Father's Day 2014: The Day My Own Father Passed

At the age of 17, I lost my father to a heart attack. Four days later, all dads were celebrated on Father’s Day. When you don’t have a dad, Father’s Day is like your deceased father’s birthday or day of death: a day on which you realize more than ever that there is something missing in your life, and you won’t get it back. For me, today, it’s both Father’s Day and the day I remember losing him, as it was exactly 9 years ago this moment. June 14 will always be Father’s Day. It reminds me that I have a past, present and future, but my dad is only part of one of them. As a fatherless child, every Father’s Day will be dominated by a series of thoughts that are the opposite of a celebration.

The memories of Father’s Day past

Memories of Father’s Day past are bittersweet, because I would love to make new ones. For the last decade, however, I have been unable to add to my book of Father’s Day memories. Instead, I revisit the old ones annually. The last decade I committed to finding a man who will one day replace my father. Since then, the masculine void had to be filled in different ways. After I lost my own, my CaliDad George gave me foot rubs and advice, and at least made it feel like I still had one. And once I got to uni I always had my male sidekick in the shape of Silvio or Conor, never making me realize I don’t have that male presence in my life everybody else does. I was never able to replace my father, but I found people worth celebrating. On Father’s Day, however, I remember my own dad, and celebrate I was once able to celebrate him. The overwhelming memory today, however, is being told that “he didn’t make it” on this day in the past, changing my whole life.

The Reality of Father’s Day Present

Father’s Day reminds me that my father has no idea who I turned out to become. Would he like what I achieved and what I have become? I will never know. The reality of not having a father on Father’s day is harsher than on other days. I won’t be driving home this Sunday and I won’t be having dinner with my old man. I don’t have anyone to celebrate, so I won’t be enjoying some family time as everyone else. With social media being ablaze of people sharing their favorite #DadSelfie, people without a dad can’t help to be jealous. This is one trend us orphans can’t take part in. I would love to share a photo of my dad. But even more so than that, I would love to know what my dad would actually look like in that picture. The present is now telling me that I almost spent a decade without my dad. At the same time, the present would no doubt never in a million years look the way it does if June 14, 2006 had gone differently. So in the end, my sister and I have decided we’re thankful rather than bitter today.

The Hope of Father’s Day Future
My dad was a big presence in my life, but he will never be a presence again, neither now or later. The only thing that remains of him is the memory. As a result, Father’s Day reminds us fatherless children how we will not be walked down the aisle or congratulated at graduation by the men who raised us. The next time I will have a father in my life, it will be the father of my children. The possibility of one day celebrating Father’s Day again offers hope that, eventually, this nostalgic holiday will cease to be a cry fest or sentimental parade. In the future I will hopefully have a father to celebrate, it just won’t be my own. On June 14, 2016, I have a pretty big fish to swallow as that day I will have been fatherless for a decade, and each year it gets more surreal. By the time I’m 34 (when most people still have their dads) I will have spent more time without one than with one. Let’s hope that the universe found me a substitute until then…

"Sorry" Is Not The Hardest Word, "Goodbye" Is...

In less than a month I am most likely turning my back on my life (again!) and will leave Egypt. Highly anticipated, I knew this day would come, and since I'm a veteran immigrant I have more experience in leaving people and places behind than Paris Hilton has in being pointless. For the seventh time in my life I'm embarking on "the unknown" and will potentially start from scratch, not knowing anything or anyone wherever I go next. On first glance, there really isn't anything wrong with that. But there is! New places? Great! New faces? Even better. But what happens to the old places and faces? Unfortunately, I know that they are to a large extent not going to be part of my life. And while that is part of life and something as inevitable as Ted Cruz winning the nomination, it still blows a lot!

Last night, my friend Ronald finally finished his Egyptian ordeal and returned to Miami. Since pretty much day one, our little group of friends had been together, watching "The Walking Dead" on a Tuesday and embarking on impromptu dance parties whenever the tunes were right. With the addition of two dogs, this group of six to eight people had truly become my family, not just because I would take care of the dogs when Mom and Dad weren't around or escaped to their spare room with my boyfriend who I never saw in private for many months. With Ronald being the first one to pack his bags, the reality that this part of life is now coming to an end hit with force, although it is an end we were all looking forward to for a long time. Now that it was time to say "Goodbye", however, the undeniable truth that those days were good and won't ever return is at the very least tear-jerking.

