Ramadan a la Mideast 2/Fayoum/Update/Whatever

Last year around this time I wrote a blog post out of Meknes, Morocco expelling my thoughts and impressions of Ramadan. At that time, I couldn't have guessed all the love and joy and heartbreak I would experience over the next 12 months. It turned out to be the best year of my life, so far. Anyway, Ramadan. An eternally receding 30 days out of the year where I usually find myself treading between a nostalgic embrace of my Arab-ness and a feeling of guilt for betraying my heritage (half of it, anyway). You see, this is the only time of year when I feel a little bit bad for being such an infidel. So I make myself feel better by fasting a little, reengaging what's left of my spirituality, reorienting and refreshing my outlook on religiosity, and exercising minimal discipline in a life where I can essentially get anything I want. 

This year, the holiest of months kicked off in an interesting way. Today is the 4th day, but it's the first day I'm actually fasting. That's because I took a trip to El-Fayoum, a region south of Cairo famous for its oases and ancient ruins from the old pharaohnic kingdom. A couple friends and I took a train to Cairo, a subway to Giza, fought with a couple bus drivers, then found a microbus to take us to a small town on a large lake called "Azbat Tunis". A village used to tourism because of it's rich pottery culture, but is still a very well kept secret in Egypt. You'd be hard pressed to find Egyptians that know about this town. In fact, I think more Italians know about it than Egyptians. Despite it's reputation as a hotspot for keen eco-tourists, because of Ramadan and post-revolution lack of tourism, we were the only people that were walking around the beautiful town. The calm haze of summer Ramadan permeates the dusty streets. We stayed in a really awesome eco-lodge, ate like kings, smoked hookah, drank jack daniels, got to know each other a little more, drove out to the desert and saw 40 million year old whale fossils and waterfalls, got weird at the top of a 4000 year old pyramid. All this for about 80 dollars a person...all of it. It was literally one of the best weekends of my life. 

Now I'm back in Alexandria. I'm currently sitting in my prison-cell like bedroom, my good friend is sitting next to me studying vocabulary in preparation for class tomorrow (we'll be talking about futures studies in the Arab world, interestingly enough), I can hear the sound of cats in heat outside. The wet Mediterranean air feels nice, but is disagreeing with my sinuses a bit, and is nothing compared to the wonderful dry heat of the desert. And whether it's a self-fulfilling prophecy or not, shout out to Richard Scofield Fischer III, fasting all day has cooled my temperament and sharpened my thoughts. I can feel the weight of the next 10 months setting in more and more every day. A deep sadness has also been slowly sinking down into my chest and stomach over the past 2 months, though it isn't a feeling that I'm ashamed of. It's a productive discomfort. I read an article today about Michael Angelakos, the guy behind Passion Pit, and he said something a line it it that made me stop and think. 

"Dissatisfaction and creation are inextricably linked, so you cannot be satisfied"

I do agree with that sentiment. I think that people can be creative and simultaneously happy, but I also know that any time I’ve created something that I was halfway proud of it came out of some sort of discomfort. Whether it be a simple every day insecurity (I have a couple of those) or a full-fledged emotional breakdown, it’s always been something that made me uneasy that made me want to create. Well, I have plenty of discomforts here to keep my busy. Not eating is an obvious one. And after a four-day weekend getting back into the swing of things in an intensive program isn’t so easy, especially when you spend most of your time watching tv/writing a blog post. In addition, coming off a cheap and stress free vacation and being thrown back into a world of stresses and responsibilities can make you feel like you’re right back at the starting point. Like you haven’t worked out the kinks in your life that are really dragging you down. I’ll have to take solace in the knowledge that I am, in fact, working them out. Slowly untangling and untwisting them back to normal. You know, I remember singing along to this song last year right before I went to Morocco. It goes:

“I cannot wait for summer, I cannot wait for June. When all the ghosts are quiet, when everything is new.”

Well June came and went last year, and this year it came and went again. I still find my self, in the aftermath of June 2012, lamenting. Singing and praying for June 2013 to arrive. For the ghosts to quiet down, for new things to come. Like I said, the last 12 months was the best year of my life. Here’s to the next one, which I hope will live up to that standard. It has all the right ingredients; I suppose it’s just up to me now.

All my love,

Tarek

"I could never make him love me"

http://frankocean.tumblr.com/post/26473798723

On the 4^th of July Frank Ocean, one of the most talented singer-songwriters of our generation, opened up to the world about his sexuality. For those who haven’t heard about it or seen the post, he released a tense journal entry that explains how his first love was a man. This was a week before he released his fantastic new album. Publicity stunt or not, it was a brave revelation to a scary and homophobic world.

