A different world view
Your list of goals are made. You have a schedule in place. Preparations are being made. The big day arrives and off you go on your new exciting journey through life. Then BAM!! You get hit in the face by reality. This is not how your dream was supposed to be! This was not part of the plan! These were not the thoughts and feelings you had prepared yourself for! So what do you do?
You get on with it! You ride the wave and you enjoy the ride. You take each and every challenge in your stride and then you wake up one day and think “What am I doing? Why am I just going through the motions? Why am I pretending to be OK when I am not?” You realise that you are becoming someone you don’t like, someone you wouldn’t want to be around and yet, so many enjoy your company. Why? You have started to be negative about so many things. You feel as though you are being eaten up by quick sand and you sadly realise “If I do not get off this path I am on, I will never be able to” or “If I do not change the way I am behaving I am going to become just like so and so, and I do not want that”.
It is time to make a new plan. It is time to wake yourself up and do some serious self analysis and reflection. You have to start doing the things that have led you to happy places before, whilst taking into consideration the new experiences, and hopefully wisdom, you have gained since your journey began.
What do you love about your current life? What do you want to keep with you as you move forward? Who are the people you want in your life? What characteristics about them inspire you? What kind of environment makes you happy? Why do they make you happy? Create a mood board, stick pictures of people, places and things that make you happy, with you as the central image to it all. Once that is complete, set deadlines to make it happen. Make a list of all the things you need to do to make your new life a reality.
Life is forever changing and sends many challenges your way. You have to roll with the punches, see through the rhetoric that people spout, avoid guilt trips that people put on you and avoid being distracted. Keep your eye on your goal. Keep an eye on your happiness levels. Believe in yourself and your new goal. Find those that will help you in your new endeavour and all those that just send negativity your way.. find out why, work through it and then embrace the new road together or say “see you later”, not “goodbye”, just “see you later”
This is the process I have just gone through following a period of being terribly depressed. People thinking they know me, people pulling me in one direction to serve their own goals, taking advantage of me and using me. I have allowed it to happen and have been left in the deep depths of unhappiness. Now I am doing the things that I NEED to do for my own happiness, the happiness of my family and I feel more empowered than I have done for the last 36 months.
I had a wake up call recently where I gained an insight into how I would end up if I didn’t take action. I visualised my life if I didn’t snap out of the negativity and depression I had found myself in. I realised that being hurt by others lack of integrity and dishonesty would make me a bitter person, angry at the world and forever miserable. I don’t want that future. I want to be happy, I want to relax and feel safe. I want to be surrounded by green fields and people I trust. I want to be able to write more books and articles. I want to do my bit to help make our world a better place, building bridges with people who want the same. So I am going back to the wonderful city of Sheffield, the greenest city in Europe, home to my sisterhood and also home to my mum and the fields of Fenland. After years of being estranged, my mother and I have worked through so much since she saw me on Sky News in Tahrir Square during the revolution here in Egypt. Now we are going to come together and spend time together… and my dad is going to come and live with us, instead of being by himself.
Sometimes, going back is moving forward. So with 6 months left in Cairo, there is a lot of planning to do, book promotions to organise and articles to write. There are projects to complete, goodbyes to say, precious time to spend with the friends I have come to love and cherish here, and of course I have little Belal’s nursery to decorate.
Live a life that makes you happy, and if you are not happy, look at every aspect of your life and work out why. Remove the unpleasant people and things that are taking you away from your destination. Move forward always.
Life is an adventure, embrace it and learn from it.
Be blessed always in all your endeavours… where ever they make take you
This is my 100th blog entry. I had intended to write about something completely different but at the moment my mind is consumed with the death of my dearest friend Amera who died just over a week ago. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, I had only said “see you in 3 years!”. I wasn’t prepared to say goodbye. I haven’t had the conversations I wanted to have with her. I haven’t shown her the photos of my students, shared the many happy memories I have created here in Egypt with my new friends. She never met my new friends. She never got to see my boys grow up and return to give Aunty Amera a big hug and I never got to hear her say I have done a good job with them.
There are so many words left unsaid. So many memories not shared. There is still that Wild Rice dinner to eat when I get back to Sheffield. She still has to help me unload my books, as she helped me pack them. The tears keep rolling all whilst I distract myself with keeping up with world news on Twitter, researching information for my new endeavour of home schooling, another thing I never got to share with her. I had always said I would never home school but she always told me “Never say never” and now here I am, home schooling because I don’t want my children in Egyptian Schools. I know she would have supported me. I just know it.
