Sometimes I'll be sitting in school in the middle of listening to a lecture on atomic bonding, or discussing idomatic expressions in Spanish, and my mind will wander off always to the same spot. I'll close my eyes for a second, and suddenly I'll be back on the dusty streets of Cairo, listening to cars fly by, incessant honking, and the unique smell of exhaust, gasoline, and shawarma all combined together. I'll smile as I remember being warmed up by the care of strangers on the street and the sound of Athan in the air as much as I'll remember being warmed up by the hot Egyptian sun. And I'll open my eyes again and wonder in confusion how a place so unlike home managed to steal my heart so thoroughly.
The college search is over. And as I sit in my car (yes it finally happened, the world's biggest clutz now can legally operate a two ton vehicle) on a bleak "spring" day, the familiar panic hits me. What if I mess up? What if I don't make it? What if I realize that I'm not good at anything or that I don't have the real world skills and I end up living in my parents' basement forever and ever and have to unload the dishwasher seventeen times a day for the rest of my life?
So I start scrolling thorugh my phone aimlessly, trying to avoid the fear and stress about my future that weighs on me heavy like a boulder. And I come across a journal entry Egypt Samar had written on her phone. I say Egypt Samar because Egypt Samar had a lot of time to sit and look out at the Cairo sights and the Red Sea and just contemplate. Egypt Samar saw the world in a completely different light once she was immersed in a land where poverty and wealth lived side by side. Where she was reminded every day that she owed something to the world. Darien Samar gets caught up in her everyday life back home and sometimes forgets just how extremely privileged she is. She opens her extremely full fridge and complains about there being no food because no junk food is there. Darien Samar can on occasion be heard whining about how she has no clothes to wear or how life is so unfair because she has to take three tests in one day.
July 24th, 2012
My entire teenage life I've been preoccupied with what I now realize as the very western concept of "finding myself". When my parents announced during the middle of my junior year that we would be spending a month of summer break in Egypt, I wasn't too pleased. It was supposed to be MY summer with MY friends and MY idea of fun. Looking back, I now realize how small-minded and suburban of me that was. But finally I accepted the trip for what it was, and decided to use it as a way to figure out who I was supposed to be and to find out what it was exactly that I was meant for.
Needless to say, I was slightly irked when after a week in Egypt, I had seen no burning bushes or messages written in the sky for me. I was stuck with the same old confusion and that sense of timidness when being faced with a completely blank slate. Staring at the pyramids, and swimming with a sea of fish in the red sea merely reminded me of my insignificance to the world.
Two weeks later, on a dusty jeep ride through the desert, I started to notice the drastic difference between the quality of my life and the quality of the people's lives around me. I had no doubt that were they to see my home, or come to my school, they would be held speechless. As I stared at the thin, middle aged Egyptian man driving the jeep on a blazing day while fasting, I realized that for me this was a cute adventure. But that for this man, it was his life. This was what he had done, does, and probably will do for the rest of his life. It made me feel like God had put more responsibility on my shoulders since he had given me considerably so much more.
That night, laying out in the middle of the White Desert, out under the open stars and absolute silence, I realized that "finding myself" was a pretty stupid concept. I had known who I was going to be all along. It was as innate to me as the ability to breathe. The person I was supposed to be was already in the making. I had just been looking for an easier shortcut the whole time. You see, the person you are, the kind of life you want, the kind of relationships you desire, they don't just have some magical switch to turn on at age 25. Finding yourself isn't like a mining project where you just happen to come across the mother load, it's like a construction project-- built by a series of life decisions and life experiences. From my choice in breakfast food, to the things I chose to let myself say, moment by moment and day by day, I had been determining who I'd be all along.
As Americans, we look for the shortcut for everything. From frozen meals and prepackaged masala mixes, to shake weights and Jenny Craig programs, the American philosophy that time is money could not be more apparent. But talk to the man down the street from me who spends hours cooking fresh bread, or the woman who brings us home cooked meals, and I'm sure they'll tell you that time is much much more than money. It's an investment. After being in a Muslim county, I have fallen in love with the often neglected Muslim traits of generosity, ethicality, humility, conversation, and of course, sly humor. If I've learned anything else besides my broken Arabic, it's that attaining character is a long and arduous process. Having a quality life is much harder than having a quantity life. But it's these things that give a Muslim country its flavor and rich, memorable culture and vibe.
By the time the sun had risen, hiding away the stars and casting its bright rays on the rock formations around me, I knew that I had a lot of work ahead of me. But I also knew that I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
I take a deep breath and face the music. If I truly want to be a person of character, a person that is a doer, that changes things, no day is acceptable to slack. It won't always be fun, it'll be really painful and hard sometimes, and yes, I will most certainly fail a few times along the way. Character is the result of doing all those seemingly inglorious and boring things first like praying all your prayers, eating healthy, trying not to say mean or bad things even when you want to, and always curbing your desires and your nafs even when you don't want to. It's these things that get you to the glorious, cool aspects of being a doer like volunteering in war zones and protesting and starting foundations and projects for the service of others. You can't take shortcuts. College isn't any different. It's all in what I make of it moment by moment that will determine who I become. There is no snap moment of failure, failure is only when you take the backseat in your own life.
