Reflections on a recent trip to Beirut

In an attempt to keep my promise of writing for half an hour every week, this blog entry for the week. I guess one of the things that has kept me from writing regularly lately is the feeling that nothing particularly special has been happening in my life. However, as my brother would tell me: everything depends on your perspective, i.e. how you look at it. As I recall the events of the past couple of days, I actually realize that my “ordinary” working week is actually quite extraordinary for any normal person. Yesterday I was in Beirut, today I am in Cairo, and tomorrow I am off to Jeddah. Now while this may seem ordinary for a consultant like myself who is always on the move, I have met some people who have never left their country, let alone their city.

I believe this extensive travel is become to seem more and more ordinary simply because the world we live in is becoming more and more interconnected and globalized. While it may seem hectic traveling all over the place in such a short period of time, I must admit that I find it absolutely thrilling. I love change and exposure to new things, and traveling definitely satiates this passion of mine. I remember when I was in college, I would enjoy going to Washington D.C. from Charlottesville. The bus ride would take four or so hours. While most people considered the length of time the bus would take to be the biggest drawback of the trip (the car takes ~2 hours), I found it to be the most enjoyable. I loved looking out the bus’s window and watching the scenery of the gorgeous Virginia countryside that we would drive by.

Back in college, taking a road trip to another city was a big deal for me. It was like the ultimate getaway. I never imagined that I would be traveling between countries in a single week. I must admit that the reason I love traveling so much is because one learns so much just by observing different things. When one is taken out of their comfort zone, he or she is impelled to dwell on his new surroundings and compare them to his or her natural habitat.

My stay in Beirut for the past two days allowed me to reflect on Egypt. I have a tenacious love for my country. It saddens me to see what it is going through these days, but what I have seen in Beirut gave me hope. Despite all the political turmoil it has gone through, Lebanon seems to always pull itself together and thrive. The Lebanese are highly intelligent and extremely hardworking. Despite the sectarian divisions between them, they have somehow managed to work together to make a modern Westernized city in the heart of the Middle East. Working from my company’s office in Solidare (a high-end business, commercial, and residential district), I was impressed by how such a small nation could attract so much investment and develop a fully-fledged service sector.

I understood how they were able to pull off such a miracle when I visited the American University in Beirut’s campus. It dawned upon me that what makes Lebanon what it is education. Lebanon’s education system has produced the highest caliber work force in Arab World. I work with some of the most intelligent people I have ever come across at my company, and most of them are Lebanese. I pray that we Egyptians come someday understand the value of investing in education and the unlimited returns on investment it could offer us. Personally, I try to learn new things everyday so that I could become a better employee, citizen, and person.

That’s concludes my half hour of writing for the week. I hope with that I’ll be able to maintain my weekly writing schedule during my upcoming busy travel schedule.

The Lost Notebook

It had been almost a year since I had seen Alla. Last time I saw him was in Casablanca as he bid me farewell at the Diab metro station as we ended our week-long tour of Morocco. As we got into my car yesterday in Zamalek, I mentioned to him how life works in mysterious ways. I met Alla, who is originally from Aswan, at the University of Virginia. There, we took an Arabic class on the topic of “Al Nahda” (the Arab Renaissance). After our graduation, our careers took us our separate ways. I ended up in the Arab World serving as a consultant bringing the Western knowledge to the East, and he ended up teaching Arabic in different universities in the United States (in essence bringing Eastern knowledge to the West).

The first thing I did when we got in the car was pull out a copy of “Daydreaming in Cairo,” the novel I had written over two years ago and which was recently published, and give it to Alla. My motive of giving it to Alla was twofold. First, I consider him to be one of my closest friends so I wanted to share it with him. Second, I wanted him to circulate it amongst our acquaintances in the U.S. after reading it. He was surprised to see that I had authored the book that I had just given him. However, what was more surprising was what he later told me as we drove through the streets of Cairo.

Although I thought that I had known Alla quite well, I was apparently mistaken. After briefly telling him the story of my novel’s publication, he disclosed to me that he was also a writer. I immediate thought how uncanny it must be that two really good friends were writers but had not known so about each other. He confided that, although he loved to write because it would allow him to enter an imaginary world of his own, he never shared his writing with anyone…not even his closest friends. I had always felt the same way about writing; it is indeed a very personal experience. But ever since the publication of “Daydreaming in Cairo,” I feel impelled to share my writing to the world. It is a gift that God has bestowed upon me, so why not use it to fulfill my purpose in this life?

However, unlike my writing which is generally narrative and experiential, Alla writes poetry and writes stories in lyrical language that is pleasing to the ear. I must admit that my writing is very basic in the sense that I do not make use of many, if any, literary techniques. However, Alla informed me that he is able to write in different styles. Alla then went on to tell me a sad story related to his writing career. Immediately after he had bid me farewell in Morocco, he had boarded his flight to Kuwait. On the flight, he had a sudden streak of inspiration and wrote extensively on the plane. Almost all his best writings were all documented and compiled in that notebook on which he wrote in on the flight from Morocco to Kuwait.

 What happened next would be considered a tragedy by any writer. All off-boarded the plane and left his notebook behind, never to be seen again. He tried frantically to retrieve it from the airliner but to no avail. He tried everything humanly possible to get a hold of his notebook but without success. As a writer, I know how valuable one’s collections of notebook writings could be. They are one’s only documentation of his flashes of inspiration. Alla then went on to tell me how he tried to recollect his stories in his mind and rewrite them, but they just weren’t the same as when he had first penned them in his notebook. I wanted to console him by telling him that many are the travelers that have lost their writings on journeys and that this notebook was just practice for the greater writings he is to write in the future.

