Enme

This will be my last blog post on this blog in its current form and incarnation.

I’ve come to the end of this journey, this journey that started as a private place to vomit my pain.

I’m not the same person that I was then and I am content with that.

The posts about art, acting, film, and such will be moved over to the new blog, while the other posts about myself, my family, and my struggles will be converted into an on-line graphic book – imagine an on-line coffee table book.

Thank you to all readers and commenters, to all supporters, both silent and gentle, over the years.

I don’t know what comes next on my next journey but in the spirit of the 2010 World Cup, ke nako.

Stay posted as I put together the new blog and the book.

Hamba gahle, cool runnings

Midiane L’Etranger.

It happened around the time of the end of the relationship that I was in.  I no longer held that grudge against my parents. I had let it go and I had forgiven them.

For anyone who knows me and has been following this blog, this is a major milestone. Up there with first kiss and getting married.

I have been wanting, for the last couple of months, to write a disclaimer post about my parents; I hope I haven’t already… I don’t think so.

I am not bitter anymore about my past. I am not angry at them at them doing what they did.  I am not feeling that my life is over and I’m just watching the additional time pass me by as I sit on the bench, watching someone else play my game. I’m playing my own game, calling the shots.

Out of pure emotional and mental conditioning, I start thinking angry thoughts about them, but then I remind myself that it’s over and that enough is enough. I’m doing what I want. In the spirit of the below TED talk, I’ve taken myself from where I was to where I wanted to be:

The reality is that my parents are just set in their ways. They’re not the idyllic Gothic monsters that a lot of my posts have made them out to be. They just are completely convinced that the way they do things is the only and most correct way to do things. They don’t feel the need to modify their behaviour or words. They don’t want to change. They’re just one type of Egyptian parents and they’re happy to stay the way they are.

They really don’t think that it’s necessary to engage with someone like me in a way that may work better for me. What they see as effort to do so is enough.

Lest anyone think that I’m shooting bullets through a soft duck-feather pillow, I’m not. I’m just telling like it is.

My fantasies about them speaking my love language, or understanding me more, or making the effort in a more Western style to connect with me, will not come true. I am very Western in that regard and they will remain Eastern. They feel that their way with me is sufficient. My wanting or asking for me is not correct and not necessary; it’s actually a burden on them.

I’ve adjusted my expectations about them and I have taken myself out of the ravine about my parents.

Kefaya ba’a - that’s Egyptian for “it’s enough”.

The really difficult issue now is that my life feels ‘empty’ without this.

It’s been a while.

For someone who wants to write as a living in the future, I haven’t been writing at all recently. Apart from the usual drama in life, I have been asking myself why I haven’t been writing. I got close to answer when a close friend, a … special one, asked me the same question recently. It took me a couple of days to formulate something and then I wrote the following. [Some parts have been rewritten to protect privacy of people mentioned.]

I don’t write based on inspiration. That’s not my main driver.

The main reason why I used to blog a lot more frequently is that I felt that I had no way to verbalize or say what I really wanted to feel. Most of my posts were about my parents, my depression, and my constant darkness. I had no life when I started this blog, and me writing in it perpetuated the vicious cycle I was in. I never had the courage to say what I felt. So, I wrote instead of saying. And I never had the courage to go out and do what I really wanted to do. So, instead of actually doing it or trying, I wrote about it instead.

Since the accident, a lot has changed on that front. I’ve had so many personal changes and so many arguments with my parents that forced me out of my mental and emotional coccoon. I’ve said almost 90% of everything I’ve ever wanted to say to them now. So… my main driver for blogging has really diminished.

The second reason is that somewhere after I recovered from the abcess operation last October, I just wanted to live. I was tired about sittting in my room, doing nothing, moping, hating my parents, being bitter and resentful, so I decided to live. Not just live in terms of doing projects and activities. But living.. enjoying life. Eating, listening to music, art, all that stuff.

Those are the reasons. Yes, some posts were based on an internal decision or external event, but those posts were more like stylized announcements. I was announcing my involvement with Carter’s and my decision about Egypt.

You can say that the third reason is yes, I haven’t had time. I was involved in a long-distance relationship until recently and working on it was a full-time endeavour, alongside the other stuff happening. It became clear that the relationship has been more important to me than writing. This is my future, I always said to myself. And I was barely keeping other stuff going, not to forget my dayjob.