Having said "Goodbye" to many people in my life, including my father, grandparents, uncles and friends who I will never see again, I'd consider myself used to it by now. In the coming month, however, I will have to do it again. My ex-boyfriend or closest friends here who I of course love very much will potentially never be part of my life again, not even in the form of a catch-up coffee at Starbucks or a random encounter at a party. What my friends in Germany, Scotland or the US are to me now, these guys will become, and that's a negative development I am not looking forward to. Knowing that chances are that the vast majority of the people I see, talk to and love in this country on a daily basis are heading for my personal oblivion makes "Goodbye" the hardest word ever because, if I want it or not, it means I'm banning them from my future...

Today, there's Facebook, Skype and Whatsapp so I always have a medium to connect with my friends no matter where they are. But those days where you could find solace in their presence or have fun with them on a felucca will be over when I board that plane. Taking all this into account, I have no idea why Elton John ever seemed to think that "Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word". Watch this, Sir Elton: Sorry I hated Egypt and all its ridiculous, life-impeding rules and sorry I wasn't the most positive, trusting or hard-working person I could have been. This confession is hard to make, but not nearly as hard as saying "Goodbye" to a part of your life and a part of your heart. Letting go is hard enough as it is, but to actively stand there and bid farewell to things you don't want to let go of has been the most useless experience of my life, and I can wait to do it again...

Welcome to the World, Caitlyn Jenner! I like you...

I never watched a single episode of the Kardashian show, but even I knew who Bruce Jenner was: a guy that went slightly overboard on surgery and married a person (and into a family) that must have been a proper nightmare to be with, beside the athletic glory, that is! I knew far too little about him to see or sense that there was a confused person behind that face although the media had been mocking his apparent transition to a woman for years. As almost everybody else, I never expected that to actually happen. Now that it did I am beside myself with happiness because I well and truly believe this is a groundbreaking event. Caitlyn Jenner is transforming the world like Bruce Jenner could never have.

If people want it or not, this is a world in which transgender people are part of society. As an avid LGBT supporter I'm ecstatic that an occasion like that will further the discussion about their place in it. The fact is that people hate on everything, especially things that are out of the ordinary. For many years, all of them to be exact, being a transgender person was considered "being out of the ordinary". This will stop. At some point, being 16 and pregnant was out of the ordinary, and still today it's part of society as much as the selfie is. Caitlyn Jenner is a breakthrough now, but the acceptance of transgenderism will only increase until the inevitable happens: it will cease to be out of the ordinary to discuss gender identity.

My personal thought about Caitlyn Jenner is the same thought I have about most things in life: Why the hell not? If that appearance and that identity makes her happy, I'm all for it. If she decides next week to live her life as a Kermit the Frog personification I'm also ok with that, too. Unless Caitlyn Jenner murders someone, or inflicts any kind of physical pain on someone, I'm not just accepting of that but encourage her behavior. Kudos for being yourself, God knows most people aren't and they don't even identify as the opposite gender. I know people who don't have the balls to admit they're not really that into God or like to listen to Taylor Swift, and when I say balls here I don't even mean the stereotype of having actual testicles. Caitlyn Jenner don't have them no more, still she' well and truly the most ballsy person we've seen in a long time.

Every day, social media is ablaze with pictures and comments on gay marriage and, thanks to Caitlyn, transgenderism. While I love the discussion, I can’t wait for the day we are just over it. Gay marriage is going to happen as much as more and more transgender men and women having the courage to speak, thanks to Caitlyn. And in the end, we are all going to accept it like the majority of people already have. The reasons for that are very simple: there is just no actual explanation why anyone should hate on people who are confused about their identity. Other than “this is weird!”, there is no legitimate criticism. And remind me please when “being weird” was ever a bad thing…

I’m on top of the world for Caitlyn Jenner. If that’s what it took to feel good, good on you girl. I personally think that she looks way better as a woman which might be the result of numerous surgeries, but the end result is what matters to me, and that’s a mentally healthy, happy woman. GREAT! I just released myself from the shackles of a relationship which already had a liberating and positive influence on my life, I can only imagine what Caitlyn must finally be feeling. The support is way bigger than the hate, and it will only get better from now… 

Why it’s the good memories that last...