 I wondered what must have been the impressions of the airline passenger who must have laid his hands on Alla’s notebook. As Alla mentioned to him, since he had never shared his writings with anyone, he wasn’t sure if his writings were “treasure or trash.” Which of the two must the passenger thought of Alla’s writings? This got me thinking, which of the two do readers think of my very own writing? Although I used to be very sensitive what others thought of my writings, I have decided to make it a point to share it with others. Life is too short to keep waiting until one produces a masterpiece. My advice to amateur writers like myself is to keep writing and to keep trying to get published. It is only through persistence that one masters the craft of writing.

The Writer Who Stopped Writing

I was at the Abu Dhabi Film Festival just a couple of hours ago watching the award-winning film The Rooftops. The film is set in Algiers where the post-colonial shanty houses of the city’s slums line the expansive blue coast of the Mediterranean. The film follows the stories of five groups of characters living on different rooftops in the city’s main districts. Right from the start, the film captivated my attention. The plot seemed interesting, the cinematography of Algiers’ cityscape breathtaking, and the setting of the film a particular interest of mine.  20 minutes through the film, the ‘Asr call to pray sounded majestically over the Algiers’ rooftops on the silver screen. It was at that point that I was struck with a pang of guilt. I had missed praying the ‘Asr prayer on time. Instinctively, I stood up less than quarter way through the film, picked up my belongings, and exited the cinema.

On my way back to the hotel, as I walked across the Abu Dhabi corniche, I dwelt upon how I had been failing to attend to certain duties. It was at that point that the Isha call to prayer had sung beautifully over the Arabian Gulf that reflected the skyscrapers towering above me. Missing prayers at their appointed times seemed to symbolize many other things that I have been missing in life. My prayers connect me to God. I have come to realize that my writing is what connects me to my soul, and I haven’t been writing as regularly as I would like to.

Last week, I received news that a novel I wrote two years ago would finally be published. Right before I started my career as a consultant, I had written a novel about my love for Egypt. After writing it, I stopped writing. Why? Well, I must admit that when I have to work over 16 hours a day it is hard to experience life, reflect, and write. However, I have reached a point where I feel that my soul has been drained because I have neglected it.  

I find myself returning to this blog to write. There is so much to write about and so little time. However, I have decided that I will start reclaiming my life by writing at least one entry every week. This blog has long served as my training ground as a writer. To it I return with the hope that it will revive a passion that once brought me so much joy. 

Museum of Islamic Art, Doha

"The Museum of Islamic Art is more influenced by the mosque of Ibn Tulun than any other building. This mosque is very austere and beautiful, and it has the most refined geometry. What inspired me most was the small ablution fountain in the middle of a large courtyard. The little building is a poem."

-I.M. Pei, The Architect

I learnt something invaluable during my visit to Qatar's Museum of Islamic Art, and that is: even brilliant minds find their inspiration in the works of others.

As I approached the entrance of cubically-shaped museum, I knew that I had seen it somewhere... in fact it felt as if I had been to it before. I had read a bit about how the architect had travelled the Islamic world to gather ideas on traditional Islamic architecture to manifest them in the Qatari museum... but I had never thought that he would use one small feature from Ibn Tulun's mosque to create a whole museum...

See if you can spot the similarities for yourself:



A word about the exhibition on display: the treasures this tiny building contains are preeminent jewels of the Islamic civilization. I could not tell whether the artwork on display originated from Egypt, Turkey, Iran, India, Spain, or China...a testament that Muslims shared one cultural identity throughout the ages.

From Dream to Reality

So far, this revolution has been a pleasant dream. The footage of freedom fighters liberating my countries on a 15 inch computer screen seems too surreal to be true. Whenever I get the chance, I keep replaying YouTube videos of the revolution to remind myself that what I’ll be returning to tomorrow will be a different Egypt than the one I left in December.

Living in different countries feels like living multiple lives. Leaving a country is like passing away from one life to being resurrected to the next. My life in London seems like an temporary illusion at times. At times, I’ll need to pinch myself to make sure it isn’t just a dream. I keep waiting for the moment when my London dream will end and I’ll be brought back to life. It’s almost like the Ancient Egyptians’ preparation for the hereafter. My ancestors would live their whole lives preparing for the inevitable moment of death to enter into the next world. In my case, I’ve been bracing myself for the moment when I would set foot on my motherland’s soil again.

There’s something mystical about living in Egypt. Every time the airplane’s cabin doors unlock open, I feel like the air that seeps into my lungs brings me back to life. As much as I anticipate seeing my family at the arrival section of the airport, I have many other things to look forward to. I waking up the next morning to the dawn call to prayer, sitting by the window and have the morning glow of the sun’s rays warm me as I sip on tea and listen to a nearby dove coo. When I set out for Cairo’s bustling streets, I love hearing my native language fill my ears. ‘At last, Arabic!’ I think to myself after not hearing my beloved language for so long. I love knowing that I’m no longer a visitor or foreigner, but that this is somewhere I actually belong. I love crossing over the Nile Corniche and see the glistering water of the world’s mightiest river surrounded by deep greenery and palm trees of the Nile Delta. I love thinking to myself, I’m finally home.

For the first time in my life, this return to Egypt will be different. Egypt and its people have changed for the better. My reunion with my nation and people will be a humbling experience. These are the Egyptians who took to the streets to pave a free destiny for themselves. These are the Egyptians who inspired people in the East and West to fight for their rights. These are the Egyptians who made history once again. It seems too good to be true to be returning to this.

I am a firm believer of the Quran’s saying, “Verily with every hardship there is relief.” After all the pain and suffering that Egyptians have gone through, they have finally begun to see the light at the end of what seems like a very long and dark tunnel. Similarly, I have begun to believe that the recent unrest in London over the UK’s government budget cuts is a sign that freedom and justice must be fought for universally. After labouring away over the past few weeks to succeed in my exams, I feel like that all of the effort I have put in my studies in my life will not go to waste. Some day, I believe, I will be able to put my knowledge to the service of Egypt and humanity.