There you have it, my desert epiphany.
The college search is over. And as I sit in my car (yes it finally happened, the world's biggest clutz now can legally operate a two ton vehicle) on a bleak "spring" day, the familiar panic hits me. What if I mess up? What if I don't make it? What if I realize that I'm not good at anything or that I don't have the real world skills and I end up living in my parents' basement forever and ever and have to unload the dishwasher seventeen times a day for the rest of my life?
So I start scrolling thorugh my phone aimlessly, trying to avoid the fear and stress about my future that weighs on me heavy like a boulder. And I come across a journal entry Egypt Samar had written on her phone. I say Egypt Samar because Egypt Samar had a lot of time to sit and look out at the Cairo sights and the Red Sea and just contemplate. Egypt Samar saw the world in a completely different light once she was immersed in a land where poverty and wealth lived side by side. Where she was reminded every day that she owed something to the world. Darien Samar gets caught up in her everyday life back home and sometimes forgets just how extremely privileged she is. She opens her extremely full fridge and complains about there being no food because no junk food is there. Darien Samar can on occasion be heard whining about how she has no clothes to wear or how life is so unfair because she has to take three tests in one day.
July 24th, 2012
My entire teenage life I've been preoccupied with what I now realize as the very western concept of "finding myself". When my parents announced during the middle of my junior year that we would be spending a month of summer break in Egypt, I wasn't too pleased. It was supposed to be MY summer with MY friends and MY idea of fun. Looking back, I now realize how small-minded and suburban of me that was. But finally I accepted the trip for what it was, and decided to use it as a way to figure out who I was supposed to be and to find out what it was exactly that I was meant for.
Needless to say, I was slightly irked when after a week in Egypt, I had seen no burning bushes or messages written in the sky for me. I was stuck with the same old confusion and that sense of timidness when being faced with a completely blank slate. Staring at the pyramids, and swimming with a sea of fish in the red sea merely reminded me of my insignificance to the world.
Two weeks later, on a dusty jeep ride through the desert, I started to notice the drastic difference between the quality of my life and the quality of the people's lives around me. I had no doubt that were they to see my home, or come to my school, they would be held speechless. As I stared at the thin, middle aged Egyptian man driving the jeep on a blazing day while fasting, I realized that for me this was a cute adventure. But that for this man, it was his life. This was what he had done, does, and probably will do for the rest of his life. It made me feel like God had put more responsibility on my shoulders since he had given me considerably so much more.
That night, laying out in the middle of the White Desert, out under the open stars and absolute silence, I realized that "finding myself" was a pretty stupid concept. I had known who I was going to be all along. It was as innate to me as the ability to breathe. The person I was supposed to be was already in the making. I had just been looking for an easier shortcut the whole time. You see, the person you are, the kind of life you want, the kind of relationships you desire, they don't just have some magical switch to turn on at age 25. Finding yourself isn't like a mining project where you just happen to come across the mother load, it's like a construction project-- built by a series of life decisions and life experiences. From my choice in breakfast food, to the things I chose to let myself say, moment by moment and day by day, I had been determining who I'd be all along.
As Americans, we look for the shortcut for everything. From frozen meals and prepackaged masala mixes, to shake weights and Jenny Craig programs, the American philosophy that time is money could not be more apparent. But talk to the man down the street from me who spends hours cooking fresh bread, or the woman who brings us home cooked meals, and I'm sure they'll tell you that time is much much more than money. It's an investment. After being in a Muslim county, I have fallen in love with the often neglected Muslim traits of generosity, ethicality, humility, conversation, and of course, sly humor. If I've learned anything else besides my broken Arabic, it's that attaining character is a long and arduous process. Having a quality life is much harder than having a quantity life. But it's these things that give a Muslim country its flavor and rich, memorable culture and vibe.
By the time the sun had risen, hiding away the stars and casting its bright rays on the rock formations around me, I knew that I had a lot of work ahead of me. But I also knew that I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
I take a deep breath and face the music. If I truly want to be a person of character, a person that is a doer, that changes things, no day is acceptable to slack. It won't always be fun, it'll be really painful and hard sometimes, and yes, I will most certainly fail a few times along the way. Character is the result of doing all those seemingly inglorious and boring things first like praying all your prayers, eating healthy, trying not to say mean or bad things even when you want to, and always curbing your desires and your nafs even when you don't want to. It's these things that get you to the glorious, cool aspects of being a doer like volunteering in war zones and protesting and starting foundations and projects for the service of others. You can't take shortcuts. College isn't any different. It's all in what I make of it moment by moment that will determine who I become. There is no snap moment of failure, failure is only when you take the backseat in your own life.
There you have it, my desert epiphany.
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