Express it 2 live it

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A close up to the rape scene in Egypt

Simply, we are selling our car and buying a new one. It was past midnight when my husband finished emptying the clutter in the old car and brought all his cartoons home. I insisted I go down to give the old car one last look as if embracing it, or maybe thanking it. I had just finished watching a talk show about harassment (or rather raping) female revolutionists in Tahrir. I switched off the TV, put on my scarf and went down. The cold air hit my face. The distance wasn’t far, it was just there. One look and I would be back. It was too dark and quite. None was in the street. And I heard a scribble! My heart thumped faster while my mind was reassuring me there is nothing. I looked at the car but couldn’t utter my last words to her. The air blew harder, the scribble got louder and I didn’t give a shit about the car. That must have been a harasser, I ran back the corridor to the gate of my building, leapt up in the air crossing the two steps in front of the door, closed the gate behind me, and it was warm again. I went straight to the apartment, taking refuge in my husband’s side feeling warm and SAFE beside him.

But rape isn’t about that. It isn’t some imaginary tale happening in my head upon watching a program. It is a lifetime moment of life or death, and if it was life, it might mean the death of soul. So it is a moment of death or death.

A flashback to myself 16 years ago, I stood in front of one of my friends who asked me firmly “Do you love him?” I shyly nodded without muttering a word. The 11 years old girl (me) didn’t know then what love was. I was just back from KSA, where I had to be covered from head to toe, to Egypt where I entered a mixed theatre class and wore miniskirts. At that time, a friend came, out of custom to have a mate, showing admiration and saying “I love you”. I thought that was so gentle and I of course loved him back. But it wasn’t about dating! I loved him in the sense that he was cute and funny. For him, love was interpreted to secret phone calls and going outs. But that wasn’t the love I knew. I felt I have drowned myself in an unethical pond by just saying “I love you” back. And I lived with the feeling of guilt for the years that came after; guilty I said “I love you” to a boy!

A flashback to myself 10 years ago, I was in the bus going to my college, finally found a seat after a long time of standing up and there came a man to stand beside me. I felt something scribbling my shoulder. I drew my shoulder farther trying to figure out what was touching me. For me, looks at my body are sometimes hurtful, let alone trying to touch it. I thought the man beside me was inserting his hand inside his pocket and trying to touch my shoulder. But the reality was uglier. The man beside me was erecting out his penis and touching my shoulder. I leapt up so humiliated and got out of the bus at the next stop. The fresh air hit my face and warm tears rolled down my cheeks.

It is just a typical Egyptian society; raping girls for their being girls; caring less about their emotions and aggravating their status in society for the mere fact that she is a girl with a breast and vagina.

It is a society that breeds decent, delicate and shy females. A girl should be always embarrassed about her body, low voiced and elegant. In the same time, it allows men to experience the ugliest of things; breeding toughness in them by allowing them to utter the worst of words, hit, date girls (even if deceiving them with the name of love), give orders to their sisters, shout at their mothers, go out late in the night in addition to lots of deeds that are a yes for males and no for females. Few escape those ugly values but most sink down to them.

And now under the weak reign of the Muslim Brotherhood, girls are being flagrantly raped and harassed for saying ‘no’ and protesting. I am not saying this has never happened before, but it was not so open, systemized and ugly. I have no words to describe how I felt upon reading the testimonies of the raped girls. I simply shut close my legs and covered my breasts as if there was somebody trying to touch me. I couldn’t figure out how it is to penetrate through my body, how it is with fingers trying to poke every part of me, and palms squeezing my flesh? Is it painful? Humiliating? Devastating? No doubts, of course!

Nakedness is the word to describe that. Contradictions are the core of that. It is a nude society that tries so hard to look high valued while its deformities are so exposed and seen. Well, piousness is not about hiding penises and breasts. Women are not supposed to grow out more hands and legs to keep their privacies protected. We are not supposed to be afraid to be alone.

I offer no solutions, for it is so personal. For myself, I would take refugee always in my husband and the males around me. That’s me. Other girls might choose the worst by keeping themselves home. Maybe for the more courageous, they would choose to fight; with electrics and weapons or maybe through walking in groups. Ok, one more way to fight is to write on your underwear “I have HIV”!

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Fussy Imane giving advice on how to be ‘satisfied’!