Tomorrow will be a historic day for me. April 1st, 2011 will be the day I return to a free Egypt. This day will also be marked by a gathering of a million people in Tahrir Square to show solidarity with the revolution and to show their commitment to keep the revolutionary fire burning. I hope to be able to join my countrymen tomorrow. I imagine joining them will be like a lost lion finally joining his pride of lions. Although I have not proven my valour and chivalry like the revolutionaries who freed my country, I feel a spiritual connection with these men and women who wrote Egypt’s new history with their blood. Returning to Egypt will be my chance to acquaint myself with the needs of the revolution, to internalize the revolutionary spirit, and return to London with a stronger will to learn as much as I can to put Egypt on the forefront of the international arena.

Despite my deep love for Egypt, this shouldn’t be mistaken with blind nationalism. I love Egypt because I love all humanity. I believe that Egypt, the cradle of human civilization, has the potential to usher a new universal era of righteousness. I seek to do what I can to keep Egypt’s revolution burning so that it could ignite a revolution for universal peace, solidarity, and egalitarianism. Ultimately, I hope that my efforts to serve Egypt will have a greater impact to serve the world.

With these intentions and ideas in mind, I pray that my journey to Egypt will be a fruitful one. Finally, the time has come when I shall awake from my dream of the revolution to join its reality.

Cairo Ramadan

Finally, I'm back home. After staying in a ragged apartment in Charlottesville for a year, to staying in a luxurious loft in the heart of Istanbul's poshy Etiler, finally I find myself back in my quiet and tranquil home in Katamaya. What makes my return all the more precious is that I find myself here at the beginning of Ramadan, the gracious month in which an atmosphere of spirituality envelops the Muslim World, which Cairo could be considered as one of its capitals.

Although the fast is taking its toll on me, I am ready to hit the ground running this time around in Cairo. I'm ready to experience it all. I can't wait to stroll through the old quarters of Islamic Cairo, feast in the classical cafes of El-Hussain, and pray Taraweeh in some of Islam's oldest mosques.

Yesterday, subsequent to my arrival to Cairo, I had the opportunity to taste the modern scene of Cairo's Ramadan. My father and I attended a "Kheyma" (i.e. Tent) night at Arabella, an exclusive, high-end compound in New Cairo. It was interesting seeing the contemporary face of Egypt and how modern Egyptians spend their Ramadan. I found the festivities adequate to celebrate Ramadan, but was quite disappointed with the show-offy aura in the air; for some reason, the Arabella environment wasn't reminiscent of the pious and modest atmosphere that makes Cairo's Ramadan so special.

Tonight we'll be breaking our fast in Maadi with relatives. Ramadan is a time to get together with family, socialize, meditate, etc... but I want to use it as an opportunity to really experience Egypt. I already have a list of all the historical Islamic sites I intend to visit in Old Cairo. I know my visit this time around may be short-lived, so, as much as I want to take it slow, I feel like my time here is short and I'd like to make the most of it. In any case, I'll make sure post my coverage of Cairo during Ramadan during the couple of weeks I'll be here.

The Guatemalan Diaries Pt.2: First Impressions

We arrived at La Aurora Airport around noon today. I was pleased to discover that the weather is mild and pleasant here. Away from the cold, everyone around here walks around in T-shirts like in Egypt. The scenery of this country seems beautiful, with a mountainous terrain circulating Guatemala City. Unfortunately, there is nothing in the city itself that’s very impressive. Overall, most of the districts are run-down and shabby. The city itself has nothing indigenous about it, with billboards displaying every major Western fast-food brand that could spring to mind. Globalization has left no trace of anything indigenous about Guatemala.

Our hostel is located in a heavily fortified and guarded compound. Apparently the rich in this country live a very comfortable life, while the rest of the population is just getting by, but the locals seem content with life and are friendly. The locals are separated between the Ladinos, who view themselves as more modern and Westernized citizens of Guatemala. On the other hand, the Mayan population seems much more vibrant in their traditional clothes. The only thing in the streets that seems distinctly Guatemalan is their colorful buses.

This must have been the first country was English is almost completely non-existent, which poses a problem considering that none of our group members speak Spanish. This led to a very interesting incident today. Our group of five was interested in visiting an arts and craft market, which we thought would be a traditional open fair bazaar. After asking around, we were told that there were several markets in Guatemala City. After we boarded a cab that took us 20 minutes away from our hostel, the cab dropped us off at a modern steel and glass building. We were sure that the driver had misunderstood us, but what actually happened was that the Guatemalans interpreted the world “market” for “mall.” This was a very shabby mall, worse than Cairo’s Tiba mall. We strolled around for a bit, but there was nothing outstanding.

The Guatemalans don’t seem to care that there are foreigners amongst us. Even though the locals are all very short and dark skinned, they are not surprised to see foreigners even though we hadn’t seen any other foreigners all day long. This is comforting considering I don’t like drawing attention as a foreigner.

Here I sit in the hostel amongst the team as we chat about random topics. I think I’m going to call it a day and hit the hay considering we have to be up by 6am tomorrow morning.

Adieu!

The Guatemalan Diaries Pt.1: Expectations

It was Guatemala that Che Guevara chose:

“So as to perfect himself and accomplish what may be necessary in order to become a true revolutionary.”

I find myself sitting on my fourth consecutive flight, this time to Guatemala. Who would have ever thought I would end up in Guatemala? Well, I believe that my journey from Istanbul, through London, Washington D.C., and Atlanta is worth this trip to Guatemala. To be honest, I don’t know much about Guatemala other than my mission there. I am traveling with Team PURA (Partnership for University Research Abroad), a group of five students from diverse academic backgrounds on a service-based mission to devise and implement a water sanitation and distribution system in the Tzununa community on Lake Atitlan.