If the 3 reasons are the branches, the root is that I haven’t had the urge to seriously write in the past 6 months. Other than the small updates about acting, art, or exercise, I haven’t had a gnawing urge. I don’t live in my head as much as I used to; I think writing was an expression of that. I thought back to high school times and why I started writing. It was my only outletback then. I wrote poems to talk about my feelings for girls and the depression I felt. I wrote and excelled in English and philosophy because I was bullied and unpopular, always the retard in the corner. Writing gave me power and status. Life for me is not like that any more. I’ve grown both in self-confidence and in self-worth. I think so long as my writing is tied to living in my head, my vicious mental cycles of failure, and emotional jail, it will never flourish in times when I’m not like that. Even recently, with all the depression, angst, anger, and helplessness I’ve felt, I haven’t felt the need to express myself or pour myself out in writing. I reach out to my friends. I go out for coffee and smoke. I drive and listen to music. I discover new things. I have new ways for dealing with my feelings. I howl and sing.

My writing now is coming out in more free and new ways that are not tied to my well or mal-being. I’m writing more blog posts and screenplays. I do miss writing essays. I miss writing for Efmevi. But my desire to write for the latter two has been very mild lately.

So, me not writing as much on my blog  means that I’m changing. These posts on Enme don’t define me; they just tell a story of who I was.

I’m right now trying to write a new story.

…. looking at this again, I realize that I’ve really understood myself with this predicament. Writing is not as immediate and as cathartic, as needed and as healing, anymore. When I do write, I enjoy it and I immerse myself in it. But it’s not the first canvas that I turn to when I want to express myself. In some ways, I don’t want to let go and say to myself that I have changed, that I will explore my thoughts and feelings through other feelings. It feels like contemplating divorce from a wife you love very much, but you just can’t understand why you’re so distant from her.

I don’t want to stop writing, eventhough technically I have. Maybe… I don’t know what to write about anymore.

More on this in the next post.

I’m lost for an explanation when I try to figure out why I’ve found it hard to write this post. I’ve been wanting to talk about my faith and how it’s changing, growing ever so slowly, and becoming… real.

But everytime I’ve sat down in front of Wordpress, I just can’t get them out. And it’s getting to me now because the action item lies uncompleted in my agenda day after day.

My life is different. Since I wrote this post, it’s been a slow, slow process. Literally, day to day. I’ve gone back to more than just basics; I’ve pushed myself to read, pray, and think as if I’ve never known everything. That has often been hard as my bookshelves are crammed with theological and liturgical books, and my laptops bear witness of all the ‘advanced’ stuff that I’ve done.

But I looked at myself with honest eyes.. and I felt that I was incredibly far from what a Christian should be. I looked at my heart and mind, felt the pulse of my emotions and thoughts, and knew that I am way, way far off.

The main area of course is my parents. Anyone whom would read this blog is really obliged to think my parents are monsters. They’re not, as much as I have suffered at their hands and words. But they’re not. They’re just parents: ageing people whom have struggled with me as I with them. I’m very aware of what I’ve written and how I’ve written. None was fabricated nor exaggerated for dramatic effect or to entice more readers. It’s all real and true.

So, I prayed and I prayed hard. And day in day out, I struggled. A Sunday liturgy came and it was about love: Christian love, the love of God, the God is love story. And now more than ever, the words ripped at me. And in my own readings of Scripture, it became more apparent that I had to love them. And it’s still a struggle, an everyday struggle, some days taking me to tears because it’s so difficult.

I’ll be writing a page about my parents as a disclaimer for this blog, so that readers read the posts within the correct context.

Over the past couple of days, things have improved slightly with my parents. I’ve been praying for a new heart, a new mind, new eyes, and a restored set of emotions.

I’m hungry for Scripture because I feel that I know so little. I’m working towards two sessions a day; one is simply not enough.

More about this as I go along…

I now have 2 albums worth of my photographs that I’ve been taking over the past year. I’m quite proud of the progress that I’ve made.

I set up a invitation-only album on Picasa, where I invited my pro and semi-pro photographer friends to critique my work. I did get feedback and comments, but not as often and detailed as I wanted. People are busy. A few mentioned that it would be better to have it on Facebook. So, I did and used the configurable privacy settings on the album. Now even less comments. Oh well…

I’ve clocked up so far about 10 rolls of film, using what I learned at the Intermediate Course taken last year at the National College of Photography and what I’ve been picking up through advice and reading.

