revolution, I was awed by the recent clashes between the Greek students and government. Why have a been following this contemporary event. Sure it has the revolutionary fervor that I admire, but more importantly, it is a display of how people can determine their destiny by taking matters into their own hands. I am convinced that students, i.e. the future generation and holders of knowledge, are the ones that can bring about change in any country. We have seen this before with the Iranian Revolution where students were the main drivers of change and with the Parisian uprisings of 1968 where anti-governmental proponents of change influenced change in the system. These revolts weren't mere hooligan mutinies, but rather backed by profound philosophies, where the philosophers themselves took to the street as was the case with Jean Paul Sartre in Paris. So why is when one student is is killed in Greece that all his peers take to the street? Why doesn't this take place in Egypt, for example, where police brutality has become a norm. I have come to question whether some people are innately apathetic and others are born to be revolutionaries? I have to conclude that I have come to admire the romantic revolutionary zeal of the Greek students, which still give hope to any revolutionary out there who seeks to bring change against the established order.

Istanbul Of Egypt

Ever since my first visit to Istanbul, I have always wondered how a city that bridges the East and West could be so magnificent. I don't think that it is cliche to consider Istanbul to be the best of both worlds. No wonder why it is the only cosmopolitan city that connects two continents. Obviously Istanbul's model is historically unprecedented and based on very historical interactions between Greek, Roman, Byzantine, and Ottoman heritages. 

But while looking out of my family's balcony at the Asia and Europe, I wondered to myself, wouldn't it be possible to emulate such a model in Egypt? My initial feeling was that I wanted to bring such a beautiful sight to Egypt. Cairo another major city in the Middle East that shares many of the same roots as Istanbul, but its location limits its prestige. I wondered to myself why Egypt doesn't possess a city of such grandeur as Istanbul that connects its two continents: Africa and Asia. More significantly, I think that such a city would be protege of Istanbul because it provides the main water transportation between Europe and Asia, being the nautical connector between the East and West. Wouldn't such a city usher an era of cultural exchanges of civilizations between Afro-Asian heritages as Istanbul has done with the East and West?
It is imperative to understand that such a city that would connect Asia to Africa would be a modern version of Istanbul considering that the Bosphorus has existed since the dawn of civilization whereas the Suez Canal is only a century old. Although the Suez didn't exist back in the day, Egypt has always connected Asia and Africa through the Nile. The Greeks, Persians, and Romans have always sought a connection between the Mediterranean and Asia. Evidence of this is the Darius Inscription:
"Saith King Darius: I am a Persian. Setting out from Persia, I conquered Egypt. I ordered this canal dug from the river called the Nile that flows in Egypt, to the sea that begins in Persia. When the canal had been dug as I ordered, ships went from Egypt through this canal to Persia, even as I intended."

I envision that if the cities on the Suez, such as Port Said, Ismailia, and Suez are heavily invested, in, they can form a metropolis that would define the premier real estate of Egypt. More than the Bosphorus, the Suez Canal is the most important geopolitical waterway in the world. I am sure that real estate on this piece of land that connects the Mediterranean to the Red Sea and Africa to Asia would have the potential to prosper in magnificence as Istanbul. This is not to mention that this city would only be one hour away from Africa's largest city, Cairo, and from some of the most beautiful natural scenery in the world in Sinai. 

What is extremely interesting is that I feel the fate of the developing a city on the Suez that is as cosmopolitan as Istanbul is inherently inevitable. Historically, Istanbul and the Suez share the tied history considering that the Constantinople Convention of the Suez Canal is what governs the commerce and politics of the world's most travelled waterway. Just as the history of Istanbul and the Suez are tied to one another, so will their future, I believe.

"If I had not been an Egyptian, I would have wished to become one"

Working on Arabic homework as the clock struck 5:30am, Yasmine and I had a discussion which had me thinking the whole day. The play we were reading was about the Palestinian struggle, Arab nationalism, and Zionist imperialism. We lamented how in a class titled Modern Arabic Fiction, the concurrent themes of all the works we'd read were regarding the melancholy of the Arab World. I inquired, why is the case not "art for the sake of art" as in the West, why must our works be a stark reflection of our dire state of affairs, why can't we sublimate the frustration of being Arab into forms of bliss? In class, our professor explained that such sublimation was looked down upon. How could a people celebrate their rich heritage and history when they are oppressed by the governments and see their fellow brothers suffering everyday. Realism was emphasized in art and any deviation was looked down upon. The question of art and its reflection of reality is a very dense topic that I shall discuss at a later stage, but I wish to divulge into what the had been circulating in my head the whole day. 