I am about to send my manuscript to the publishers finally, after three years of making sure it is ‘good enough’ to publish. Amera never got to read it. I never got to know what she thought about it, but I know now who the book will be dedicated to. I know that it doesn’t matter what is inside the book, she knew it all anyway, and more besides. She would have been proud of me. She always was. Total acceptance of me: the good, the bad and the ugly. I could be me, not hide anything. I could be too tough on my boys and she would be the one who would make it all better. She was my rock as well as the wind beneath my wings when my hubby was away, and when he was at home. She was always there. Now she is gone. Forever. Never to return again. That hurts. A lot. Too much.
In the Holy books it says in various ways “From Him do we come and to Him do we return”, well that just doesn’t cut it at the moment. It also says “He does not give us more than we can handle” well I don’t want to handle this right now, and I can’t see how I am going to handle this. I don’t know how I am going to handle walking back into the home my dearest Amera helped me pack up over a year. I don’t know how I am going to handle going back to the Winter Gardens or the Peace Gardens without her, or how I am going to feel sitting in my own garden by the fire pit without her being there. How I am going to deal with being with the other sisters and not seeing her face, her beautiful face, with the playful eyes, communicating things to me without saying a word. How am I going to do a lot of things? Even making a pot of coffee sets me off at the moment.
I have cried myself to sleep nearly every night. I never really had close friends up until I was 29. I had lots of friends who I had good times with, lots of friends who I spent a lot of time with, but I always had a wall of armour around my heart, to protect me from getting hurt. The only person I really truly trusted and shared things with was my husband, until I met Amera. She broke through that armour like a hot knife through butter. There was nothing left to share, she knew everything. She was just wonderful and I am really struggling with the fact that I am writing ‘was’ to describe her. I am grateful I can touch type because I cannot see the keys through my tears. I can only just see the screen. The tears just won’t stop.
I know that she would be telling me ‘it is OK to cry, just let it out’ but letting it out makes it real. It makes it harder to pretend she will be waiting at the house when we get back to the UK. So many have said ‘be strong, she wouldn’t want you to be like this’. In some ways they are right I do need to be strong, but I also know that she would tell me ‘be with what you are feeling but don’t let it over take you for too long’. If I am like this in a month, then she would tell me to get a grip. She would understand the pain I am in because I know how much pain we felt when we said “see you in 3 years”. I took it for granted that I would see her again. I never got a chance to say so many things I wanted to say because I was either too tired to stay awake, the phone calls were never long enough or I was distracted by other things. I took it for granted that I would get to share so much more with her, and I have learnt the hard way. I have learn that it doesn’t matter what plans we make with each other, it doesn’t matter what our intention is, when our time is up, our time is up and we can’t go back. We can’t give each other the hugs we once shared. I am never going to hear her Scottish Yorkshire accent again, or hear her beautiful laugh. I don’t have photos of us together, we were just too busy having fun to capture the moments. I am never going to be with her again in this life and that hurts. That leaves me lost. I feel as though I have lost my footing.
So many people I know do not get me. Not like Amera did. They do not accept me. Not like Amera did. I know I am confrontational. Another friend posted on my facebook wall “Oh are my ‘political’ posts annoying you? Sorry I thought the future of our planet was worth discussing. By all means show me another picture of your dinner”. I do worry about things that others don’t give a second thought to. I do ‘nervous myself’ about the behaviours and attitudes of others, because sooner or later they are going to impact my life, my children’s life or my grandchildren’s lives. A friend who is an amazing Human Rights activist puts it well “we have to create a better future for our grandchildren and their grandchildren”. I do want a better life for everyone, but over the past year, I have grown aware of the fact that so many people just really do not give a shit about anyone but themselves. Not Amera, she would do everything she could to help someone, if she thought it did them some good. So many do not put enough effort into disciplining their children because ‘they are just kids’, ‘I don’t have the patience’ or simply because they cannot see the bigger picture. I don’t sweat the small stuff unless the small stuff has a greater impact in a negative way. Amera got this. She used to just let me rant, she disagreed with me, she agreed with me, showed me a new way of thinking regardless of whether I wanted to hear it or not. She confronted me. She wasn’t embarrassed by me. She included me in her life regardless of who else was there. I was her friend and if others didn’t like it, tough. That was just the way it was. She could tell me all her troubles, all her embarrassing moments, secrets she could never tell anyone. Bits she just kept between us two. She knew I could ‘see’ her. She knew it didn’t matter where she was or what she was doing, I’d be by her side in a heart beat. But now, her heart is no longer beating and mine is aching. How long is a heartbeat now? How long will it be before I am with her again?
