Money in Madrid

Why not start with a Frank Ocean quote!

"My silver spoon has fed me good
A million one a million cash
Close my eyes and feel the crash"

From "Super Rich Kids"

I’m a pretty fair-weather communist. There are stretches of time, usually when I’m doing well on cash flow, that I’m a staunch one. For instance, anyone that was in my Modern Standard Arabic class this summer would probably tell you that I’m a radical and slightly unreasonable bleeding-heart leftist. Pretty much every day in class ended in an argument about economics, and I was always the champion of the oppressed. Now if you put into perspective that this summer was directly after a year of saving, a very lucrative graduation party, and my birthday, you’d understand that I was pretty comfortable on cash-money. Not to mention that I was in Egypt, where you can get a meal for 14 cents and top floor (beach front) apartments cost 200 dollars a month.

Fast forward to right now, post summer. I am sitting in a hotel room in Madrid, sick as fuck. I’ve been in Spain for a couple weeks and although the first 12 days or so was one of the greatest experiences of my life, the last 4 days has been a physically and emotionally challenging experience. It turns out that being sick in a country that you have no insurance for is expensive! Especially for me, because I’m completely clueless when it comes to taking care of myself. Usually I call my mom and she tells me what to do. So, in my attempt to be independent I’ve fucked up a lot the last couple days and spent a lot of money that I could have saved with 5 more minutes of thought. In this sudden and large loss of revenue, I’m a lot more stressed about money than I was 2 weeks ago.

A 22-year-old “communist” who’s had everything handed to him since he was born, and who will probably never really have to worry about money, is stressed because he spent a lot of money unnecessarily in 4 days in Europe while he was sick.

How fucked up is that? Honestly, I’m sure that I think about and consider money more than most kids my age. Even those that are much worse off than me.

Lol. I don’t want to shit on myself too much. I’m not conceding my title as a communist, even a staunch one. But I will admit that even though I hold those views, I’m possessed by dat paper. I’d lust to have so much of it that I could do whatever I want, buy any toy that I want, and have sex with more women (I’m also a feminist). The dissonance between what we aspire and what we achieve can really resign us into a state of inaction and apathy. But I don’t think it HAS to. I hope that although I’m a green-faced sexist and angry fuckhead I can still fight for communism, complete equality for women, and world peace without being called a hypocrite.

THAT’S JUST HOW I WAS RAISED DAMMIT.

Last year I went to a lecture by Norman Finkelstein, cool bro. He talked a lot about this dissonance between what we believe and what we do, and I’ll end with a (paraphrased) quote from that lecture.

“You want to know how to fix the financial crisis? Cancel money. Just get rid of money and there will be no crisis. Of course I’m not going to say that though, because the public is not ready to accept it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not a communist.”

Well Dr. Fink, you’re a better communist than me because I still haven’t completely accepted the idea on my own. I hope to have that harmony between belief and action one day. Until then, I guess I’ll just keep writing and see what happens. 

Flies

I'm currently packing my bags to move from the university dormitories to my new apartment in the center of Alexandria. As I was putting various articles of clothing and random things that I've accumulated for the bast two months into my suitcases, I started thinking about this little cell that I've been living and sleeping in since I arrived. A musty little 15x15 square room with a closet and 2 shelves. The white walls are marked with mysterious red and black skid marks, and a filthy maroon rug really ties the whole place together. My bed is essentially a slap of fabric held up by 6 pieces of wood (surprisingly comfortable!) and I turned every little ledge and hook I could find into something that I can use.

I think all the guys that are here with me will agree that the most unsettling thing about the medina (the dorms) is the flies. No matter how much you leave your door closed, or how often you keep your light off, whether you have food in your room or not, how frequently you clean your room, it doesn't matter. Those flies will find a way in, and they will fuck, and they will make some more flies, and fuck some more. They don't really do much, just kind of float lazily around your space and waver back and forth almost as if they were drunk. Over the course of the summer I almost learned to ignore them. I accepted that they were a part of my life now, and I should just let them do their thing.

But I wanted to write about this place because I noticed that, as...interesting as the conditions are, I really started to make this place my own. Almost like a home. It was a place where I could close the door, turn on the A/C, play some American music, maybe watch an American movie, and tune out the tension that exists outside. When I had a difficult day or week, even a difficult hour, I could come into this space and lay down. I could cry if I needed to, write a song or a blog.  I could also walk down the hall to a friends room and sit with him and hang out. There's something comforting about packing 3 or 4 people into a 15x15 room and talking and laughing with each other, knowing that they're going through this experience with you. It's nice to be able to walk 15 seconds to an extremely passable 6v6 soccer field where you can stay up into the late hours of the night playing together with Egyptians and Americans.