I have always wanted to join a project to serve those who are less fortunate than me, and this seemed like the ideal opportunity. I think my deep-rooted altruistic spirit stems from my teenage devotion to Che Guevara. I have to admit that I went a bit over the edge with my admiration for the guy. Quite frankly, I haven’t thought much about him since I turned twenty, but this trip to Guatemala brings back many memories about Guevara’s legacy.

I was deeply moved by the Motorcycle Diaries, Guevara’s personal account of how a roadtrip across Latin America transformed him from a doctor to a revolutionary who sought justice in the name of the poor. It was in Guatemala that Guevara realized the injustice of capitalist imperialism and how corporate interests toppled a democratically elected Guatemalan government of Jacobo Arbenz Guzman. Arbenz’s land reform policies aimed at nationalizing the holdings of the United Fruit Company to redistribute it to the landless peasants, similar to Nasser’s nationalizations policies.

It was through Guatemala that Guevara became acquainted with the Cuban revolutionary cause and where he acquired his famous nickname: “Che”. Unpleased with the nationalization of its territories, the United Fruit Company with the aid of the CIA intervened, overthrew Abenz and installed dictator Carlos Castillo Armas.

Guevara’s feelings towards the coup were that “The last Latin American revolutionary democracy-that of Jacobo Arbenz-failed as a result of the cold premeditated aggression carried out by the U.S.A.” It was this event that triggered Che’s conviction that Marxism and armed struggle were the path to justice.

Now I have long abandoned Guevara’s approach to justice and have adopted a pacifist approach, but I believe my visit to Guatemala, and especially my work in the field of development, will shed some light on the dire state that led to the revolutionary transformation of his personality. I will take this trip as an opportunity to learn about this ancient Mayan civilizations, its locals, and hopefully I will be able to serve others, even if my effort has a miniscule impact.

Reflections from my stream of consciousness

As the greyhound bus’s engine bustles in the background, I find the sudden urge to reflect about the past and future. I dip my hand into messenger back only to find that my moleskin will not accompany this time to Istanbul.

Just as I was dreaming that life couldn’t be more stationary and that I would spend the rest of my life in Charlottesville, my alarm rings at 7:50 am. The notion of living in a world where it was possible to grey by living in the same spot was almost as daunting as a nightmare. It was time for change, and it could not have been delivered in a more pleasant way than that knowing, in a matter of hours, I would be flying to a city that I hold so dear to my heart, Istanbul. The actual hassle of having to get out of bed was a different story, so even though my bus would leave in less than an hour, I preferred to lie in bed dreaming some more, but this time about Istanbul.

On the bus, I look up to the sky and see the grey clouds pass by. It excites me that I will be among them in a couple of hours. I wonder if they will have the distinct pleasure of accompanying me to Istanbul. May the winds bless them.

As I sit contemplating of the possibilities and ecstasies one can experience by traveling, I get anxious, in a good way of course. I just can’t wait for this bus to pull out of the station so I can begin describing the gorgeous Virginian scenery.

As we drive through Afghani Grand Market International Bazaar, the Main Street Market, Bistro Zinc, Blue Moon Diner, and a Baptist Church. We then pass a railroad crossing. Railroads are my favorite. They put you on an infinite train of thought about the endless possibilities of travel that merely hopping on a train can put you on. I lose concentration to the chattering of a Hispanic in the background.

I then realize that writing on the computer isn’t such a bad idea, at least my ideas don’t look like chicken scratches when I’m done jotting them down. Also, it benefits you the reader since I don’t feel inclined to conceal them from you when their put on

We pass the statue of Lewis and Clark, the great pioneers who discovered America. It sits lonely guarding the Downtown Mall this morning against the backdrop of Charlottesville’s mystically aesthetic Blue Ridge Mountaiins. Oh how beautiful Charlottesville can be this early this morning. Am I going to miss it? I wonder to myself.

We then pass through the Virginian suburbs with their uniformly structured, multi-colored houses, each with their traditional Southern rocking chair on the porch.

As we get on the high way, the forests envelop us. They remind me of the forests where the Dinosaurs of my childhood used to live in Vienna. The amazing thing about merely looking out the window on a long journey like this is that you’re not just journeying through Virginia’s landscape, but also through your memories. Each image your eyes lock on springs another memory to mind. Simply tying these stimuli into a chain can put allow you to visualize a film of your life in memories. The physical landscape is merely a reflection of how you feel. I have come to love the landscape that I have become so familiar with from my frequent trips to and fro DC. If you find it aesthetically pleasing, then you have achieved internal peace of mind. If it frustrates you, then you are at unease. It is like looking into a well at the reflection of your life at the bottom of the abyss.

The trees are leafless and their silhouettes against the morning blue sky remind me of loneliness as they wait for spring to come around the corner to grow new leaves. For what is a tree without its leaves? The velvet brown horses in the meadows remind me of elegance, nobility and tranquility in the way hey stroll around. The geese in the sky guide me with initiative, direction, and the sense of being on a mission. The vast yellow-grassed meadows teach me humility and the awe that beholds me at the notion that there is a greater power out there and that we are merely specs in its ultimate design. Oh how beautiful Virginia must be to stir up so emotions in me. As we penetrate deeper into the countryside and the sun begins to also penetrate through the cloudy skies, the world seems to come to life. Lakes, creeks, and meadows… this is a scene to beautiful to be missed out on… time for some photography.