Losing Amera has made me wonder how painful it would be to lose my husband or my two boys. If I am like this over my best friend, I want to die before my husband and two children. I don’t think I could go on without any of them, but I know I would have to. I just hope I would be able to. So many words are left unsaid between so many people.
Please if you could do one thing before today is over, regardless of which day you read this, contact the people who you need to say hello to, need to say sorry to or just simply need to hear their voice. I called my dad yesterday and spent most of the call just listening to him breathing. It felt good. It felt right. He didn’t know what to say, so we were just with each other, 1000′s of miles apart, and yet just with each other. I’m now going to call my mum, and hope I don’t her voice mail again. Everyone else can wait. I need to be with my family, the friends I have chosen as my family and the ones of blood.
Amera, my dearest friend, I make you this promise and promise to honour it as best as I can: There will be no more time wasting. No more spending time doing things that are not going to help me get to where I need to be. No more spending time listening to other peoples excuses. No more time with those moments in my head wishing I wasn’t me just so I could stop hearing people telling me ‘don’t nervous yourself’ or ‘pick your battles’ just because they are too weak or lazy to do something or stand for something. No more worrying about how I look in front of people who are more glamourous, prettier or thinner than me. No more feeling bad about having a lazy day. No more guilt over enjoying a little too much food. No more guilt about being me, because you loved me as I am. Ramo loves me as I am. My boys love me as I am. And now there are only 3 of you left, and my time – or theirs – could come at any moment, I want to make each moment count. I love you Amera. I miss you. I will miss you. I will cry. I will hurt. I will chuckle over silly things we used to do. I will think of you when pouring coffee or doing the things we used to do. I will honour you always. I will keep your secrets. I will listen to songs that we used to sing and dance along to, sometimes crying with all my heart, sometimes the tears will escape and sometimes I’ll just smile, close my eyes and feel you close to me. I will never forget you; could never forget you. I will keep my promises I made to you. I will keep your spirit alive… and if I do ever have another baby, and the baby turns out to be a girl, she will be named Amera in your honour.
I love you my dearest sweet Amera. Rest in peace always and forever… or at least until I get there xx
One of my favourite poems. Somehow, it sums up my life. Enjoy
Dear native regions, I foretell,
From what I feel at this farewell,
That, wheresoe’er my steps may tend,
And wheresoe’er my course shall end,
If in that hour a single tie
Survive of local sympathy,
My son will cast the backward view,
The longing look alone on you.
Thus, while the Sun sinks down to rest
Far in the regions of the west,
Though to the vale no parting beam
Be given, not one memorial gleam,
A lingering light he fondly throws
On the dear hills where first he rose.
For years now I have lived in jeans. I just love them. When I am not wearing them, I wear trousers. Before this I lived in combats, well they are the old skool ravers choice after all I have always been a tomboy. Always.
Over the last decade I started to wear bangles, drop earrings, a variety of rings and necklaces and flower brooches. I started to have confidence in being feminine, something my mother never taught me. Pink was not allowed – of any shade. Being girlie was just not for me. Only for my sister. Over the last 5 years I have added patterns to my clothes, somewhat intimidating for me, but I got used to it. I still prefer block colours but I am learning how to wear patterns and put them together. The clothes have been getting a little more feminine as I have gone along (thanks to a Vogue subscription!). Long gone are the days of me hiding who I am under ponchos.
You see I have never liked the way I look. Even when I was thin (and I think most of you will agree a UK size 8-10 is thin!) I used to think I was fat. I had proportion distortion BIG time. I suffered from Bullimia, and thanks to a girl at school called Emma, who I thought I could trust, I got bullied for it during the last 2 years of school. I have not thrown up for a long time, well not intentionally anyway, and I feel better for it. My jaws don’t ache for one thing.
After having 2 children, a life threatening illness and a lack of time to workout as I used to, my body has changed beyond all recognition. Finding a gym or place of exercise here in Cairo suitable for my schedule is near impossible, simply because many places put classes on during the day – because none of us women work obviously! I don’t want to be surrounded by other ex-pats. I want to integrate, but I want to do it in places where I can work out properly. I want a spinning class, a rowing machine, a treadmill, a free weights area, some kick pads and a punch bag and I want to be able to work my but off in a combat style class. Oh and I also want a sauna, steam and jacuzzi to unwind in and relieve my muscles after my workout. Not too much to ask is it?