One could not have made more changes in their life than I did this month: within two weeks I changed my job and relationship status, I’m potentially leaving the country of Egypt to move to greater shores (literally!) and let’s say last month I had no intention to do any of that. While all of my decisions have been well thought through, graduation goggles suck. Why is it when I think about a job that sucked in the end I remember only the banter? And why do I get nostalgic over a relationship that unfortunately had very little future and was making everybody in it feel terrible about themselves? It’s because good things are much stronger than bad things, and we will forget the hurt, damage and irritation and remember only the fun, love and comfort.

I am not new to this phenomenon. I write diaries and the overwhelming theme that is gracing my diary of summer in Kenya 2010 is “There is nothing worse than Kenya!” Looking back though, all I see is the incredible things I got to do there. Living in Glasgow, I always thought there could not be a place as miserable as that rainy shithole, yet now, all I remember is my cozy bedroom (which I only call cozy because I forgot how physically painful it was to live in that icicle) and all of my lovely times with friends. Clearly, the memories of wishing to be anywhere but there have left my mind, and I seem to remember only the rare moments of awesomeness…

One of the biggest mysteries of my life is my sentiments towards Germany. When I’m there, I pray to God to let me get away: the horribly boring people, the pish weather and the constant complaining aren’t my favorite. Then I get away, all the time, and all I can think is “I’d die for a bite of Bratwurst”, and “geez, Germans are so funny!” In the end, I always have to reread my diaries where I am reminding myself why it sucks there. Every week or so I wrote the words “Sina, never forget to always avoid living in Germany!”, otherwise I’d forget! And still I always go back… It’s funny how something that is thoroughly unenjoyable becomes a beautiful memory in retrospect. Genuinely all break ups of anyone’s life are bitter (even if they’re bitter-sweet). If a couple decides to break up, the relationship isn’t good anymore, right? So why be sad? We still are, all the time.

Last week my favorite boyfriend ever and I broke up. Although he is like “oh my gosh, like such a good guy!”, we knew for a while the end was near. Mamma hates Egypt, and her lover was Egyptian; one can see where it would get problematic at some point! I can only speak for myself but the reason we struggled to finally calling it a day was the memories of our first meetings, the amazing times we had and the comfort we felt being together. I know I wasn’t alone with this feeling! The end of that relationship was not fun, and neither of us enjoyed it, yet all I could think about is how he left me notes on my bed when I went to work, how he sneaked a kiss in the street (that he could have been arrested for) and how he well and truly fought to be with me. In the moment of breaking up it was those moments I thought about, and not the evident struggles we were having and were always going to have.

I am happy that these things stick and the bad memories vanish. My favorite memory of Egypt, in fact, is and will always be the support from friends I received when I was evicted like a dozen times. I cannot physically wait until the memory of being evicted because of greedy and nothing short of criminal landlords is no longer predominant. And maybe, just maybe, the worst time of my life aka my stay in Egypt will become a nice memory in which I remember weekends by the beach, a job that was hard to exceed in fun and falling in love. And much later, I would hope that on my deathbed I’ll have completely forgotten the hardships that are really much more frequent in quantity than the good stuff, at least in the last few years. Good thing my memory sucks…

4 Things I Learned in Egypt I Wish I hadn't

Egyptian girls are bitches

I don't have many Egyptian girlfriends although I didn't have prejudice after I was repeatedly told to stay away from them. My first boss in this country showed me why! That chick was an unbelievable bitch that was hated by every single person in the office who refused to pay me. As she was the first one to show me the Egyptian deal of handling people which I'm now used to I was shocked back then. My new boss, just as bitchy, at least had a skill set to back up her bitchiness with and I respected that. But then, yeah then, I met my various landladies. The first one kicked me out of my home with 24h notice, not caring for a single second I'd be homeless and the second one and her disgusting daughter used nothing short of psychopathy to get rid of us. Both of them had only one reason to do so: greed. Without a dime of our deposit back she then proceeded to call me a thief on a Facebook group. Totally lovely, those women! Either one of these ladies would individually deserve the title biggest bitch I ever met, and they all have one beautiful thing in common: they call this country home!