My biggest building area is grip; I have a bad shake. I’ve been working on it though. I’m getting there. Secondly, it’s composition.

I was going through film like socks; the people at the lab were duly falling in love with me. I’d say that I’ve gone through the initial high and taken enough photographs to know what I like and don’t like.

I enjoy photographing people, especially candids. I like capturing a simple moment. I also am getting into taking portraits. This recent trip in Egypt provided loads of opportunities for that as I was always around family and friends. More experimental/conceptual shots interest me as well. Finally, I really like doing closeups. I don’t have a macro lens to do them properly, but I make do with what I have.

The next step now is to deepen the skills and work more on the craft, both technical and artistic/creative. I’m going to re-study the course notes from last year and then work slowly through a photography textbook that I found in my father’s stask of books in Egypt. Great book – will get you guys the name.

I want to get into photography as a potential job. I’ve been encouraged from pro photog friends that I can make it. So, I’ll be watermarking my best photographs and uploading them to a subsite on Midiane.com. The subsite will effectively be my portfolio and sport some code to keep the photos away from Google.

Will write more as I progress in this area…

My trip to Egypt was due to end last night, but that didn’t happen. I had a first and very serious asthma attack that left me unable to travel. I will be traveling tomorrow evening with my sister back to South Africa.

You know when something was supposed to, was planned, naturally had come to an end and then it continues and it leaves you feeling uneasy? I was like that last night. And for all 10 days of being in Egypt, I did not feel uneasy. I felt at complete peace, in my zone, and very, very happy. I did some analysis and I concluded that I felt uneasy and vulnerable from having that health scare, leaving me gasping for breath like a true asthmatic. I’ll now carry my inhaler and pump everywhere I go.

Aside from that, it has been a thoroughly enjoyable and memorable 10 days. I’ve gone through about 6 rolls of film, 3 of them yet to be developed. Those developed have really pleased me; I’m making progress in photography. We did a 2-day, 1-night trip into the western desert and it was such a great experience. It’s a breathtaking place, both at night and during the day. In the evening, we ate and laughed and joked and then I launched into a singing frenzy, butchering and mangling and rendering my own versions of both classic and contemporary Egyptian musical repertoire. I realized how much I enjoy singing and improvising, laughing and joking. I smoked a little bit of hashish and it had no effect on me. I smoked some as well in Cairo and also, it had no effect. I was always on a natural high. I’m glad as well, given my past experience with weed/hashish. I won’t really be seeking out again, as I thought that I needed to or wanted to back in Johannesburg.

I took a lot of photos out in the desert and back in the city, both of the family and being out and about.

I finally saw Fatigue again after 8 years and spent time with him. He restrung and retuned my oud. We talked for hours, I told him about my life, we talked about Egyptology, theology, music, culture, family, our past, our secrets, our problems. We picked up from where we left off. I miss him so, so much. It wasn’t enough time but when he left, I didn’t feel a sense of longing. I felt a sense of satisfaction and happiness. The moment hadn’t been lost in frantic talking or in running around getting things done. I met his friends and spent time with him along with my cousin Joe (with whom we went out to the desert) and my sister Sarah. I talked to Fatigue about my plans to study literature, to pursue Carter’s, to pursue film and photography. He supported everything, as I knew he would. The first day I saw him, I didn’t believe that he was sitting next to me, laughing heartily, talking into my ear, his chiseled face lighting up when he laughs. When I hugged him to greet him, it felt like in the dreams, the last time I saw him. I watched him play oud and he mesmerized me. He’s truly both my brother and my cousin. A cherished friend, someone from whom I learn and am inspired. When I hugged him goodbye, I wasn’t sad or wanting to cling or not let the hug end; I revelled and told him that I will see him soon – and in my mind, I completed the sentence by saying in the flesh or in dream -, that this was a great trip and to thank him for everything. I walked away missing him, but happy. Happy for myself and happy for him and his wife Florence.

I ate a great amount of food. I ate it with my immediate family, with my extended family on Christmas Day. I saw myself transform into how I would be if I would be living here: insisting on people to eating and enjoying eating. I’ve never enjoyed eating as I’ve done here. My friends took me out to eat liver at a renowned street restaurant called El Brens (The Prince) in an area called Imbaba. It was sheer experiential, sensory, and culinary pleasure. I ate feseekh (fish prepared in a signature Egyptian way) with green onions and regular onions and herrings. I met new people and made new friends. That was an experience in itself too.