Before children I used to do 100 crunches followed by 100 planks every morning and night. I loved my 6 pack (not washboard stomach – too manly) and I long to see it again. I used to work out with free weights for 30 mins, do an hour of high impact aerobics, followed by a mile swim 3 nights a week. For the nights I wasn’t in aerobics I did an hour and a half of Ju Jitsu. At the weekend I would dance all night Friday and Saturday… and I mean proper dancing to full on techno with the bad ass bass lines and hip hop rifts provided by the legendary Producer, mental, cheeky tunes supplied by the superb Scorpio and the mental mayhem of Mark EG. I miss me. I miss the person who I think I am inside.
3 and a half years ago I started to walk every where. After being told by the Dr that I should take it easy, this was all I was ‘allowed’ to do. Then when my lung capacity increased I was allowed to start swimming, then I started to increase my exercise regime reading to start training for a half marathon. My first ‘competitive’ run.. or rather jog I fell in love with running. I used to go running through the parks in Sheffield and through the woodlands, up Bannerdale Road, along Ecclesall Road, through Endcliffe Park, along Rustlings Road then onto Hangingwater with a nice walk back to Bannerdale to cool down, with some mad dash sprints in between. I felt alive! I felt amazing. The only frustration is even though I was relatively fit, I could not lose the weight I had gained during my 2nd pregnancy and life threatening illness 5 and half years ago. I had ballooned from a UK size 12 (post first child figure) to a size 22 in 7 months. Add to this all the medicinal drugs I took, a lack of activity and deep depression. I didn’t know who I was when I looked in the mirror. I hated what I saw. I knew it was not entirely my fault, I mean who asks to have a life threatening illness!?But I still hated what I saw.
Hating what you see in the mirror is sole destroying. You have to learn to love yourself. When you gain weight this quickly, you have to learn how to dress again. You even have to learn how to move around properly. Becoming that overweight in such a short period of time when you have always been energetic, slim (even if you didn’t realise it at the time) and able to wear pretty much anything you wanted and still look good, if not great on the odd occasion, is a very scary thing. People stare at you. People are nasty to you. You feel guilty about eating, even the smallest things. I ate healthily: fish, chicken, salads veggies, red meat occasionally, all of it grilled or raw (with the odd roasted chicken and potato Sunday dinner thrown in for good measure!) I would have fish and chips maybe once a month if I was lucky. Calories input were a lot less than calories output. You’d think simple calculations would work… but it didn’t.
Then 1 year ago I discovered I had a wheat allergy. I stopped eating wheat every day, and stopped completely (until my friend Yasmine tempts me with freshly baked croissants and besboosa the last twice she has seen me!) When I stopped eating wheat I lost nearly 16kg. Now I am back to a size 14-16. I still have about 10-15kg to lose which will hopefully drop off when I join the gym in August after I get back from Lebanon, or at least tone up my body after having lost all this weight. I know I will never be as thin as I used to be. In all honesty, I don’t want to be. I would rather carry a little extra weight and have the 2 wonderful children I have, than be skinny and childless. I would rather come home and have a hug from my husband who understands my struggle and situation than go home to an empty house night after night. I love my life and wouldn’t change anything, except maybe the wheat allergy!
My journey of self image has changed so much over the years. I have learnt to value who I am regardless of what I look like, but in an image conscious world it is one of the hardest journeys I have ever been on. I think the most surprising thing for me is that in the last 2 weeks I have brought 2 dresses. Yes you read that last bit correctly all my friends in the UK. Dawny is wearing dresses!!! I cannot believe it myself, so I do not expect any of you to believe it. I had to wear a dress for my friends wedding a few months ago. I bought a new dress last week and secretly enjoyed wearing it, even though it was the most alien thing in the world to me. I even looked lady like, even though I am not the most lady like person you will ever meet! I have another wedding this Sunday where I will be wearing another new dress, which I purchased today. I saw it, I loved it, I bought it. It looked good, felt and looked strange to me but it looks good.
Now all I have to do is get a box of hair dye, get my hair restyled and tone up this body so I feel good and look good for me, not for my hubby, but for me. I want to kick the crap out of the punch bag. I want to run my 6 minute miles again. I want to be able to complete a 45 min, high intensity spinning session and feel the burn in my butt. I want to swim my 20 minute mile again. I want to know who that person is looking back at me. I want to see me again, because God created me the way I am. To not love me would be insulting to Him, and insulting to all those who do love me, especially my two boys and my uber gorgeous hubby Give me 6 months and I guarantee I will be back to a size 12 again. But in the mean time, I will love myself just because I want to.