I have lived in the U.S. more than I have lived in Egypt and have always thought of myself as an Arab simply because that is how I am perceived in the U.S. Despite this being the case, Yasemine brings up a very interesting point. In Egypt, we are never considered "Arab", but rather merely Egyptian. Interestingly, we tend to look at an Arab as being someone from the Gulf. This is interesting because in Turkey, I never referred to myself as Arab but rather as an Egyptian and so did the Turks. They saw a stark difference between Egyptians because of the rich monarchic Ottoman history we share with them and those from the Gulf whom the only exposure the Turks have of them is seeing them in large flocks roaming malls in Istanbul. What about those from El-Sham (i.e. Lebanon, Syria, etc...), well they don't really consider themselves Arab to the extent as the Gulf. I've even met some Lebanese who consider themselves Phoenician. 

In a word, the conclusion we came to was that we tend to consider ourselves Arab, or are rather depicted as Arabs, in the U.S. whereas we are consider ourselves primarily Egyptian in Egypt, because we are a minority here in the U.S. Now this is not to rule out that an Egyptian is not an Arab. I have met some Egyptians who completely rule out being Arab whereas others embrace it wholeheartedly. I tend to lie in between. Being Arab is a very diverse identity, but being Egyptian is one that is more diverse. At Roberto's house, Osama, Ramy, and I were discussing with a Nubian the definition of an Egyptian, and it struck me that there is no single definition. We are highly exposed to Mediterranean culture, are stranded between Africa and Asia, our religions vary from Islam to Coptic Christianity, and we speak Egyptian Arabic, and our skin color varies from black to white and every thing in between. We are most renown for our Ancient civilization, yet all around us are traces of the Greco-Roman, Arab, and Ottoman heritage. 

Where does this put us as a people? It seems like we are a nucleus of diversity in the world. So why is it that Egyptians that come to the States are considered Arab? Well, it is because we are such a minority that the only proximity with any remotely close culture is that with our fellow Arabs, because there is so few of us here. A study reveals that "Egyptians have a reputation of preferring their own soil. Few leave except to study or travel; and they always return... Egyptians do not emigrate. Most of all, they have a sense of all-encompassing familiarity at home and a sense of alienation when abroad." This exactly explains how I and many other Egyptian students feel here. 

The issue to travel brings an interesting point, which is that Egyptians are always longing to reunite with their motherland; this was something I have observed with every compatriot I have met. Although we embrace the rich culture of The Arab World, I have come to realize that it is only one of our many identity traits. The realization I made was that an Egyptian is a diverse and rich culmination of various other identities, including Arab, Mediterranean, Roman, Greek, Turkish. Only when we embrace, harmonize, and orchestrate these identities can we truly realize what it means to be an Egyptian.

Revolutionary Art Galleries

Several days have gone by and I regret not writing. Here I sit in Roberto's crib as I await my ride back to university. Thinking about what to write, I am seriously awed by the revolutionary art work that is up on the walls around me. What I really like about this trendy artwork is that it has a story behind it. It reminds me of Banksy's artwork, which advocates against violence and injustice. What I also really like how it is quite satirical of society. Its a mix of revolutionary communist propaganda. What's also really amazing about this stuff is that much of it has an oriental twist to it. Check the artwork at The Giant and Obey's website.

This is obviously very underground art work, but what's interesting is that this communist style propaganda is that it came back during this presidential election. Some might take it as a scary cult like Obama propaganda that emulates the kind of propaganda of Maoism, but its actually really influential artwork that depicts Obama as a visionary, idealist, and whatnot... Anyways, below is a photo I took at the Obama Campaign Office downtown. Even though the election is over, it still hangs high.

Egypt in a Microcosm: Wust El Balad

My previous post inspired me to include one last post for the day. This is about the underground band that I previously mention. They give a new meaning to music in Egypt, one that truly reflects Egypt's clamorous and chaotic environment that I so dearly love. They are truly revolutionary when it comes to giving Egypt a new beat that it can dance to. They are artsy, original, and sophisticated. What I love most about their music video is that it takes place in the heart of Cairo, Wust El Balad. Scenes of Midan Tahrir and Masr El-Gedida remind of when I would stroll around aimlessly with Amr and Mark in the heat of Egypt's sun. Oh how I miss it all!

This music video is such a relief from the all-the-same-sounding arabic pop music that is so detached from reality and filmed abroad with foreign girls that doesn't represent Egypt at all. This music video talks of everyone in Egypt, from the garbage collector to the intellectual. This is the true Egypt and reminds me of Naguib Mahfouz's Midaq Alley, which is truly representative of Egypt in a nutshell.

Enjoy the true heart beat of Egypt through Wust El Balad's music!

Guevara Graces Egypt With Her Presence

Never would I have imagined that the legacy of Che Guevara would survive with such flare to this day, and especially in my homeland. Approximately one week ago, Alieda Guevara, the oldest of Che Guevara's daughters and revolutionary internationalist was received with much rave in Egypt. This wide media coverage is unprecedented for a Latin American.