What impresses me most about this “coming out” is that it is impossible to turn it into a Hollywood Extra sound byte: “FRANK OCEAN, GAY,” because that’s not what his story is saying. It is a glimpse into an exploration of feelings, fears, love and sexuality. We love to pigeonhole people into our premade and prepackaged categories (gay, straight, bisexual). We don’t allow ourselves to investigate and understand our wants and desires, our hearts. We feel uneasy and ashamed when we admit to ourselves an attraction that isn’t understood or accepted by society (or by the ones closest to us). 

Listening to Channel Orange, the new album, in conjunction with reading Frank’s post and working through my current emotional state of insecurity and confusion, has reminded me that finding a way to express yourself and connect with your emotions is an important exercise. Especially when you’re at your lowest, when things are at their worst. When beauty loses it’s effect and colors aren’t as bright.

So, I write in solidarity with Frank today. I understand how hard it is to lay out your fears and your heartache, to not keep them locked up and away from everyone you know and love. I consider this blog and the songs that I occasionally post revelations similar to the one Frank posted. Welcome to show and tell.

As I said in my last post, the time I’m spending in Egypt hasn’t been the easiest. I’ve been torn up and thrown away, picked up and moved to an unfamiliar place, trapped and forced to deal with a broken heart that hasn’t even finished breaking, all without the help of my loved ones. However, since the last time I posted, a barren desert landscape is no longer the only thing that has struck my attention and demanded my recognition. Frank Ocean now has, too. His bravery, and his talent, is an inspiration. Beauty is slowly working its way back into my life, and that makes me optimistic about my future here in Egypt and excited for what I’ll discover. What I’ll learn about my world and myself. What I'll create. Hope this one doesn’t make you guys worry as much as the last one might have <3.

Monotone

For a couple of years now my plan has been to spend a year in Egypt after I graduate from Texas. To learn Arabic, meet new people, get a more worldly perspective, boost my resume. I've looked at this experience as the next step in a process. 

Bachelor's, Egypt, Master's, PhD, respectable and knowledgeable human being who makes money and will die comfortably. That's been the plan.

Well here I am. I arrived in Egypt and started studying Arabic and meeting Egyptians and going to coffee shops and fighting with taxi drivers. Watching the sunset over the Mediterranean multiple times a week, snorkeling a shipwreck in the Red Sea, talking about politics. I witnessed Egypt's first ever democratic presidential election in it's extremely long and rich history. An election that could have destroyed the current stability in the country. All in the first month. This seems to be exactly what I want and need according to my plan. I even got accepted into the Master's program that I was aiming for, so the next stage is already set up for me. Perfect, right?

So why do I feel so in-genuine? Like a ghost of a person who's putting on a smile. I don't want to undercut Egypt, this place is great. It's beautiful and the people are friendly and there's so much to learn here. However I can't help but be underwhelmed by how I'm taking it all in. Everything that should be wonderful is coming up short and lack-luster. My heart, my passion, is somewhere else. It's been taken from me. I lost it and I don't know how to get it back. I've lost my ability to express, to feel and connect. The only way I can experience these things is through some distorted nostalgia, a transference of the past onto the present. 

Yesterday I went on a "safari" trip, which apparently translates to riding an ATV through the desert. When we reached a clearing surrounded by a band of mountains, we stopped to watch the sunset and take pictures. I stood still and took in the panoramic view of the Sinai, and felt for the first time like I was fully experiencing something. The sepia-toned landscape, the silence, the fleeting rays of light. At that moment, it was the most beautiful place I'd ever seen in my life. I've seen the green, snow-capped Rocky mountains. The clear Caribbean, the violent Pacific. I've walked the streets of New York and Paris. I've sprawled out under thousands of purple and green Texas sunsets. These are breath-taking and beautiful things. But I maintain that I've never been more in awe than I was yesterday in that brown and barren land. Gorgeous in it's uniformity. 

I remember saying to someone, "this is my natural habitat". I assumed then that I only meant since my family is from the gates of the Sahara, this kind of place is in my blood. After a day, however, of letting that desert sink in to my mind, I don't think it's that simple. I was blown away by the desert and it's monotonous splendor because it is a perfect reflection of my current mindset and emotional state. Colorless, other than the sepia-toned nostalgia that continually washes over me and inhibits me from experiencing newfound beauty. The harder I look, the more seemingly endless the beige horizon. 

Although this post may seem... depressing, it feels more like a release. I know that this is going to be the hardest year of my life. I've never felt more lost and confused, but I think I need to feel like this. And writing this is helping me break down the walls that I've been hiding behind to shield myself from actually feeling anything. They're very tall walls. 

As I write this final paragraph I'm listening to a song that has made me cry very many times. It's the final song on a fantastically sad album. It's also the longest song on the album. I feel like I'm living the last and longest song on my first album. I want to start working on a new one, but at this moment I really don't have the material or know where to begin. But I guess that's okay. Because I have a feeling my sophomore effort will be something special.

-Angry T

"This is not the sound of a new man or a crispy realization, it's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away. Your love will be safe with me."