I hung out with my friends, I spoke Arabic, and I felt myself be as I was in London with the guys. People wouldn’t believe I was Egyptian given my fairly strong accent in Arabic. That makes me happy.

I’ve had to deal with a few everyday situations: a douchebag while parking my car, a “car guard” after leaving a restaurant, and a heater technician. I’ve answered the phone a few times and spoken with confidence. I’ve gone into shops and bought things, talked with confidence, and even joked. I’ve even learnt how to speak that filler language that is a major feature of communication in Egypt. Filler language = smalltalk.

I’ve walked down the street with my headphones on, listening to tarab, and taking in the cacophony of sounds and thick air. It’s liberating after being confined to very little walking in South Africa. You really feel that you’re engaging with the city, the country, your immediate surroundings.

I went to a youth meeting at a church last Friday (before feasting on liver at El Brens). The worship/praise section was so moving and powerful, enjoying that I could sing along, read the lyrics, and really engage. The talk was powerful and has left a mark on me, one so deep and penetrating that I will act on it. It was my first youth meeting in 3 or 4 years. I was glad to be in the crowd rather than at the front where all the servants. I had a few flashbacks to St. Mark’s, but none brought me down. I just realized that in terms of my faith, I’m at the beginning of the path again. The priest was humorous, well-spoken, intellectual, and spoke with un-fanatic conviction. He himself drinks from the Fountain of Life; you could tell by the glow on his face. It’s infectious, so much so that you could have heard Philip whisper the words of the gospel in your ears: “Come and see.”

I spent time with family: my mom’s aunt, her brother, my cousins, my paternal uncles.

Before the massive spread on Christmas Day at our place, I was talking to my mom’s cousin’s husband whom was visiting from Saudi Arabia, where he works. We had a long discussion about work and next steps in our careers. The conversation took us to discuss my thoughts and feelings about living in Egypt. He was encouraging me to consider the Gulf for work, but I told him that I wasn’t too motivated having lived in Saudi and having heard that Dubai was like London in many ways. He has suggested Bahrain and Qatar, both of which I will look into. But I told him that if I was to move to the Middle East, I would come to Egypt as first choice. I told him that I have been thinking about relocating permanently to Egypt for 5-6 years. He looked at me and chuckled: “5 years?? It shouldn’t take you that long to take a decision like that…”

He was right. And the penny dropped. That moment spurred a whole bunch of thoughts, which led me to decide: I want to move here and live here. When I told my friend Sham, he smiled then pooped on me for not realizing this sooner after long discussions where he would tell me to do so soon!!!! The dork. He’s like that.

So, in Egypt, here, I lay my roots. The plan is within the next year or so to move here and make it home. It will be my base, should I travel out. When people ask, I shall say that Egypt is home. Even from now, I will say that Egypt is home and will always be home hereon.

In terms of the practicalities, we’ll see depending on how Carter’s, my financial situation, and finding suitable employment here. Also, it involves a lot of groundwork: getting my passport renewed, my ID card issued, and starting a papertrail with the government.

Since making the decision, walking around in Egypt has had a different feel. I look into my future and finally, maybe the first time ever in my life, a part of my future is clear. A part of me inside makes sense. My life, finally, makes a little bit more sense. For once, I’ve made a decision about my future and it makes sense, I made the decision knowing all the risks and benefits, and knowing that I finally am charting my course and following it.

I’m recovering from last night’s attack but if you could take a trip down my mind and my heart, you would see and hear a feast and party of extreme joy and celebration.

I have a home.

I haven’t had much strength and interest to write on here for all this time since my last post because the last two months have been very taxing. I think I left somewhere off after finishing a course of counselling.

A really shortened summary of what ensued: we moved to a new house on the golf estate in which we reside. I soon got an infection in my left leg and it became an abcess, which required surgery. I stayed in hospital for a week and spent three weeks recovering. The minute the doctor and wound nurse said that I could drive again, I got into my car with a friend and we drove down to Cape Town on a road trip. It was a week-long trip and it was sorely needed. We listened to jazz, ate good food, laughed, did voices and impressions, and I got time to find myself buried under a year’s worth of rubble.