What was the hype all about? Well, as trivial as this might seem, it was a mere expression of gratitude from the Egyptian masses to the legacy that Che had left to all those struggling in the Third World. Alieda follows in the footsteps of her father, who would frequently convene with Egypt's foremost revolutionary, Nasser, to conspire against imperialism. The fraternal relationship between these two revolutionaries still defines Egypt's unique reverence for Cuba's revolutionary struggle against imperialism that Che's legacy spearheads to this day. Egypt had been a revolutionary hub at the time, and its importance is marked by Che's visit to Cairo the same year as the triumph of the Cuban revolution.Alieda's visit to Egypt ends today, but her visit means something special to me. It was her words that I first laid my eyes upon when first discovering who this Che Guevara was. Curious, I purchased a copy of The Motorcycle Diaries on my way to China, knowing that my father was is also an admirer of Che. The first words I read about Che Guevara came from her pen. During my read of the preface of The Motorcycle Diaries, I was mesmerized by how she had shed light on the exemplary model Che had set for revolutionaries out there.

Although I may be a lone star in my reverence of Che, at least I know that back home I can share this revolutionary frevor with others of my generation. Che is still widely celebrated today in Egypt. The above video is one of my favorite Egyptian bands called Wust El-Balad, which means downtown or middle of the country because they are in touch with the social conditions of Egypt's masses. They are especially talented because they improvise all of their music. They usually perform in Sa2yet El Sawi, which is this really neat concert venue under a bridge in the heart of Cairo. I have been to this venue twice before, but have never had the opportunity to enjoy Wust El-Balad live. Above is honestly one of my favorite tunes; its a upbeat elegy to Che Guevara and how his legendary spirit continues to inspire.

Its always pleasures me to have an event occur that shows me that the solidarity of between the struggling people of the Middle East and Latin America and how Che Guevara's mere image is what could keep that fire burning.

مزاج رومانسي

اليلة، شهدت فلم يوم من عمري بسبب عدم النوم.
شعرت بالحنين لايام مصر عندما كنت دامان اشاهد افلام ابيد و اسود في منزل جدتي.
علاوة علي ذلك ، اغاني عبد الحليم تذكرني بايام مصر الرومانسية الفتتني و لكن هذه الافلام تعيشني فزمن عميق اعشر ان ولدت في و لكني مرحل في زمن اخر.
احب مشاهدة هذة الافلام قبل النوم لاني داما اريد ان احلم عن هذة الايام و اهرب من الواقع. الان انا نعسان و النوم و امزاج الرومانسي احتلني.
ساوداعق الان.
و لكن ساتركك بصوت عبد الحلويم الجمعيل

Solace

Another sleepless night.
Despite a weary body, the mind remains racy.
Antsy, it is struck with raging frenzy.
Why?

Poe's poetry from the bookshelf remedies the unease.
Seeking inspiration, I flip to Spirits of the Dead.
Ironically, the despondency comforts me.
I'm not a loner in my emotions.

The chilly breeze refreshes my senses, sharpens them,
As I commence reflection upon the befallen misfortune
That only my brother can relate to.
I shall not divulge into matters whose sole guardian is the heart.

But let this be a stark reminder that in times of solitude,
Your soul shall not be alone if you can fill the void with another.
Silence is gold. Embrace it in solitude.
Revive his spirit. Embrace his presence.

The fire of my restless subsides
As melancholy yields to the bliss of memories.
Hitherto, melancholy has intensely clung itself to me.
As I console thee, solace trickles into my heart.

Images of Prince in fields of gold.
Divine winds ventilate the heavens.
Radiant as ever is your soul.
Grandeur, loyalty, and valor define your posture.

I am a mere emissary of light.
My sole vocation is to provide you with consolation.
Yet, the key to true serenity is in thou heart.
Cease looking for him. He is in your heart all along.

Dreaming of Istanbul

Just about to head to bed, I couldn't help but write one last entry for the day. The entry isn't about the day, but what I am to expect as I drift away in my sleep. Lately, I've been dreaming a lot more about Istanbul and the only symptom that I could attribute to this tendency is nostalgia. Every night before I go to sleep, I stare for a couple of minutes at the collage of vintage postcards of Istanbul I have on my wall before my eye lids become heavy and I doze off. What's truly bewildering though is that I dream of passages from my Istanbul diaries, where the words jump out and replay the memories that enriched my memories of Istanbul. What's more, I hear them calling out to me to return to the jewel of the Ottoman Empire. Nowadays, I seldom write in my diary because my days are monotonous, but in my dreams, I hear the words of my diary whine like little children needing attention. They call for me to finish writing their story, or rather my complete my Istanbul memories. They miss the days when I would frantically strive to record every valuable memory so that it wouldn't slip away. More than ever, I have been revisiting a short entry that I wrote during my last night in Istanbul:

"Never have I been so enchanted, so hypnotized by a city's charm before..."

Actually, I realize that I am unable to continue... There are some memories of Istanbul that are too sacred to and too personal to expose. Maybe I'll have the opportunity to disclose them when I reunite with my beloved city...
Goodnight.