How frequently do you find yourself feeling grumpy for no reason – experiencing meltdowns, screaming and yelling over trivialities just to let out the passive energy inside you? How many times have you attributed your bad mood to hormonal changes especially such female stuff like PMS (Premenstrual syndrome)? I am sure most women can relate.

Well, I must admit, I believe myself to be one of the fussiest human beings on earth. One moment I may be over the moon feeling life is great, and the next, cursing and feeling miserable. No exaggeration. I do not like feeling this way; I wish I was more stable and normal.

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My mother-in-law and I: World War III over small misunderstandings and basic differences

Why would anyone give to another a gift of lingerie? Seriously, isn’t that too personal? While the gift-giver won’t be exactly asking about when you wore the lingerie and what happened afterwards, it’s a kind of interference into one’s personal space, isn’t it? Or is it a cultural thing? Yeah, it could be. It is a culture that is so pleasure and desire oriented to such an extent that it doesn’t differentiate between what is proper and what is not.

I am one of those persons who does not really like people looking into my undies. Yet, I was repeatedly asked why I deviated from normal procedures and didn’t share with my female guests my new wardrobe after my marriage. The culture goes like, “… you are actually showing off how much you have spent on the new dresses, trousers, shoes … etc including lingerie.” And, I go, “get the hell out of here!”

Of course, I couldn’t say that to my mother in law who was astonished at my stance – that would be rude; yet I tried as much as I could to explain that we all have different beliefs that we adhere to.

Later on, I learned that one of my friends received a lingerie gift from her mother in law and I felt, “haha, what a carefree and passionate mother she is!”

Actually, if lingerie is such a public thing, why don’t we go out in the streets in them? Or maybe we can get grooving in publicly so that everyone can have his/her take on how effective they are? Akh! Isn’t that disturbing and negatively charged, when we feel the world around is invading our privacy?


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مذكرات نونو (سلسلة من الهزائم والانتصارات) – الجزء الرابع

حبيبتي تعود

وجاءت حبيبتي. جاءت إلى بعد أن ابتعدت عنها، حملتني وضمتني إلى صدرها، وهدهدتني حتى هدأت ثورة الغضب والألم الكامنة داخلي. لم ترضعني كما تمنيت. ولكني ساعتها أدركت أن حبها لم يتغير وأن حنانها قد ازداد. بل إني قد لاحظت في إحدى المرات دموعًا تملأ عينيها مع صرخاتي. ساعتها همست في نفسي أن كلا، لن أكون أنا سببًا في دموع حبيبتي، وسكنت داخل حضنها الكبير وهدأت ثورتي ونمت.

لم يكن اليوم التالي مختلفًا كثيرًا غير في حقيقة واحدة أن زمن الرضاعة قد انتهى، وأدركت حينها أن الدنيا بدأت تبتسم وأن أنيابها بدأت تظهر شيئًا فشيئًا.

حياة أخرى

بدأ الأمر يختلف تدريجيًا فقد بدأ إدراكي يكبر ومداركي تتسع ومسئولياتي تزيد! في البداية لم أكن أفعل غير البكاء كي تلبى احتياجاتي، وكانت حبيبتي حقًا على قدر عظيم من المسئولية، فهي لم تتأخر عني أبدًا. حتى في عز نومها كانت تستيقظ من أجلي، أنا نفسي لم أكن أعرف لماذا أستيقظ كل حين والآخر. في البداية كنت على علاقة وطيدة بالرضاعة … آه، تلك الأيام … ولكن بعد ذلك عندما توقفت، لم أعد أعرف لماذا أستيقظ، ولكن شعور بالرهبة داخلي كان يقض مضجعي ويجعلني أبحث عنها، وعندما تأتي وألمسها وأشعر بأنفاسها أسكن ويبدأ النعاس يداعبني مرة آخرى، والنوم اللذيذ يمتلكني بين أحضانه.

عودة للحديث عن المسئوليات، لست أدري كيف أتى هذا الأمر، علي أنا من مللت أن تلبي كل طلباتي وودت أن تكون لي شخصيتي المستقلة، أو علها أمي هي من قررت أني الآن طفل كبير لديه سنة وثلاثة أشهر ويجب أن يعتمد على نفسه.