Although today, the first day of voting, has gone very well in most places across Egypt, here is one experience that shows the struggle the Egyptian people have, not just with the government or the military, but with other Egyptians. (I have edited the spacing between lines and capitalised words for readability as this piece was written with such passion.)
I went today to Huda Shaarawy exp. in Hadayek Helawn for elections (the worst) I was there starting 7:30 upon the info that we will start at 8.
First we stood outside till 9:40 until the election papers arrived, then at 10:40 while we were still standing outside, they brought breakfast and tea for the judges. They were waiting for the rest to arrive and spread the papers on the committees inside. At 11:18 while we were still standing outside, they said that the number of committees has changed. Please go check them on the Internet (thank God there was someone sitting there providing this service for the people). I called my fiancée and really the numbers has changed. At 12:51 they said that committees no 708,12,13,15 are not working. The judges didn’t come and after that they said they withdrawn.
All this time I was standing out side. Some of the females, we decided to arrange the women because they were the worst people, pushing others and taking turns. We were fed-up because we stood there from 7:30 and didn’t enter, while others who just came did, and of course some of the military men and police allowed them to and used the words “you are women i can not do anything for you”. So we took a rope that they provided us with and tied it at the door and started to squash the women to force them to stand in a line and prevented others outsiders from going in the rope. We told them to go and stand at the end of the line otherwise we won’t allow them to go in. I, myself kicked girls and women that wanted to force in, until my turn in the line came finely and I entered at 1:50.
Going to the committees which were (mine 706 & 707) was much worse, the judges were having a break as if they got tired or something, so I had to be rude when I saw them having rest and drinking tea and I shouted and reminded people with all who died in Tahrir square and how we are waiting for the supposed honest people to allow us to give our voices.
Again women were the worst in standing in line and they kept pushing and forcing in, so I had to shout, pushed people with a chair that Ii had in my hand for my mum to sit on. Girls came out of the line and again like we did downstairs we made a line with our bodies so as not to allow people to force in and force them to stand in line and be civilised. I finished at 2:54.
I went to check on my friend which were standing for committee 708. The one they all gathered together in 1 committee which was 7011 and 7012, she got pulled from her hair into the committee by another nekab women, and before entering they gathered around her and kept kicking her with their elbows because she was making a fuss why is she is not allowed to give her voice because the judges of her committee didn’t arrive. When she entered they gave her the paper already signed with what they want which was (el horreya we el 3adala) and “am a muslem by the way for those who doesn’t know and saw this shared”, and she refused and tore the paper. She took another one also the same all of that in the committee no 7011,7012, she took another blank paper and finally gave her voice and went out to tell the other females waiting outside to take care. She was hit again. The girl was devastated. When we went to file a complain they said “you didn’t die like the people in Tahrir consider yourself lucky”. On my way out I met 2 men and they said they are from human rights and coming to check I told them everything and I kept telling all people outside to check that their papers has no signs on them because inside they already made up their minds for whom to win.
My name is Amira Morad and am responsible for every word that I said and I have witnesses with their phone numbers.
Fingers itching to write. A mind overflowing with thoughts. Frustration mounting on every level. What is the remedy? Well for me it is to write, but since I started teaching 20 four year old children a couple of months ago, my time has been spent planning interesting activities to help them understand themselves, their world and their own abilities. I have been researching global teaching methods, reading books on child behaviour and how to get the best out of the people that will eventually be the ones that are running organisations, governments and most importantly families; The breeding grounds for the behaviours and attitudes that we will all have to deal with on some level.
My thoughts have been taken away from my own children, the guilt has been immense just on that level. I spend more time thinking about other people’s children than I do my own. Something that has challenged me, deeply upset me and made me reconsider whether being a teacher is the right choice to have made. My boys are my reason for living. They are a trust given to me by God, and how I parent them will depend on how much mercy is shown to me on the day of judgement. I want my boys to be confident, happy, healthy and intelligent on all levels, especially in the intelligences of social, emotional, financial, human and spiritual ways of being. In the Qur’aa, Allah tells us “Paradise is at the feet of the mother” and hadeeth says “children are to “love (your) mother first, second, third and your father fourth”. The way we parent, the environment we create will be judged. Did we do what was right and what was needed? Or did we spoil and damage our children to just feed our egos and make our lives easy?
