Little things.

Nothing like an unclutttered desk and a screen 20 inches away from your face to help you write. And of course, space under an actual desk to stretch your legs. And intense sessions of people watching. And a dire desire to have words on digital paper. To let it be there so tomorrow buttons can be clicked and things can be recounted. And reminisced. And rendered in restfulness. So there are anchors in the sea of existantial ennui.

Being reminded of the bridge over Nile that I crossed countless times which vibrated comfortingly whenever a car rushed past me. Random stranger coming up to ask me if I need directions to somewhere. And discovering that I don't speak Arabic, going back to his friends and coming back to me to ask in English. And smilingly going away when I thanked him and turned away.

Sitting on the stairs going up to the second fllor of the college building and feeling it vibrate slightly as people rushed past me for their classes. Grabbing the railing and being transported back to the railings on the Qasr el Nil. Remembering how placing the camera on the ledge to get a clear picture of the neon lights of the boats didn't seem so scary at the time. Giant lions at the end of the bridge.

Walking over to Tahrir and picking up something to eat. The joy of not resenting carnivorous cravings every single day. Boarding alone, the 4 hour train ride to Alexandria and being welcomed by such cruel cold it was worth falling in love for. Being soaked to the skin. And the feeling of walking in ice blocks instead of shoes. Walking slowly along the beach pavement. Meditarranean winds. Following cats and being followed by them. Only them for company. The blue-green of the sky and the sea. And the startling orange of their eyes.

Kicking aside used needles along the benches. Wishing for more koshari that you just finished walking along the road. Wishing for more koshari sitting in the resource lab, typing this. Also, roasted chicken and rice. Also, every little thing. All the little things that make it what it is. Also, funny sounding double meaning words.

Little and big processions at Downtown. Walking around. Getting lost. Loving being lost. Creepy taxi drivers and specially helpful ones. Not being able to read every damn thing in the periphery of my vision. I want to read everything and also point of spelling mistakes gleefully. But mostly everything being rendered to lines which I did not understand. Could not understand.

Floating around everywhere not being understood and not understanding but still being. Trying. And succeeding. And celebrating. Observing how green the grass is on the other side and seeing how it's cut every chance it can be.

Reading inscribed vandalism on the pyramids. And feeling just like home in the warm dry sun and the azure of the clear sky. The shouting colours and the quiet ground. The familiar hubbub of Khan el Khalili and the calls of the salesmen. Too funny to even comment on. When time stretched on and on. And things became more beautiful.

When in the end, everything was in art and will be. Not realising how much time was spent staring at paintings. And how much inside of mazes of the mind. Wishing to live there and be back in my own bed at the same time. Settling into utopia with good food and old movies. Words like old friends. Feelings like warmth against the winter. Being hostelsick instead of homesick.

Being picked up from one frame of perfection to the other. And feeling like a speck of dust against what all is life. As powerful and as tiny. That unmitigated desire to be on a plane for sunrise again.. the vibgyor skyline in nature's flawless geometry. Staring down below at senseless vastness of rocky terrain and grinning wildly at the frozen Jim Carrey on the screen. Missing being up in the air. Literally and otherwise.

Reaching for lost feelings, but not forgotten. And still sighing happily for all that is and will be.