I got back to a new day job, which helped me get back on track towards an active life again.

I haven’t blogged in so long that I feel empty of words at this point. I’ve been living squarely in my head for the last period.

There have been many fights and arguments with parents. There have been many slow, crushing days where I’ve contemplated mortality to the point of inducing a spell of cold terror into my existence. The best thing about the last period was that in between Cape Town and the operation, I managed to rediscover some old loves. I picked up reading again; I’m currently reading Plato’s Republic and Sartre’s Being and Nothingness. I started to listen to music for the mere aesthetic pleasure, mainly jazz. I discovered new loves: playing the guitar and cooking. And watching a lot of BBC Lifestyle cooking shows.

I got into a very helpful routine every day during that period also, just getting myself to focus on structure and achieving simple things. It did wonders for me and added meaning to my days. Unfortunately, when I got back from Cape Town, the amount of arguments and resulting anguish distinguished the fire of Cape Town in no time. And I went back to that black place, where routines routinely die.

I’ve been recording my descent into experiential despair and disillusionment with my faith on my Facebook profile via the Religious Beliefs field. People were taking note, but no one was commenting. The rawness of what I was sharing must have been off-putting. But last Saturday, the descent took me to new lows. I suddenly was overcome by the realization that it’s a year on from my breakup with my former fiancee-to-be. I started going through Facebook and I flushed her out. I removed tags of her on photos, deleted whatever comments of her still around, and deleted whatever photos that I no longer wanted on there. At the end, I was tired but I was content.

The next day, Sunday evening, I met up with my friend and business partner Sam at her spot, Spur Fourways. By the end of it… I came face to face with myself, all my faith doubts and rawness, and I drove home a different person. I was looking down when I was sitting at the table, knowing that this is when a person, not a saint or a mystic, just a regular struggling guy, meets God. There is no smoke or voices, no apparitions; just a realization that you had it all wrong, completely wrong!, and God reigns, not to injure and torture me, but to love me.

And since then, I’m walking in the opposite direction. I’ve been praying more in the last 2 weeks than I have in the past 2 years. It’s the beginning of the road and I’m not scared for God is with me.

I was angry at God for a very long time – I hated him – because I believed that he chose not to intervene to teach me lesson after lesson, where it stops being disciplining and becomes sado-masochistic. It may be that that realization that Jeremiah struggled with, when he wrestled with God and asked him why he’s silent. I never forget the words of Kierkegaard: “God is God and not what you think of him in your mind”. How they ring true – I could say that I’ve hated the God that I knew in my mind, the one that I’ve come to think I’ve believed in this year, but not the one revealed in Scripture and church. And, as hard as it is to accept for a student of theology and scripture, it’s obvious that I don’t know him at all. I haven’t opened my bible in a very long time. All I have is previous knowledge and old, dusty recollections of key verses and doctrines.

So, right now, it’s about the two wings of this newly born eagle – Scripture and prayer.

I hope you all like the new design. It’s completely new and different, a reference to the recent shift in my life. I’ve been going to the gym recently, almost every day, and it has done wonders for my energy levels, sleeping, and focus. A part of my workout now is swimming and it’s exhilirating. When I got into the pool, I heard myself think: “I’m home”. I started out with 100m and I felt it; my whole bad was sore. Then yesterday, I did the 100m and felt strong; I wasn’t tired yet. So, I pushed myself and did another 100m. So, I’ll be starting a new type of post on here, documenting my progress with swimming.

I want to breathe in fresh breath in this blog after so many posts about my parents and my inner turmoil. I also want to live life. Really live it. So, this blog should be a celebration of it and also a record of my writing.

I haven’t posted anything in the past days. I’ve published a few links and videos, and it’s been a wise decision. I’ve been faltering under the pressure and weight of all I’ve been writing about lately and I’ve needed to relieve some pressure.

I’ve been trying to think of what to write next in response to Lauren’s assignment but my mind has seen no clarity this week. And frankly, I’m tired of trying to figure it out. I’ll tell her that in a few hours.

In other news, my essays on blogcritics.org is soon to become a feature. Stay updated; I’ll post here when it’s official!

El Wad Albo Beyewga’ao by Bahaa Sultan

My new essay for Blogcritics.org has been published: “Insecurity and Power: Men and Women”.

What do you think? Leave your thoughts and feedback below on the comments…