I have been confronted on many levels with this new role as a teacher. Four years ago, I made the choice to not work again. I don’t need to work, but my brain and the way I am wired makes me a worker, and an organised, disciplined worker at that. There are, believe it or not, only so many spa visits you can have before the novelty wears off, and I cannot spend my day just reading, I’m running out of space to put the books for one thing! (The grandchildren will have a nice library in years to come though!). I have had to get used to working with people I have not hired. I have had to get used to working within an environment where team planning and training is not done every week (as it was in my own businesses). I have had to get used to not being in charge of budgets, strategies, team development, motivating and inspiring the team, but the biggest challenges I have had to deal with is the ‘office politics’. Learning who to trust and who to say what to without it being twisted for their own personal, and sometimes malicious gain, has proven to be a bigger challenge than living in a country that is in the midst of a revolution! There have been some shining stars that have led the way for me, brightened each and every day, made me smile when inside I am crumbling to pieces. These are the people I hold close to me. These are the people that I pray Allah will bless in abundance. The others, I pray Allah will guide them and help them to understand the results of their selfish actions.
I have also been confronted on what it is to be a mother. I am a firm disciplinarian. I believe in giving my children what they need not what they want. I believe in manners, discipline and teamwork. I believe in making sure every part of them is healthy, their minds, their bodies, their spirits and their attitudes to life. I will not give my children what they want all the time, it is not healthy for them to get what they want all the time. I will not be manipulated by my children into being weak and allowing them to dictate to me what they will or won’t eat. I will not allow them to speak to me in a rude manner, nor will I allow them to be rude to anyone else. Saying no to children is hard, but it teaches them to say no. It teaches them they cannot have everything they want when they want it, and if it is given to them with clear reasons, it will teach them understanding. It teaches them that sometimes we have to do what is right, not just what we want to do. Sometimes those two things are poles apart; but we all become better for it. I worry about my children’s physical health because they only get one body to travel through life with, it needs to be fit and strong to last them many more decades to come insha’Allah. With obesity, heart failure and dental health surgery in children becoming a fast growing concern around the world, health education is of paramount importance. Children copy adults around them and their peers. Let’s teach them to be great individuals and lead, instead of being a collective that just follows bad, selfish egotistical instructions.
Living in Egypt has shown me many things about the way Mubarak’s regime controlled and held back the people, but becoming a teacher has shown me a completely different view of Egypt. I’ve have been shown just how much damage the regime has done to the Egyptian people. It has shown me that, for many, ego and material wealth is much more important than the health and mental wealth of individuals and the wider community. Emotional and human intelligence is at an all time low, and sometimes non existent. Many believe it is best to avoid talking to solve problems, just avoid contact, don’t deal with the problems and somehow they will magically disappear. I would have thought those that are guilty of this would have learnt from recent events in their own country, that ignoring the problems would only escalate the problems. Egyptians have finally cracked under the pressure of over 100 years of oppression. The dictatorial regimes have firmly planted their ideals into the people on every level. Secret Police exist in many guises, and talking freely is not something you can do without fear of some kind of back stabbing or punishment. There is much suspicion and paranoia, and it is suffocating.
The Egyptians are now in Phase 2 of the revolution, some would say Phase 3 if we include all the initiatives that have been happening since March at the grass roots level. Egyptians need to be strong. They need to stand up for the injustices they face. They need to stand up and make a difference to everyone in the community instead of just looking out for themselves. Only when you want for others what you want for yourselves can you really call yourself a believer. Only when you stand up to oppression and systematised organisational bullying can you improve the lives of everyone, even if it means you lose something along the way.
I am not physically in Tahrir right now, I am at home with my boys. But mentally, emotionally and spiritually I am there. We all are. My hubby is there physically. He has already felt the effects of the new tear gas a few days ago. Thanks to God it wasn’t the one that is eating the skin from the face. Today he is with the BBC, but with the anti press, anti foreigner feelings that are widespread, I wonder how much protection this will offer him. Either way, he is standing for freedom, peace and justice for a country that refuses to recognise him as an Egyptian, even though he is of an Egyptian mother. He is not recognised because his father is a Palestinian, and if that doesn’t tell you how in bed with Israel the old Egyptian regime is, nothing will.
Peace, love and unity to all during these challenging times xx
Hello and welcome to my world. There will be a variety of stuff posted on here for all kinds of people with all kinds of tastes (less the perverted ones amongst us). Enjoy it, subscribe to it and share it with others. If you wish me to write a piece for your blog, your publication or your business, then please tell me using the contact form. Please also remember to enjoy your life, it's the only one you've got. Live it, love it or change it! :) (Either that or shut up moaning!)