كان شعوري بالسعادة كبير حقًا حين أتت لي بكوب حليب ذا ألوان زاهية وأعطته لي في يدي. نظرت إليه، كان مختلفًا عن الكوب العادي، فله رأس دائرية مغلقة تخرج منها شوكة أو عصاة، أو هي كما دعتها أمي “شاليمو”، نظرت إلى الكوب وإلى أمي وفكرت في نفسي “حسنًا ماذا علي أن أفعل الآن” أعطيتها الكوب ثانية، فقد لفتت نظري في ذلك الوقت لعبتي التي تصدر الأصوات في يد أخي، وقررت أن أذهب إليها. ولكن أمي جاءت تلاحقني وتعطيني إياها مرة أخرى، ووضعت الشاليمو في فمي، فتذوقت الحليب الذي أحبه، رائع، هيا أين الباقي؟ لم أعرف كيف أصل إلى الحليب مرة أخرى، فقد كان ما مصته أمي كافيًا للتذوق، ولكني أريد المزيد! بدأت أبذل المجهود كي أشفط الحليب من الكوب، تعبت في أول الأمر، وألقيت بالكوب في الأرض وذهبت للعب. ولكن أمي كانت قد صممت على إعطائي هذه المسئولية، وكنت أنا على قدرها! فلم يفت غير يومين وأنا أتجول بالكوب وحدي أشرب منه كأي رجل كبير.

لم تقتصر المسئوليات على كوب الحليب، أو قطع البطاطس التي استطعت أيضًا أن أفهم كيفية أكلها بعبقريتي وحدها، ولكن كانت هناك مسئولية أدبية، تلك التي تظهر في عصبية أبي عندما أذهب إلى التلفاز أضغط على أزراره الجميلة، أو أتجه ناحية الأسلاك المغرية المتدلية منه، أو أضرب أخي بلعبة من اللعب. كنت أجد أمي وأبي يتجهان إلى ويقولان بصوت عال “لا، لا تفعل هذا”، لم أكن أعرف وأنا أفعله أنه خطأ، ولم أستطع أن أمنع نفسي عنه رغم عصبيتهما، كان أمرًا معقدًا!


في بداية حياتي، عندما كنت صغيرًا للغاية، كنت أسمع الكثير من العبارات عن ابتسامتي “إن الملائكة تلاعبه، حتى عندما يكون نائمًا”. لا أعرف ما هي الملائكة، ولا أتذكر إن كنت رأيتها أو لا، ولكني أتذكر شعورًا بالسكينة كان يحاوطني كأن هالة من الاطمئنان قد أسدلت أستارها حولي وأبت أن تتركني.

مع تقدم العمر، بدأت هذه الهالة تخبو شيئًا فشيئًا، فلم يعد النوم ممتعًا كما كان، ولم تعد السكينة أمرًا مسلمًا به.

كنت أرى أبي وأمي دائمًا مع بعضهما البعض، وكانت هناك الكثير من الحوارات الدائرة بينهما، لم يكن يسترعي انتباهي منها إلا ما علا فيه صوتهما. كنت أرى في ملامح أمي مزيج من الغضب والكبرياء وفي ملامح أبي مزيج من الثورة والهياج، وكنت أشعر عندها بشيء في صدري، كأنها لكمة، أو خوف، أو انكسار، كنت أبكي، أبكي كثيرًا لأن أشد من أحبهما يفعلان هذا بي!

وجاءت الأحلام، تقدم العمر وتوقف الرضاعة مع بعض الخلافات أتت جميعها بمشاعر أخرى لم أكن أرغب في معرفتها.

حلمت ذات يوم أني استيقظت أبكي منتظرًا حبيبتي، ولكنها لم تكن هناك ولم تأت إلى كعادتها. ازدادت الصرخات، واحمر وجهي، وشعرت بسخونة تتملكني، ولكنها لم تأت، نزلت من سريري وخرجت، فوجدت ألعابي ملقاة في كل مكان، ولكنها لم تأت، أذهبت؟ أتركتني؟! غير ممكن، فتحت عيني واستيقظت ساعتها مذعورًا وقد انطلقت صرخة من حلقي استنجد بها أن تأتي.

وأتت، لم تخذلني كعادتها في الحقيقة، ولكنها خذلتني في الحلم!

من ساعتها قررت ألا أتركها. كنت أتبعها في كل مكان، في المطبخ وفي الخارج وفي بعض الأحيان في الحمام حتى في كرسي السيارة كنت أجلس معها بجانبها. نعم، لن أتركها!


