I'll Sue EgyptAir if They Sell Off My Ticket Again.

They're at it again.

The wall graffitis, the agenda filled pamphlets, the riot police.

Damn it.

As much as I enjoyed the month long holiday that was graciously handed to us by the university spurred by the upheaval last year, I just really, supercalifragilisticexpealidociously want to graduate. And another violent revolution at hand is not gonna push that boat in the right direction.

Just yesterday, we were walking (more like being in a cab) down the Sharie' Gehan (or Gehan Street, didn't think I'd pick up some, albeit minimal, Arabic did you?) and there they were, in all its maximum security glory, three dark blue armoured cars with what looks like a sizeable makeshift prison cells at the back.

And the little dreamer in me was hoping a hand would slip out from the cracks, longing for sympathetic human touch, and I'd run to the car slowly with John Lennon's Imagine playing in the background, arms outreached only for the car to drive off away into the dark of the night. And music would fade to the last part of Knockin On Heaven's Door.

End scene.

Following the debacle that was last year's evacuation process (and my brief 15 minutes of fame where my post 10 hour flight face as well as my grossly exaggerated quote was printed in the news for all of titillated Malaysia to see), this revolution is apparently a move to give the Egyptian government the heave-ho to set an exact date for the presidential elections or in a more official news-y way

The military has floated a timetable that places the transfer of power late in 2012 or early 2013, but the protesters want it to announce a precise date. A growing number, however, wants the military to immediately step down in favor of an interim civilian council

Now my opinion on the matter. Hmmm.

Also reported by msnbc.com that 22 people have been killed, although these numbers could've been either embellished immensely or depreciated, whatever tickles the fancy of the Western media. And this is just to urge the government to set a date. What happens if they don't like the president? Or the results are rigged? Are more people going to lose their lives from protesting? Or are they going to give up, weary of the same empty promises? Something has to change, but what? Is it the seedy attitude of higher ups or the complacent nature of the people? Or will this endless cycle is just gonna rear its ugly head again and again And of that, will the country be strong enough to build itself from the rubble the revolution has left the economy in?

And I would just want to clarify that this is merely an observer's opinion on said matter. I'm not a political commentator nor have I credentials of a certified Middle Eastern scholar. I'm just another wide eyed student who has seen her fellow peers fight for their rights tirelessly, only to be despondent with the outcome. I want to proudly declare that I was there when Egypt achieved freedom. But I'm afraid whatever utopia dreams that Egyptians may have is just gonna be just that, a dream.

I offer my prayers and hope that Egypt, a country that once basked in the glories of early human civilization with a future shrouded with uncertainties, will rise from the ashes and bring back the once thriving land of the Pharaohs and Pyramids into full throttle. InsyaAllah.

Hypothetically.

Hypothetically

... What would you say to someone you're no longer friends with?

I'd say

"I don't know why or how it has dragged this long, but I'm no longer angry. And faults, it's not yours. Neither is it mine"

Hypothetically

... What would you say to a loved one who is no longer living?

I'd say

"I hope life has been as fulfilling for you as it has for me knowing you. And what is afterlife like?"

Hypothetically

... What would you say to the families of the victims of disaster?

I'd say

"You might not see it now, or tomorrow, in another 20 years, but somehow, there is a silver lining, and God willing, you will find it"

Hypothetically,

... What would you say to a friend who is miles away, connected only by mere texts and calls?

I'd say

"Each time you make an effort in keeping this friendship afloat, I feel like the luckiest person alive. Truly, phenomenally lucky"

Hypothetically,

...What would you say to a person whom you adore but never mustered the courage to tell how you feel?

I'd say

"If that day comes, the day when you realize you had a good thing waiting for you, God I hope it won't be too late"

Hypothetically,

... What would you say to a person whom you once cherished that has hurt you irreparably ?

I'd say

"I don't hate you. I'm not angry. I just want an explanation. Cause I'm tired of hurting alone, and being confused beyond reason. Please, just an explanation"

Hypothetically,

... What would you say to those you have hurt?

I'd say

"I'm sorry. I'm just so sorry. If I could match tear for tear, pain for pain, heartbreak for heartbreak, I would, in a heartbeat"

Hypothetically,

... What if half of these questions were not hypothetical?