A Walk Down Memory Lane in New York

I can't hold my craving to write any longer, especially after watching this movie. I just finished watching The Visitor, a heart-warming movie about a past life of mine. Through the eyes of the protagonist, Tarek, I was able to relive the New York I adored so much. Simply put, the plot is about the daily lives of immigrants in New York City and their dilemma of being stranded between their new home and their past ones... Now I can't say I can relate on this exact level as I will always know where my home is, but this story dealt with the idiosyncrasies of post 9/11 America. NYC, the portal of immigration, the portal to the land of opportunity, the portal to liberty has become a paranoid city after 9/11. Now I can definitely relate in terms of living in New York, pre and post 9/11. The plot of this tale takes a particular twist particularly when shedding light on the lives of Arabs subsequent to 9/11.

With all its ironies, New York will always have a place in my heart. The movie's particular amazing cinematography displayed the diametric contradictions that are inherent in New York. While the Statue of Liberty stands as the beacon of American ideals of freedom, justice, and democracy, the movie shows the very inhumane and unjust facets of American society. I can attest that living in the States for over 7 years as a foreigner, I never felt a sense of belonging except when I was in New York. There is no better way to describe New York than to describe it as the nucleus of the world, where cultures from the four corners of the world are brought together, meshed, and tossed together like the different colorful ingredients of a salad. I could have never imagined living in a more exuberant city than New York... before 9/11... when antagonizing banners where lifted everywhere with the words "We Will Never Forget." It was almost as if we lived in 1984 with Big Brother always watching you. But I would have to say that this paranoia of America has begun to fade away as time passes, so I am optimistic!

But back to the movie...The scenes of the movie were truly like a walk down memory lane for me. In a word, the story is about a college professor fed-up the monotonous life of one of America's college towns, which I can definitely relate to in terms of the stillness of UVa at times...but for the time being, I have come to accept that it is my fate to be here, at least for the time being, so he finds liberation from this dull life by breaking lose in Manhattan... So just when I realized that "I" was the sole determinant of my happiness, I was proven wrong by seeing scenes of Manhattan in the movie, and like flashbacks from distant memories, they made me so content! Scenes of Washington Square of NYU's campus brought back such nostalgia when I used to aspire to attend NYU someday... Oh well, who ever though life would bring me here to UVa...You never know what life has in stock for you...it works in mysterious ways.

The movie chronicles the adventures of this college professor when trying to liberate himself in the city. It is natural to do so because big cities like New York are such a crossroads for different cultures and walks of life that it is so natural that you will run into some spontaneously strange combination of events that will define a new chapter of your life. At least that's what I've learned from my own soul-searching liberation trips to DC. The movie epitomizes this notion so succinctly by bringing together so many different people from different backgrounds. The characters are a combination of a middle-aged white American, a Syrian and Senegalese couple, and a Syrian woman. The crisis of the unfair deportation of the Syrian Tarek is what sets the stage for the remaining unfolding events of the story.

I don't think that there had every been a movie that I could relate to more than this one, especially since what sparks the whole row about Tarek's deportation is his arrest in a NYC Subway station for supposedly jumping a turnstile, which is so coincidental since the only time I had been arrested in my life was during the New Year's eve of the 2003 during which I, Lusuki, and Mike (two of my friends from UNIS) were also arrested for jumping a subway turnstile (fortunately, I did not end up getting deported).

About the whole issue of deportation, I did not like how the Syrians made it seem like it was hell going back the Arab World. I take pride in my home land and wouldn't mind going back, but to make it seem like the worst place on earth was a bit pathetic. I take America for what it is, but I know where my roots belong. But I know the case in Syria might not be sufficient to compare to Egypt. I know that Syria is unfortunately a more oppressive state to live in, but what amazes me is that the Syrian immigrants that I have met here in the United States are some of the most respectable and intellectual people I have come across. Both my Arabic professors here at UVa were Syrians and I owe it to them for making me love my mother language. Imagine the potential that a country like Syria might have if it were not for their draconian government. Its sad to see that Syrians have to settle for less by coming here. Similar to the Syrian characters in the movie, my current Syrian Arabic professor had to seek asylum here in the U.S. for political reasons.

Aside from the lessons I drew from this terrific movie, I learned that one must always explore different channels of learning. I haven't watched a movie since watching The Reader quite sometime ago, simply because I thought movies were a waste of time and that it was through books that I would be able to expose myself to the world and life. I was wrong. Movies open your eyes as you see the lives of characters unfold before you and it is like you are there in New York City living among them. The colors, sounds, voices, music all put you on a stream of consciousness that leads on a unique journey to New York. These two hours of the movie allowed me to relive the four years I had lived in New York, but now seem like such a distant memory. Fortunately, I had the opportunity to come across this movie, which taught me more about myself than I knew a movie could do!

The Travels of the Egyptian Marco Polo

Since returning from Inner Mongolia, I haven't really had the opportunity to sit down with a good cup of tea to reflect about what was truly an eye opening experience. Although my visit to China this vacation had taken me to Beijing, Shen Zhen, Hong Kong, Macau, Zhu Hai, Guangzhu, and Hohhot, all of which are some of China's largest metropolises, I don't think any of these cities sufficed in showing me the traditional side of China I had been craving to see. I was curious to see how the traditional Chinese person lived, what he ate, where he slept, how we spent time with the family and friends, what he did in the bitter cold of the north of China, how he reacted to a foreigner... These were amongst some of the questions that my sense of curiosity was eager to find out.

I was truly fortunate that the opportunity presented itself in the last week of my stay in China. After returning to Beijing from my trip to the south of China, I had been passing time shopping, reading, spending time with the family, writing, but I realized that during this whole time, I wasn't experiencing China. Then, luckily, my good friend Xiaohuan and his family invited me to their village in Inner Mongolia. After accepting their cordial invitation, I felt that I was Marco Polo embarking on a journey to the ends of the world to experience exotic distance lands where I might come across treasures and miracles. This was obviously my exaggerated imagination taking me on an unrealistic adventure, but now I realize that the rewards of this trip truly did contain treasures of friendship and miracles of realizing that no matter where people lived, be it on the eastern end of the Orient in China or the western end in Egypt, people essentially had the same needs, emotions, and love for one another. These conclusions that I had come to had comforted my heart in a time when humanity can really show its dark side via financial crises, wars, etc...