هذا المخلوق غريب بكل المقاييس. كانت أوجه الشبه بيننا غريبة، فنحن متشابهان في الطول والجسد، في الحركات والتطورات. حتى أننا في بعض الكثير من الأوقات نفعل نفس الأشياء في نفس الوقت. فنحن نلعب معًا ونأكل معًا، نستحم معًا، وننام معًا، ونخرج معًا، بل ولقد كنا معًا داخل أمي في نفس الوقت!

نوع المشاعر التي أمتلكها لهذا الكائن مريبة بعض الشيء. فأنا لم أكن أنتبه إليه ولم يكن يسترعي انتباهي فهو مصدر للإزعاج عندما يبدأ في البكاء، ومصدر للغيرة عندما يجذب حبيبتي مني!

عندما بدأنا نمشي معًا، بدأت نظرتي إليه تختلف، فقد أصبح مصدرًا للعب واللهو. كان المشي مرحلة أخرى بالنسبة لي وله، فلم نكن الآن نحتاج إلى أحد يمد لنا يد العون كي نقف أو إلى كرسي أو كنبة حتى نتحرك، بل أصبحنا أكثر اتزانًا وتحكمًا.

عندما يتذوق الإنسان طعم النجاح يزداد عنده شعور التحدي. نعم، هكذا كنا أنا وأخي، صار المشي بداية سلسلة من الانتصارات والقفزات والتطورات.

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The big decision: no more time for underwear!

If you are a mother of twins and in the phase of potty training, you will need a minimum of 20 underwear pieces in your closet and most probably daily underwear wash. Since I love neatness and tidying up, I was so keen on folding each tiny piece of underwear every day.


This is the same with the 160 block pieces usually spread in cold blood on my carpet around 10 times a day. I can tell I am much better in counting now compared to the time I was studying math at school! For the past two years, when my twins have started more active motor skills, I took it as an obligation to collect each piece of toys usually found on the carpet, under sofas and chairs, on tables, under tables, in between cushions, inside their cars and recently in the fridge! Akh, I am laughing while writing this now, but it is really hard to keep up a perfect tidy place when having toddlers around. It just adds to the stresses I face as a mother on secondly basis!


With school time nearing, I have been highly thinking of homeschooling. I am convinced I want to spend more time with my twins. I am more thinking of the great passion for education they will obtain when they learn that knowledge can be sought in fun endless ways. Speaking of homeschooling is so recurrent those days for me. Although few people choose that path of education for their kids, I have chosen to put myself in a community where I feel all people do this and odds only put their kids into schools (with all due respect to each person’s decision of course).


Granted, I feel so much worried about taking such a resolution. Although I know it is the best to do for my kids, I feel I don’t bear within the necessary characteristics to proceed with my decision. I am TOO impatient, moody, egocentric sometimes, disorganized and more of that does not come to my mind right now. Having twins adds to the load as I won’t be taking it step by step; I will be forever distinguished of normal moms with an extra dose!


Stress … it is the word I daily live with and mostly fear because it leads me into a way of two: the strong character that challenges it and in turn brings out the best ideas for cooperating and interacting with her kids or the impatient yelling frazzled mom who shouts all the time. I believe kids have the right to be silly, it is part of their innocence but we are too arrogant that we want to accept their sweet silliness and dump their ill silliness. We sometimes mess things up and take our kids for the life stresses we are facing which has totally nothing to do with them! If I am to homeschool my twins, I think I will need to reconsider ways to deal with my stresses and arrange my priorities.


Today, I have found out I need to go with things that I do not highly accept to keep my temper up. I don’t have to fold up each of their underwear pieces everyday if this is going to load me and would give me more 20 minutes of relaxation. I don’t have to collect every single paper on the ground at night if I can do that in the morning when I have had enough sleep. I can give them time of their own playing or messing with whatever when I lay still on the couch waiting for them to come back and jump on me or pull my hair. Yes, I can still be the responsible loving mother with less stresses because I have CHOSEN to lessen my loads. Small trivial decisions count if you want to be a distinguished mother. I won’t dump my kids into schools because, like other moms claim that they need that free time when the kids are away, I would do that when I am fully convinced this is the best for them and will yield a better education than the one I can offer them at home.