Oh, we'll never know.

KL - Abu Dhabi - Cairo - Hellhole/Home :)

Because I live a world apart from where I'm studying (cause I'm badass that way) , I've been blessed to have been able to travel long haul flights (nothing says adventure like risking getting deep vein thrombosis).

After a while, the thrill of taking off and landing have se

em to disappear, well aside from the occasional "IS THIS THE END?" moments when turbulence takes you by surprise. And your head starts flashing images from the one episode of Air Crash Investigation you watched because you were bored. No? Only me? Fine.

Now, at 2.30 am, while waiting for my 10 am flight to Cairo at Abu Dhabi airport, I'm absolutely drained from flying

Look at absolutely-drained-from-flying face

Now look at face wondering why is EVERYONE is speaking Tagalog.

And this places is infested with Asians. Not filled, not populated, but positively overrun by them. As far as the eye could see, there were Asians. A cashier at Burger King, Filipino. A perfume salesman at Givenchy, Sri Lankan. A clerk at a pharmacy, Indian. The Asian Invasion is here, and is here to stay (and apparently snatch away all the menial jobs from the locals)

... Hey, hey, it's not racist if you're on of them. Like how Chris Rock crack racist black jokes and no one would say anything but the moment some non black guy says a racial slur, it's choo-tink-choo-tough-foo'?

That's just the way of life.

I better get some sleep before I turn into a raging maniac on some stewardess who won't pour me another cup of tea. It can happen, it can happen.

Before I go, just a little shout out to the Etihad feminine male female dumb homo flight attendant who refused to help me put my bag in the overhead cabin even after the thing almost crushed my cranium in because you were too busy gossiping with your other homo friend...

Well, you suck! *runs and hide*

I can't think of any demeaning remarks right now. I need sleep.

Semester 5, Biochemistry Hell

Okay.

Time for a little confession. Yes, despite the hefty prolonged time of not updating this blog, I haven't been filling my time with anything more productive than just lazing around, wallowing in self pity, more lazing around, travelling (Oh, Europe has not been kind of the wallet) and of course... lazing around.

I admit, most of the time I've been trying to keep myself busy, from my post you-know-what depression. I can't remember now how many hours I wasted joining inane activities, exploring every little crevice of Cairo, taking part in glorified social causes and last but not least, ample of hours on jamming, which performance got stopped half way through anyway.

And God knows, this semester is such a bitch.

I swear.

It's even worst than semester 4 head and neck curriculum, filled with a certain touchy-feely, borderline pervy doctor's lectures. Moreover, I was kicked out of HIS lecture in the beginning of the semester (cursed, no?). Maybe it was a sign. May-beh.

And I remember after the exam, telling Dr Salwa that the exam sucked cause it had TWO Histology in the essay exam. Dr. Salwa. Dr. Salwa Gawish. Also known as Professor of Histology of Mansoura University.

.... Yeah, it wasn't a good start to the exam either.

Anyway, results were released yesterday.

Of course there was a reason for my academic laden rant. And no, I didn't fail. So half of you can put down celebratory streamers and balloons. However results were so-so. Well, not so good.

Okay, they sucked.

The feeling is akin to plunging to the ground from unimaginable heights, and surviving. You are glad, to the highest heavens that you're alive, still breathing when suddenly, a searing pain pierces through your body. Then you realize that both your legs are broken, twisted to unnatural positions, bones probably piercing through the skin, and of course, it hurting like a bitch.

That's how it feels getting my results :)

Well, after a long lecture from Dr. Mum and hiding ze mentioned results from army-trained father (yes, I still fear being ass-whopped, even after 20 years of the no physical violence conduct) I should start doing better.

For one, I'm starting clinicals already. So a lot more work ahead. Patients interaction is rather vital, and well... I'm not the most likable person in the world. And all that self pitying I did, it was enough to fill a lifetime. And believe me, feeling sorry for oneself is exhausting.

To semester 6, I'm here to wrestle you to the ground and mount your head on my mantlepiece like a fallen stag as a sign of my victory over your coming challenges (I sound like such a dude). Imma see you soon, buddy.