I also can't underplay the valuable language learning environment this place provided. Not only was I able to practice Arabic with a bunch of people, I was forced to. From the guys who watch the gate to the people that I lived next to to the people that I ate dinner with, there was no way I could not talk. And because of that my speaking abilities have improved dramatically, much more than they would have from just being in class.

I won't miss the community bathrooms, and the smell of moldy clothes hanging on the drying racks. And even though the flies have become kind of like annoying pets, I don't think I'll miss them either. I definitely won't miss having to take 3-4 taxis a day to get to school and around the city. I will, however, miss a lot of other things about this place. Most of all, the accessibility I had to the other guys in the program. I think it would have taken a lot longer for us all to become friends if we weren't  thrown into this place together. Now we at least know how to tolerate each other, and maybe I'll hit up some of them up throughout the rest of the year to hang out. Maybe.

That was a boring post. Sorry, get over it.

Peace
Angry T

p.s. take a listen: http://soundcloud.com/angrytarek

Two months down, ten....to.....go?

I just spent 30 minutes in the shower trying to get all the sand out of my hair. I barely have hair. WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

48 hours on a beach without showering will do that, I suppose. This weekend I went to a small town on the Mediterranean with a friend of mine and his family. About a 40 minute drive west of Alexandria, it felt like a universe away from the loud crowded and angry city. Here, sitting in my dorm room, I constantly hear people yelling at each other across the complex from their windows (why, god dammit, why? There's literally 1000 Ahmeds that live here, how is the one you're calling going to know you're talking to him?), whereas in this quaint little community the only audible sound is the movement of the ocean. My friend told me this weekend the water was especially nice, which was apparent. It was a picturesque scape of clear blue met by fine white sand, which apparently sticks to your skin far after you've left. We swam, broke our fast at sunset, prayed at the local mosque, I met some Egyptians from Britain who were pretty neat. It was a good weekend, another needed escape from the stresses of Alex.

A year ago I was getting ready to go to Algeria for a short visit after a summer studying in Morocco. I remember the intense excitement I felt to return home. I was so ready to eat tex-mex and drink whiskey with my boys, to smoke a cigarette with my sister as we watch her dog (there was only one at the time!) run around and poop in her backyard. To drive my dads car on 183 and pass the car dealerships and gas stations that I grew up around. To see the burnt Texan grass, the oak trees that infest my neighborhood. And on August 19th 2011 at about 1:00 in the morning I did arrive home. I looked through sleepy jet-lagged eyes at the places and things I had missed so much. They may not have been as enchanting as I remembered them to be, but I was happy to know that they were there, right where I left them.

Well now I've been in Egypt for 2 months. I feel the same longing for home, but it's not nearly as strong as it was a year ago. To know that only the summer is ending, and a full 10 months towers over me before the program ends and I move to the next stage of my life, is sobering. An 18 day trip to Spain, moving into a new apartment, starting an internship, much Arabic, and what I'm sure will be a boatload of new experiences and challenges all await me. It's hard not to focus too much on the future, on a time when everything is supposed to be easier and happier and more comfortable. Especially when things are difficult in the present. I've been letting time pass me by here in Egypt, and to be honest it often makes me happy when I realize how quickly it's going. To the point where I disappoint myself. For instance, my whole life I've wanted to see a beach like I saw this weekend. Clear blue water, white sands, quiet, and virtually empty. I certainly enjoyed it, but it wasn't until I returned to Alex that I actually realized what had just happened. Instead of really appreciating it while I was there, my mind was full of thoughts about tomorrow, and the next day, and the next month, and the next year. I really need to stop doing that! Or I'll look back on this experience and think to myself, what was I DOING that whole time.

What I did learn from leaving for 2 months last year was that home is there. Things may change, some people my leave and some new condos my be built, but for the most part it's waiting for you to come back and welcomes you when you do. What I'm trying to convince myself of right now is that I won't betray my home in Austin by actually trying to make one here. As temporary as I try to make this experience in my mind, I know I'd be short changing it if I didn't give it all I had. So here's to an attempt at a new Egyptian experience. And here's to all of you back home, I hope you'll be just as I remember you after a little while.

Love
Angry T