Me: I have finally got the keys to the department!
Paolo: So, are you finally starting to feel at home?
Sigh, home!
Home is miles away! Home is where we have pyramids, temples, and the Nile…Home is the taste of my mother’s beautiful cooking, home is the smell of tea with mint, home is sitting in the main campus writing emails to the world. Home is the choir every Friday, and St. Marc beautiful church. Home is driving three hours just to make it to the office to realize that the early meeting got cancelled. Home is where dear old friends are who no counterparts can be found. Home is where all memories come from, whether good or bad, they still feel like home. Home is where I can laugh for hours with my brothers just over nonsense and it feels like nothing to be compared to. Home is my father reading the newspapers in the morning and drinking his sugarless tea, while grandma is on the phone. Home is breakfast at Makani or Korba with best friends. Home is crossing Tahrir square saying the psalms knowing that I might never make it back, yet it still feels home. Spring at home, is always filled with Khamaseen wind, but still is spring at home. Home is a driveway from the Memphite Necropolis, where all the history comes from… Home is a few hours from Sinai, where one can get lost in a different world, but it feels more like home than anywhere else.
During classes, I always look at maps hung on walls, looking for Egypt, looking for home. Whenever a slide comes of a scene of a tomb in Saqqara or the landscape of the Nile, I take a deep breath, because it partially fills that un-fulfillable longing for home…
It is only now that I understood what the Pope has said, that Egypt is not a home that we live in, but a home that lives in us.
Paolo: So, are you finally starting to feel at home?
Sigh, home!
Home is miles away! Home is where we have pyramids, temples, and the Nile…Home is the taste of my mother’s beautiful cooking, home is the smell of tea with mint, home is sitting in the main campus writing emails to the world. Home is the choir every Friday, and St. Marc beautiful church. Home is driving three hours just to make it to the office to realize that the early meeting got cancelled. Home is where dear old friends are who no counterparts can be found. Home is where all memories come from, whether good or bad, they still feel like home. Home is where I can laugh for hours with my brothers just over nonsense and it feels like nothing to be compared to. Home is my father reading the newspapers in the morning and drinking his sugarless tea, while grandma is on the phone. Home is breakfast at Makani or Korba with best friends. Home is crossing Tahrir square saying the psalms knowing that I might never make it back, yet it still feels home. Spring at home, is always filled with Khamaseen wind, but still is spring at home. Home is a driveway from the Memphite Necropolis, where all the history comes from… Home is a few hours from Sinai, where one can get lost in a different world, but it feels more like home than anywhere else.
During classes, I always look at maps hung on walls, looking for Egypt, looking for home. Whenever a slide comes of a scene of a tomb in Saqqara or the landscape of the Nile, I take a deep breath, because it partially fills that un-fulfillable longing for home…
It is only now that I understood what the Pope has said, that Egypt is not a home that we live in, but a home that lives in us.