And to semester 5

Hell is this way, thank you :)

Make Poverty History.

First, let me point out the obvious.

Yes, I'm one very unlikely candidate to even suggest the notion of eradicating poverty. No, I'm not doing this for publicity, or in an attempt to paint this facade of righteousness or sincerity. I'm as materialistic, indignant and devious as the next person.

But the thought of a little emaciated child begging his helpless mother for measly crumbs of bread to feed his hunger, that just pulls of my heartstrings.

Poverty is a somber matter in Egypt that threatens the very economical well being of the country. Apart from the alarming percentage of the population who are living below the poverty line, people have grown ignorant, oblivious to the turmoil around them, all due to plight of poverty that has inflicted them. Truly, poverty is the worst form of violence. Children are made to work, their childhood robbed before their eyes, decrepit senior citizens still in between menial jobs, retirement only an unattainable dream, it's a common sight. Who will save them? Where will they find their solace?

There's this photo taken by a South African photographer, Kevin Smith. It epitomizes the severity of poverty, where hunger is no longer in question, but a forgotten memory replaced by the reality of possible death.

No one knows what happened to that little girl.

If you can help, go ahead. It may be spare change, a packet of your leftovers, anything will do. The blaze of the human spirit can never be extinguished, despite however small the flame may be burning right now. But if you're content to just bear witness to a catastrophe unfolding, at least be thankful for what you have. Too often we forget to count our blessings, so immersed in our selfishness, in what we want, in what we need.

My last parting words are excerpts from chain letters. Yes, not very professional but hey, I'm just here to help :)

If you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your back, a roof overhead and a place to sleep,

You are richer than 75% of this world.

If you have money in the bank, in your wallet, and spare change in a dish some place.

You are among the top 8% of the world's wealthy.

If you woke up this morning with more health than illness.

You are more blessed than the million who will not survive this week.

If you have never experienced the danger of battle, the loneliness of imprisonment, the agony of torture, or the pangs of starvation,

You are ahead of 500 million people in the world.

Make poverty history. Break the cycle.

Dark Times.

It's 4 in the morning and I'm clad in my woolen blanket wrapped securely around me. The light ticking of my wrist watch is unusually audible, reminding me of the dawn that is approaching.

And God knows I can't sleep.

I can't say what's bothering me in the wee hours of the Egyptian morning. The plethora of things that has robbed me of lulling sleep have been nagging me for a couple of days now. I feel almost suffocated, gasping for breath. Maybe is the heat of autumn that still prevails in the air, or maybe because so many things managed to go perfectly wrong in the shortest amount of time possible.

It's enough to drive anyone mad.

Have I mentioned how much I miss home? Perhaps not. I never knew it was possible to be this homesick, but there you have it, I crippled by it. Seeing smiling faces of the summer on Facebook has brought me to tears countless times, the thought of spending the next 9 months here even saddens me more.

I feel like I've lost my footing, sprawled on the floor, with only feeble attempts to get up and start anew. How does one just restart their life once they've stumbled and fall? Or improve it on levels that surpasses expectations? How?

But one's thing for sure, I am going to get through this hour of darkness. By hook or by crook, with anyone's help or not, I am going to survive this. I might be unsure, hell, I might be utterly clueless how I'm going to do it but I will.

Cause I'm Nazeera Nasir.

Sunday Night.

It feels like a Sunday night.

The merriment of the weekend has transpired, leaving us hollow with doubt and anxiety of the days to come, the harrows of the hours, the promise of a brighter future or the fear of a foreshadow upon our unprepared lives.

What will Monday hold for

me?

Another life shattering opportunity just waiting to be grabbed by the horns? Perhaps. The disaster of uncertainty ? Perhaps.

They say that third time's the charm. Well, this will be the third time I'm gonna have to say goodbye to everyone. And God knows, even the third time doesn't make it any easier. The sunken feeling is familiar but the sting still jolts your most latent of senses.

The pain still throbs

The tears still fall

The heart still cracks.

Goodbyes still hurt.

... Sigh

Farewell Sunday. Monday morning awaits.