Being soaked from sweat, not rain, is pretty freaking disgusting

I hail from the rainiest place in Germany. Then I moved to Scotland. It's like rain is my middle name. The absence of it is really awkward. However, with the absence of proper air conditioning in many places as well, being 'wet' is even more awkward. This kind of experience brought up some pretty new thoughts in me: No, I did not just shower, I just rode the metro for two stops, crammed in a compartment with 300 heavily clothed women and nothing but a 'fan' on either end of the compartment. And no, this usually loose shirt is not just magically stuck to my body. The feeling of dripping from sweat is an experience nobody really needs to make in their lives, but if one so wished, thirty seconds on the Cairo subway should suffice.

Celebrity sucks

Obviously, I'm not a celebrity but the reaction I'm getting to looking, well, foreign are sometimes making me feel like one. For everyone who suffers from the desire to be the center of attention desperately I have one thing to say: come to Egypt and wear your hair down. That's genuinely all it takes! The perpetual stares and super obnoxious "oh la laa"s will make anyone hate attention. To think that Beyonce gets this treatment every day makes me feel sorry for the girl. At least her consolation prize is a multi million dollar career while I get sexual harassment and death stares as as result. Ok, let's not be unfair, I do get lots and lots of free food and drink, clothes and other perks but I miss being myself without everybody having an opinion about it. At the same time, I'm appalled how easy it is to become a person of influence in this city. Why did I get free stuff? Because I wrote for a big magazine. Is that all it took? YES! Insanity! I would hate to be Beyonce!

Hearing a bomb go off is a whole new level of scary

About two months ago, while I was conducting an interview in a cafe, the surroundings were shocked by a loud noise that immediately put shock on people's faces. I had never heard a bomb but I immediately knew it was one. However, that part of town rarely saw explosions. People rushed out of the cafe to see what had happened. I started investigating on Twitter and found out that the bomb had gone off less than ten yards away from me, however, on a bridge above my elevation. I didn't plan to take that route either, so I did not look death in the eye that day. One police officer, on the other hand, did, and died the second we just heard the boom. Even though that wasn't the day I was supposed to die I had a hard time accepting I live in a place where my life could in fact be ended by a bomb explosion. Putting things into perspective was one thing that did; imposing a stronger than usual urge to leave the country was the other.
                                                    

Egyptian baby steps to becoming a journalist (that's not getting arrested)

For the past twenty years of my life I was expected to end up being a journalist. I always liked stories, writing and unconventional lifestyles; one may say that my personality traits were giving me pretty divine signs. At the same time, I never fancied being super poor though since I don't have any parents with a substantial income to help me make those dreams come true. Egypt, of all places, made it happen. In a country where opinion and unconventionality are as desired as Putin at a gay pride parade, they paid me for my written word, making me a full professional writer for a few months. I had reached the expectations my family had for me since I wrote my first "book" at age 7 and I was doing the only thing I really ever learned how to do: make stuff sound good! 

My intention wasn't necessary to start my international journalism career as part of an Egyptian online magazine that sells most of their content, however, I thought it was great practice. I knew I wouldn't be the next Christiane Amanpour just yet because I wasn't too fond of the idea of prison. I was happy writing lifestyle and news that weren't news because the reality for actual journalists looked grim. Faced with a change in my job that no longer allowed me to write, I left my job earlier this month. "You can easily freelance", they said, "good writers always have a shot!" Before I even left my job I had various other assignments, most notably the international online magazine Elite Daily who wanted some dirt on Egypt. Easy, right?

WRONG! I'm actually in danger if I say what I really feel. Sure, the government shouldn't care about my stance on religion, politics and society but for some reason they do. I have zero power to make things worse for them, yet either the ministers or some terrorists in this country will go to quite some length to make me stop what I would say if I could. So in the end that dirt that these international publications want from me could very well mean that I may have quite some regrets if I oblige. Next to Syria and Iraq, I read, Egypt is the most dangerous country for journalists. As much as I want to do a good job, I'm not ready to write the inside scoop on a women only cell at an Egyptian prison just yet.

