I have of new come to the realization that I have issues with “distance”. You know, the kilometrage that separates individuals living on different spots on the globe. Your mind is wandering, I can see it in its CK jeans and ESPRIT shirt happily skipping about heading for AD. WRONG! Fortunately my best friend will be in town for Eid hence these pangs of detest towards distance are not emanating from her not being around.
The distance I have problem with, surprisingly enough, is not a very big one. I manage to deal just fine with the distance between Cairo and Abu Dhabi, Boston, LA, London, Madrid, Valencia (pronounced Balenthia), Paris, Islamabad and even Asech. Yet I manage to fail to cope with the 3 hour drive that separates Cairo from Alexandria. Minor wouldn’t you say, hardly worth hating, I mean after all its a drive away. In bad traffic it takes more time to get to the Airport and back from Mohandseen. Yet these mere 3 hours are driving me insane.
You see, I grew up outside Egypt, I am a Gulf kid. Back then it was acceptable not to be as involved in people’s lives, as there for them, cause heck you live on the other side of the Arabian Peninsula. Now, in theory at least, you live in the same country, you are out of excuses. Yet in practice, that’s absolutely not true. Living in another city makes you even more helpless. You are close enough to interact by phone on a daily basis. Yet when the crisis is big enough, when they really need you to be by their sides, nothing. You can’t. At least not all the time.
You end up missing birthdays, condoling deaths over the phone, trying to be supportive at times of grief, failure and disappointment. Trying to share their joy at times of joy.
For every party I couldn’t be at; for every funeral I missed; for every heartbreak we had to handle over the phone; for every graduation I couldn’t attend; for all the laughs, tears and most of all the hugs… I am truly sorry.
Song of the day: Bryan Adams – Please Forgive Me