After my first night in Xiaohuan's village, I remember writing in my diary "Never in my life have I been treated so hospitably and graciously as I have today by Xiaohuan's family." This was only an excerpt from the many impressions I had of living with a Chinese family for a couple of days. During my visit to Inner Mongolia, I had tasted the most delicious food ever, such as lamb dumplings, and tasted some of the finest green tea of my life.

What was truly interesting was the reception of the villagers to a foreigner. I believe that a foreigner hadn't set foot in some of the villages surrounding Xiaohuan's house in a very long time, so I wasn't surprised when some of the townspeople would stare at me for extended periods of time. People were anxious to see this alien from Egypt. Almost everyone I met asked me questions about my country, which seemed to them to be at the other end of the world.

Of course, my traditional Chinese experience didn't go without sight seeing to some of the most fabulous places in Inner Mongolia. Unfortunately we were unable to see some of the beautiful grass lands because it wasn't the appropriate time of the season, but what we did see was more than sufficient to make it up. Xiaohuan was very culturally considerate to take me to a Muslim restaurant upon my visit.
The most intriguing think I was exposed to must have been the milk tea, which was very tasty but very new to me. We then went to a Buddhist temple that convinced me that Buddhism is a very lively and colorful religion.

We also visited the Zhaojun museum, which showed me the prehistoric side of China's history. Although it was almost -8 degrees celsius as made our tour, I truly enjoyed seeing what was in Hohhot.

The next day was truly a revelation for me to see a side of China I never fathomed existed. we visited some of th poor villages in Inner Mongolia where people lived a very harsh life. These run down villages reminded me of the poverty I had seen in Egypt and India. Moreover, due to the financial crisis, these people lived under really dire circumstances. The was malnutritioned animals and unsold corn harvest. Upon experiencing this side of China, I was grateful to God for my comfortable life.

We also visited China's famous yellow river. It was truly a beautiful sight seeing a frozen stream still flowing in the bright sun.


I would have to say that the highlight of the trip was by far the farewell dinner I had. Xiaohuan's family had invited many of their acquaintances to a dinner to bid me farewell. There was a live performance and Xiaohuan and his sister even sang to me!

I have just given you, dear reader, an excerpt of the many chronicles of my adventures in the far land of Inner Mongolia. I leave the rest of my adventures to imagine based on your own curiousity so that maybe one day when I become a famous traveler like Marco Polo and my travelogue is published, you may find out the rest of my adventures (hehe!).

In any case, if there is anything that was truly worth getting out of this trip, it was the amiable friendship I have with Xiaohuan and the people of China.

The Art of Chinese Tea

After spending almost a month here in China, I have come to realize that the consumption of green tea is both an art and a lifestyle that is unmatched anywhere else in the world. Luckily for me, my taste buds are akin to the exasperating taste of tea. As I have found out from a Chinese friend, and after doing some reading, the history of Chinese tea is not one that merely satisfies the Chinese, but is ingrained in an ancient philosophy of their way of life, i.e. the philosophy of Qi Gong, which is an art and science of natural energy.

Obviously I knew the difference between green, black, and herbal tea, but never realized that the richness of the tea can vary to various degrees. It was a realization I made when my Chinese friend, Xiaohuan offered me tea from the Yunan province, told to be some of the rarest and most precious tea offered in China. I realized that the aroma, color and taste of the tea all played a role in giving one the pleasure of tea. I was later informed that the cultivation of tea is an art in China. The climate, the soil, the quality of cultivation, and the degree of fermentation all determine the kind of tea one can be sipping. Evidently, green tea is tea in its purest tea as it is mostly unfermented, while black tea is the result of fermented green tea. I was actually shocked to find out that both black and green tea originate from the same plant, i.e. camellia sinensis.

Tea's quality doesn't matter only for aesthetic or flavor reasons, but has a long history. Tea is a natural form of Chinese medicine. Each type of tea, according to Chinese legend, has its own energy level according to the Qi Gong philosophy. Xiaohuan's father once informed me that it is advisable to drink black tea in the winter and green tea in the summer to balance our internal and external temperature levels.

On another level, tea has spiritual benefits and has long been used by Buddhists for meditation. I truly have experienced tea's mood altering effects. Believe me, some incense and tea can be the ultimate stress reliever.

Personally, I enjoy my cup of tea to be bitter in flavor by not adding any sugar to it. I am not sure whether it is a habit to taste the meloncholic life that I sometimes love to embrace or whether its merely my taste buds craving to taste tea in its most original form. From experience, I can attest that tea helps one become serene, bright, and healthy. What I truly tend to savor about tea is the company of friends and family I will be enjoying this tea. Tea is an excellent way to share harmony, peace, and tranquility with others.

While reading some Taoist texts, I happened to cross upon a poem about tea that I tremendously enjoyed.

In gratitude for a gift of fresh tea

The first bowl moistens my lips and throat;
The second bowl banishes all loneliness;
The third bowl clears my mind of words and books.
At the fourth cup, I begin to perspire-
life's troubles evaporate through my pores.
The firth cup cleanses my entire being.
Six cups and I am in the realm of the Divine.
Seven cups-ah, but I can drink no more:
I can only feel the gentle breeze blowing through my sleeves,
wafting me away to the Isle of Immortality!