As a result, I say neither good nor bad things. A government that can't accept my criticism will never get my praise either. Quite a lot of the things I have to complain about, in fact, have nothing to do with the government at all. Human rights abuses, for example, are committed every day in every street of Cairo and that is not President Sisi's fault. The people who decide to harass women and pick on homosexuals made that choice. The only thing needed from Sisi is to act against it. However, it is also the people of Cairo that ignore almost every law there is on a daily basis so it looks like Sisi, hero or failure, really isn't solely responsible for this. So even if I could, I'm not sure how much "dirt" I would actually have on Egypt since most of it is on the Egyptians. 

Freedom of speech is a beautiful thing that people here don't ever experience. The reform I would most like to see is not a government that stops acting against freedom of expression but a people that would actually stand behind the idea. In my experience, however, the majority of Egyptians is not fussed, even though it's just because they're disheartened and disappointed from too many failed attempts to change the system. Therefore, the dire environment in which I am now working as a journalist actually really sucks: no criticism, no reliability, no good news ever. I feel like this country needs Christiane Amanpour, but what am I going to do? For now, I have to turn every word to make sure I don't say something crass, and that's really the opposite of what journalism should be...

Whatever happened to time?

There was a time where I could sleep in almost every day, go to the gym after I woke up, hang out with all of my friends for a nice lunch and spend time doing what I liked doing. Since my first day in Egypt, these days are over! Not having an abundance of time has never been a bad thing for me, but time just completely vanished. I soon couldn’t sleep at all anymore, for the gym or any kind of fun activity there was no time left at the end of the day and my friends forgot what I looked like. As a result, for a few months I wasn’t feeling all that great! Yes, I was happy and satisfied, making enough money and all, but I was physically at the breaking point. Now, one job less, a new phenomenon has reemerged in my life, and it’s called “having time to live!”

I have increasingly come to realize that any career or money ambition is not worth killing yourself for. I had a fantastic job here in Egypt for the time I’ve spent here so far and for most of the time, I didn’t mind it was taking all of mine. With additional jobs, a boyfriend and a sister I occasionally wanted to see, and activities such as eating and sleeping everyone just has to do, my spare time for self-fulfillment was confined to like 20 minutes a day. My body faded away, my blog stopped happening and sleeping became such a waste of time I seemed to no longer be able to do it. Finally, I started missing that boredom I once hated so much.

Drastic measures had to be taken to prevent me from breaking. I did it for months, and now it’s time to step back. I got phenomenal offers to make my dreams come true in this country and I now made the time to make them happen. Success or failure is pretty irrelevant right now! The facts are that I thought I hated boredom and loved being busy but not even Zuckerberg keeps going without a weekend on the beach without his phone sometimes. And if he doesn’t, they pay him with a billion dollars not to. I don’t see no check in my hand for working my good heart condition away, so “most stressful country in the world” or not, Sina is at the end of the power reserve and there needs to be some charging before new juices can flow.

So in the end, all that boredom I blogged about last year actually had one major upside: it didn’t kill me slowly but surely. Maybe I’m just too weak, maybe I’m not as badass as I thought and maybe Egypt is more than just one size too big for me. But chances are that anyone would start fading away with numerous jobs spanning over about 60 hours a week, with really no actual time off ever. No boredom can’t work either! I have now enjoyed a good sleep and finally some catch ups with friends I hadn’t seen in weeks, and I feel something in my body that can only be described as energy: energy to start creating again, energy to laugh and have fun without worrying and energy to make those god damn dreams come true because I know I freaking can!

As a result, I thank the heavens for giving me what I asked for: no more boredom! But more so, I thank them for stopping me before those grey hairs on the right side of my scalp take over my entire head, before those pimples in my face ruined my otherwise perfect complexion and before my increasingly faster heartbeat caused some serious damage. To really make a difference in my health, Mamma’s booked herself a plane ticket to “no smoking land”, otherwise known as home, to finally recover from those ten months in Egypt that have truly shown that time is of the essence; the essence to survive this madhouse!