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Accepting the me in me: friends who inspire me to stay on track

Well, I have a problem with myself. Sometimes, I boast about being me, I feel proud, happy and confident. At other times, I don’t like myself so much, I feel upset, frustrated and have low-esteem. I know quite well that life is composed of ups and downs and that this is normal. Yet, the downs seem like a thorn just around the corner of the heart. When your heart beats, it slightly touches the thorn, and the pain starts starts … clearly and well defined, the pictures sharper than the cameras of the cinema. A flashback and I can see myself and whoever has hurt me in my mind. I feel the tears rising, the ache is heavier, lungs feel full, breathing is shorter and it all ends! It is a strong emotional melt-down that pokes your pride and lowers your self esteem.

This is me when I face a hurtful situation. Sometimes, we let these hurts pile up because we feel that we cannot change them. It tends to make us feel helpless, as if we are letting ourselves down, disappointing our families, and we don’t know how to go on and overcome these feelings. Could it be that I don’t accept certain aspects of myself or that I need to explore other aspects and realities about me?

Do you know why most girls love Cinderella? I would say because she is beautiful, and although none of us have or will ever meet her, we are sure of that beauty. In my opinion, her story is also about the simple depiction of the beauty of soul – her sweetness, tenderness, elegance, delicateness, and patience. She obviously is not filled with jealousy, pride, strife or any of the feelings that make us sick at heart.

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Who the hell killed my son?

How many times did I mention to you that I hate talking about politics? All right, I know ‘too many’. I am really sorry for this and I know it is adding to my bill and treading on your patience. But I am not lying to you. I do hate politics. Ok, what is next? I want to write something. I need to send a message on the 73 killed people in a MATCH massacre. Can you believe it? In a MATCH! They are not only 73 people; for if they were in their 60s or 70s, I would have wished them peace and let it go. But the disaster is that they are too young; in their twenties! Imagine youth going to cheer for their favorite team getting murdered! Maybe if they have gone to war, I would have said it was their destiny and may their souls rest in peace. No, no, no, their souls won’t rest in peace until something happens. Is it doomsday?!

Did I tell you before how much I am confused concerning the conflicting parties? Yes, I did. I know you already knew about my hatred to the conspiracy theory that renders all tyrants. I am searching for clear cut truths. So, I am giving a short message to each relevant party:

SCAF (Supreme Council for the Armed Forces): Shame on you! I won’t say like others ‘you plotted this’, yet you’re responsible for this! It is either you’re legendary and strong as our history books have dictated us as in your 73 war against Israel. Or you’re a coward and weak dwarf lurking behind a giant’s picture. Who the hell are you?

Police: Haven’t the wombs of Egyptian women given birth to men? What were you taught in your academies? How could you stand still seeing thugs, cheerers, armed men or whoever attack your brothers? It weren’t for the honor of your suits, let it be for the honor of human kind for God’s sake! Don’t claim weakness any more, that’s a worn chewed plea. Where are the good cops in you?

Protesters: If you think I would praise you, let me tell you ‘you’re so darn blind and greedy’. You have shown nothing up till now but standing in the streets just the same as thugs. You have allowed thugs and spies to lurk amongst you. What you have shown us, or me at least, is the power of the mean over the good and, unfortunately, the victory of the bad over the good.

My heart is really aching. I won’t claim patriotism or love of country. Yet, I know how it feels when one of my sons gets a bit warmer than usual. I can wholeheartedly sense my heart beats when one of my sons shivers or feels poorly. The revolution of the youth in Egypt has shown me no bright sides. The government of the elderly in Egypt has proven no wisdom. And, the people of Egypt have shown me nothing but lack of ethics, greediness and opportunism. Cynically, I can recollect that I have invented something to teach my three years old twins when they miss behave. I sit on my knees to be on his sight and say firmly: ‘do you remember our codes of ethics, five they’re:

  1. 1.       No hurting
  2. 2.       No hitting
  3. 3.       No pushing
  4. 4.       No throwing
  5. 5.       No crying’

Can we teach our sons these? Can we start paving the way for a better generation than ourselves? Or we will be paving the way for more murdering of our ethics, sons and even ourselves. If you want to ask ‘who the hell killed your son?’ let me tell you: it is YOU and ME.