-Lu Tong, 18th Century Chinese Poet

On the Exoticism of the Orient

Since my arrival to China, I have observed many similar traits that transcend the borders of what has come to identified as the Orient. These traits have been observed, imagined, and recorded by Western Orientalists. Through my readings of oriental works ranging from Gustav Flaubert to Edward Said, I have come to the conclusion that there is a intricate entanglement between fact and fiction of the Oriental world. During my readings of my part of the world and that of the Far East, which I have been trying to familiarize myself with even more, I was astounded to see that there is a truly exotic flavor to what the orient truly is. Through my literary journeys with Flaubert, Delacroix, Voltaire, Defoe, Goethe and even Pamuk, I have come to identify some sources of this multifaceted identity of the Orient that has come to intrigue some of the greatest philosophes to walk this earth.

Before divulging into my findings, I would like to make two points clear. Primarily, my investigation of the Oriental world should not be confused with Edward Said's criticism of Western stereotypes of the Arab and Muslim world, but is an embracement of the literary and artistic achievement of Western philosophers in emulating the virtues they witnessed on their travels to the region. The second point is that although I will aim to extend my investigation to reach the furthest corners of the Oriental World, from Turkey in the Far West of the Orient and China in the Far East of the Orient, my bias will tend to drift to a focus on the center of the Orient, Egypt.

It is in this spirit that I will strive to romanticize the land of the Orient by exploring the various avenues that it has led to occupied in the fantasies of Orientalists for many centuries. First and foremost, Orientalism is a result of the mutual cultural exchange between the West and East and the apprehensions each of of sides had of the other. Various artistic and literary emulations of the East have ranged from Turquerie to Chinoiserie, which respectively are imitations of Turkish and Chinese art forms in the West. I can divulge about Montesquieu's Persian Letters or Van Gogh's emulation of Japanese art, which both seem tremendously exotic to me, but instead I choose focus on land that, although dubbed oriental, doesn't seem to exotic in my eyes, mostly because of my ardent familiarization with it. Although the exotism of Egypt "as a distant land" doesn't quite appeal to me, its ancient history is one that boggles my mind. How could single land have hosted some of history's renown men and women, face so many cultural changes, influence the world and be influenced in so many ways and yet retain such a firm identity. This mere notion excites me with the exoticism of my homeland and fills me with expansive, lovely, glorious, poetic dreams of a land that seems so exotic even though I can claim right to calling it my own. These are the stimuli that exoticism have on one!

Flaubert was once quoted by characterising the orient with a single phrase:
"Long live the sun, long live the orange trees, palm trees, lotus flowers, and cool pavilions paved with marble and wood-panelled chambers that talk of love! the Orient with her burning sun, her blue skies, her golden minarets, her caravans through the sand, the tanned, olive skin of Asiatic women-the Orient!"

The imagery of this single quote is what fills my imagination like a pot filling a cask of cool mint tea on a sunny day in the desert. Reading of the orient quenches my thirst for exoticism, for the desire to continue living and traveling in oriental lands.

Now the Orient isn't just the beauty that the European romanticists depict to be, it is also the dreggy slums and backstreets of Cairo and Istanbul, but I have come to admire the dust and filth as a characteristic that defines the Orients modern day melancholic condition as Pamuk recounts in his memories of Istanbul. I could sit in the midst of the chaos in Khan El Khalili bazaar for hours on end and embrace and appreciate the shouting of the sales bakaals, the multilingual bargaining of merchants with what seem to us as exotic blonde foreigners, the Athan broadcasted above the minarets of El Huessain Mosque, the various aromas of the spice market, the colors of the various Chinese silk and Egyptian cotton garments, the moaning of donkeys, the sparkling lights of the Sufi night shows. Isn't this the colorful clamor that defines the Orient? Isn't the legendary Silk Road the bond that defines the fraternity of the Eastern cultures?

I understand that you may be wondering where this entry is going to take me... but that is another trait of the orient: the fluid, non-structured, and eclectic stream of conscious that might seem heretic to the orthodox mind. The chaos that defines the orient is the natural tendency for life to be all over the place, to be natural, free from the man-made structures and systems that we constrained the freedom of life to flow. Orientalism is the realization that life is the water that flows with volatility when shattering a glass filled with water. Tidiness and neatness disgust the orientalist as he seeks the natural tendency of life! We cannot deny that humans are not the divine, G0d-made creatures that we always envision them to be in their best light, but they are also animals that can be reckless and wild, and the Orient is the epitome of the jungle that defines the freedom for their imagination to flow. This best evident in the arts of Tunisian tiles where flowers, fruits, and nature are intricately intertwined to produce master pieces of art. Moreover, Persian poetry, which is so light and free flowing is what paints these images in words that can allow each individually to paint such imagery with his or her own imagination.

Moreover, the orient is a land where duality is defines the nature of people with an acceptance of the glorious palaces while the witness of the poor and filthy, a history of several milenia while the latest trend setting sky scrapers of the modern cities, the sexual fantasies of the harem and the purity and sacredness of religion, and so on and so forth. It is this duality that makes the Orient so bewildering to the Western mind. How could a culture have such diametrically opposite directions of aims.

To this day, the orient boggles our mind with a vast array of historical novels, films, photos, paintings, etc... Fortunately I can relive this exotic world of the orient through my readings and travels and see what remains of what truly fascinated the Western travelers that came to be known as the Orientalists. I sincerely hope that my fortune to travel and read such an expansive array of works will enlighten me and allow me to carry the torch that has shed such positive light on the Orient in what seem to be the Orient's dark times of today.

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.

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.

Cafe Cubano: My New Sanctuary

I'm a sucker for Cuba and I admit it. Almost everything Cuban appeals to me, from the Cuban Revolution to Salsa music. Just yesterday, I discovered a tucked away cafe called Cafe Cubano. After a stroll down the Downtown, I escaped to this Cafe with my book and enjoyed a good cup of Chamomile. Of many of the cafes I'd been to, I liked this one because of the ambiance that was very simple, yet very reminiscent of my readings of Cuba. The walls were painted in vintage orange, and they had classic coffeemakers that blow steam every other minute. I literally felt as if I'd walked into Cuba. All of the sudden, the cold freezing cold of Charlottesville disappeared, and the smell of freshly roasted coffee tantalized the atmosphere.

From the framed photos on wall, I imagined myself walking down the alleys of Cuba, where the colonial remains of the Spaniards still stand. I felt very much at home in this new atmosphere. Although I spent most of my time doing reading an Arabic play for class, I truly enjoyed the refreshing cup of Chamomile while listening to Cuba's best: Buena Vista Social Club. I can't wait to bike down to Cafe Cubano for another refreshing reading session among the gallery of vintage photos of Cuba and atmosphere that truly brings Cuba and its Caribbean atmosphere to life midst the cold of Charlottesville.

118 Pyramids Strong

Its quite mind boggling to think that 118 pyramids sprout on a land once inhabited by the greatest civilization seen by man. Despite the veil of the sand that covers most of Egypt, this land is one of true untapped potentials and treasures. As time passes and sand storms blow, we slowly begin to discover what lies in this land we take for granted. Just today, Egypt's land gives birth to a new Pyramid. Today, the legendary Zahi Hawas, secretary general of Egypt's Supreme Council on Antiquities, discovers another pyramid in Saqqara to tally the total number of pyramids in Egypt to 118. I remember first reading about Hawas in an edition of Discovery Kids back and hearing about my father work with him on the recovery of stolen Egyptian antiquities in the US back in the NYC days, but I never would have fathomed meeting the man himself in front of the Sphinx. He left the impression on me that he was always in a hurry to make more and more discoveries, but it was an privilege even having him take the time to chat with a bunch of kids about how rich their motherland is. This was during my excursion with the Egyptian American Group, a social organization composed of mainly of second generation Egyptian Americans. Since that moment, I'd been following Hawas' discoveries on the Discovery and History channels and he never fails to make me proud of the ancient heritage of my country.
Today, history will record the discovery of yet another pyramid of Egypt. This one dates back 4,300 years and was discovered near Saqqara's famous step pyramid, which I recently visited in the summer 2007. It is during this time that I was truly grasped by the idea that "man fears time, but time fears the Pyramids." The eternity of these magnificent structures is reminder of man's ingenuity and Egypt's longstanding position in the world.
The moral I'd like to take away from today's discovery is that Egypt is a gold mine with much more to discover than pyramids. Although Egypt's greateness may have waned since 7,000 years, it still has so much untapped potential that if realized could flourish an era as great as our forefathers. It is merely a matter of contemporary Egyptians realizing the greatness which defines their identity. It is for this reason that I am a faithful reader of Naghuib Mahfouz's early writings of Ancient Egypt. War at Thebes is a case in point, but there are so many more. This is a topic to divulge about in another entry, but I believe that once the Egyptians begin recognizing the eminence of their heritage and identity, only then will they be able to rise once more.

My Dream Destination: Cuba

Being the revolutionary nut that I am, I've always dreamed of visiting Cuba to relive the history. I hear that Cuba could be viewed as an egalitarian paradise as the guerrilla legions envisioned it, or it could be a nightmare like Orwell imagined in his 1984. In any case, I know from what I've read thus far that Cuba is like my homeland in many ways. Its very rich in culture, diverse in ethnicities, and filled with passive, life-loving people, just as one would imagine a Mediterranean country like Egypt to be!
But to get to the bottom of it all, what really inspires me to visit it is the fact that it is an unfolding revolutionary experiment that the likes of Che and the Castro brothers and conceptualized and implemented. Many look to Cuba as the backwater of North America and that its dictatorship is the source of all its ailments. In my eyes, I look at the U.S. as the culprit that's strangling Cuba's economy by the throat. I think that if Washington gave Cuba a chance and not painted it in red unconditionally, then this country would flourish like no other simply because it is so rich in culture. I like to imagine it as a pearl that has yet to be discovered in the heart of the Caribbean.
I know that my father has a good friend there and I hope that I will be able to visit Cuba one day to smell the tantalizing aroma of Cuban cigars, stroll the colonial streets of Havana, listen to the rhythmic tunes of Buena Vista, and most importantly visit the memorial of Che in Santa Clara. Till that day, I guess books and music are what will help me continue to imagine Cuba as a paradise.

Back to being a vagabond

Its 4:15am and I'm cramming for tomorrow. I have so much work, but I wanted to take a minute to report of an absolutely smashing weekend. I went up to DC for the weekend to escape from a depressing Charlottesville. First, I went with a friend to Aladin, an Egyptian Shisha Cafe in Alexandria, VA . I then commuted to DC via Metro. I met Baroudy, Abs, Shafey, and a couple of other high school friends in Prince's Cafe in Georgetown. Later that night, I crashed at Shafey's in Arlington, VA. The next day, I dropped off some documents at the Egyptian Embassy. I later met Baroudy and we cruised around DC for a bit before heading to his place to prepare for what defined out DC trip: Paul Van Dyke's concert at Ibiza club. It was in a sketchy neighborhood, but it was definitely worth it. We were carded and my fake wouldn't trick the bouncer, so we went all the way back for my passport. Later that night, we listened to some of the best electro I've ever encountered. Moreover, the venue was packed and the spirits were high. Van Dyk put on a sick show and people wouldn't stop raving. The night ended pretty wildly though with us having to search for one kid who drank a bit too much and couldn't find his way to the club. I crashed in Alexandria, VA for the night. The next day, I took the metro back to Vienna, VA to catch my metro. The bus back to UVA took us to JMU first, so we got back pretty late, but I got to catch up on reading and sleep on the bus.

Although I'm crunching all my work at the last minute, it was all worth it!