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How home schooling helps me bond with my kids

Our mothers have helped us grow into the adults we are today; they have taught us a lot, haven’t they? Yes, as mothers we are always concerned about what is best for our children. We care much about what we introduce into their lives and make sure the timing is appropriate. The first thing we think about in such situations is “is my kid ready for this?” For myself, I have always considered this an act of responsibility rather than of love. Personally, I have had an unusual experience with motherhood (you can go back to my article notes from an ungrateful mother) – it didn’t really come to me naturally. Simply put, to me, “motherhood is a journey through which women learn how to be mothers”.

In the last few months, I have chosen to home-school my twins. At first, I thought about enrolling them in nursery school … primarily, to relieve myself of the burden of trying to engage them all day in activities order than spilling my coffee, pulling my hair, slapping each other, crying, throwing tantrums, jumping over the furniture and if I flash forward, climbing up the ceiling.

During a discussion with a friend sometime ago, I learned she was homeschooling her 5 year old daughter and was thoroughly enjoying the experience. Because I admire her relationship with her daughter and thought she’s a great mother (which I don’t always see myself as), I immediately felt this was something worth doing. I accepted the challenge. Wanting to LOVE my children wholeheartedly, I am now HOMESCHOOLING my twins.

Homeschooling is basically educating your children at home by creating a child-friendly environment full of activities that’ll help them grow and develop; on a deep mental level, it is about going into a child’s mind, learning what they are interested in, introducing new things in fun and innovative ways, letting them explore, and above all accepting and embracing them as children and not being bothered by their silly childhood acts.

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Agreeing to Disagree. Kholoud Saber, you are my Egyptian Revolution Hero!

I don’t care.’ Read out the sentence ten times and write it down randomly on a white sheet of paper. That was my upset friend Amira, expressing her frustration at our physics private tutor; she repeated this phrase a dozen times, ignoring him as he lectured. I can clearly recall that I too was upset but no clear reason comes to my mind. I literally miss those days some ten years ago. Of course, I don’t miss the frustration, nor the physics lesson, but I miss my friends with whom I enjoyed so many round circles of gossip and hilarious acts of mischief.

Yes, at that age, we were more innocent, happy and we had mood swings and fought over the most trivial things, did “crazy and forbidden things” and imagined a bright future when we grew up! Nothing was foisted upon us, we merrily embraced our beliefs and perspectives; we thought “we are free”.

As the years went by and we became adults, we began to realize that freedom is a bit more complicated. It goes beyond saying ‘no’ to your mother or choosing to skip lectures; it’s a serious and sensitive issue. Freedom means something different to each one of us and fits into our lives differently. Out of our group of four closest friends, two have traveled out of Egypt, and two still live in the country. Through the years, knowing each other like we did, we haven’t been surprised by one another’s choices.

When The Egyptian revolution erupted, many things changed for my countrymen, differences became obvious and glaring, and misunderstandings ruled.

Personally, this revolution hit home because one of us was very involved. She is Kholoud Saber, she is the revolutionist amongst us. She is the one on the streets now, one of thousands and thousands of Egyptians out there fighting for their country and the most trustworthy person for me in this revolution. I can remember she’d always shown a keen interest in politics from a very early age. I recollect she used to participate in demonstrations against Israel, she organized and partook in campaigns against the central security forces’ interference in the college … and she is blacklisted by the Egyptian police.


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Reflections on 9/11 from Egypt to America: Man’s destruction of Man

Scenes of fire on TV have really succeeded in damping my mood this afternoon. I entered the house a couple of hours ago after a nice family outing, the taste of those delicious cinnamon rolls still in my mouth and was greeted by news of the today’s demonstrations at the Tahrir Square in Egypt which had turned violent, culminating in a violent attack on the Israeli embassy and gangs rushing to police stations, setting cars on fire.  Who would perpetuate such savage acts?

Although I am no fan of Israel’s, I would never cheer for acts of destruction. I would have applauded playing hardball with the Israeli ambassador if it was done by the government, but not this. To see a group of thugs deforming the Egyptian image in front of the world was so unacceptable!

I couldn’t stand listening to news analysis by those so called world activists on whether this was a plot by the military supreme council to apply ‘Martial laws’; or just a group of so called liberty activists; unruly demonstrators or thugs hired to defame the revolution, etc, etc, etc … I know by now that these discussions always end in one thing: chaos.

I thought to seek refuge from Facebook, where I would meet some friends and maybe discuss these developments. I read great comments like

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