This will be my last post of material not yet written. I might dig up older things I’ve written to post, but from here on out I expect any posts to consist of photos.
As I’ve mentioned, I’m home now and what struck me on first arriving was how clean and quiet New York now seems. After hoofing it around Cairo by foot so often my last month, everything here seems tame in comparison. The trash is bagged and cornered in an orderly fashion; pedestrians move down the wide sidewalks with ease, obediently waiting like a herd of sheep for the traffic light to indicate it’s safe to cross the street and the cars move along with only the occasional bleat of a horn to indicate the snarled traffic.
Often times I start walking in the road to regain a sense of normalcy, sometimes crossing a busy intersection to the sound of horns blowing in an attempt to stage a small act of defiance to the order that exists.
I’ve come home to find cops hovering everywhere. They stand at street corners, the entrances to subways, in the subways along the stairs, eyeballing all the strap hangers who pass up and down, around and about on their way to work, home or play. They look suspicious, everyone here is a suspect their eyes tell me. Gone are the skinny, harmless looking rifle and machine gun toting country boys who filled Cairo’s street corners, here I find big, mean looking men ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. Kerouac once wrote about the inclination of American police to act like their job was to intimidate the public, and that of the third world policeman to just get through his day. An astute observation, and despite some obvious and important differences in effective policing methods that these two attitudes lead to, I do feel there is something to be weary of in this American landscape of uniforms.
I was detained and questioned by Homeland Security when re-entering the country, so my pessimism in regards to these matters should be considered. I’d imagine I’ve been put on a list at this point simply for traveling to Egypt and having then having my passport filed. I do think it’s not far fetched that my phone might be taped and my emails are being monitored. I’ve had two instances already where when I pick up my phone and dial and instead of a ring I’m greeted by a chatter of multiple voices coming over my line, or getting strange pauses and clicks before and after phone calls. I say this without sounding paranoid, because at this point, it’s become pretty SOP for people from all walks of life to be on government monitoring lists according to several reports. When the attorney general is stopped and detained at the airport because his name is on a terrorism watch list which is over 100,000 strong or when it has been brought to light by organizations of the Time’s stature that there are government agencies monitoring a massive amount of domestic communication, I don’t think I’m being that outrageous in claiming so. But I don’t care either at this point. What can be done about it? And what have I done?
As America bows in reverence to China’s display of manufactured power at the Olympics and slings out empty phrases of aggression at Russia as we shake our fists from afar from behind our high walls, I see an America that will eat it’s own when the time comes, when our fall from power can no longer be questioned. Authorities will stare down with greedy eyes ready to cannibalize it’s children in some kind of twisted act of self preservation. Living in the American Empire abroad made me appreciate what our policies have done to make the American Abroad a person of stature, but as the saying goes, “Karma’s a bitch.” I saw a piece of art this weekend; a large canvas mural with a world map painted in red on it. The American continent was missing, and in large letters below the question was asked, “What will the world look like without America?” This is one of the most pertinent questions of the century.
Despite the huge amount of harm and damage we’ve done to the world, this summer has made me question America’s role in the world, and no matter how bad we’ve been, the behavior of an unrestrained Russia and China will probably be no different and perhaps more aggressive. But what will they have to offer the world? Great books? The music that has made the world move for the past 100 years? I recognize this is cultural arrogance on my part, and these countries will contribute positive things to the world as time progresses, but reflecting on the enormous cultural impact we’ve had throughout the turmoil we’ve spread, in our music, books, films and art, I wonder whether a Putin-esque Russia will ever be able to issue forth works that speak to the world’s soul in the way so many of our cultural exports have. But we’ve sent out a lot of garbage too, and it’s been lapped up, so I’m not sure where I really stand as I write this. Time will tell. Cultural exchange and values are hard to pin down; people write books on the subject, and I should probably pick one up before I write anymore on this. I’m in uncharted territory personally.
What matters though to me most now is that I am content. My head feels clear and I feel a certain sense of “anything goes.” I have given up on worrying over things. What is, what will be, these questions I am in the act of sacrificing.
My last month in Egypt seemed to see a lot of concerns and worries fall away as I spent more and more time alone, and frequently without any money. In New York this would have eaten me, but something over there changed. In a country where someone you meet on the train will invite you into their home for dinner, it’s hard to worry too much about things. So then the trick is of course continuing to live this way in a place where that is not the norm. Already the siren’s song for wealth, prestige, and all the New York trappings is calling out.
Things have been so busy since I’ve been back so I haven’t had a lot of time to reflect. No work this week, so I should have some more time to reflect and keep focused. I feel more content, more confident and filled with direction with all the old stress is gone, so it’s something to hold onto. I was challenged today and happy to see I made it through it.
I socialized for over a week straight, and only one night did I find myself coming home after work. Dinners, happy hours, concerts, walks, and parties; despite working everyday last week, I feel like I’m on some kind of vacation. Every night brings a new adventure, new people and friends, and old friends too. My energy has been high and I’m surprised at my own stamina.
My friend Adam told me over dinner one night he thinks coming to New York is like riding a wave, sometimes you catch the right one, sometimes you don’t. Your up one time, down another. I seem to have caught an upwardly moving wave since arriving.
I came back with $25 in my bank account and five dollars on me, then before I knew it I had a paycheck, a random check dated from July as a late payoff on old business, and a little charity money; and voila, a surprisingly high bank account given my circumstances.
I am sleeping on my friends floor but wake up every morning feeling refreshed. At the end of the month he will leave the room and I’ll rent it out. For my first time in NY I’ll have a room with full privacy, in an apartment with a more than practical living arrangement; homey, simple and with a view of the Empire State building from the kitchen windows, all for a hundred less than what I paid at my old place. It’s dirt cheap and I can’t believe it’s going to be my rent. I’m three blocks from Atlantic Avenue, surrounded by an option of express train lines, and upscale Brooklyn neighborhoods. Even more ironic is the prevalence of Middle Eastern restaurants and grocery stores on my stretch of Atlantic Ave. Across the street from me is a hole in the wall Carribean take-out joint, they serve a large ten dollar chicken curry that is the best I’ve had and makes about three meals. Caribbeans move and hustle on the immediate streets outside, reggae and hip hop coming out of boom boxes as men and women move through the cheap patty joints, nail salons and fast food spots. It’s lively, bright, cheap, it reminds me of Cairo in some passing way. At night it’s quiet, the streets empty and I can walk just a few blocks over into gentrified brownstone Boreum Hill and enjoy a good beer at a brand new café/bar that has opened up and is surprisingly cool. I’m happy to leave behind my old place and neighborhood filled as it is with some good memories but a lot of stress and unhappiness, and inconvenience. So long G line, hello Q, A, 4, F etc. I’m getting a fresh start here and I couldn’t be more happy that I’ve decided to let go of the old.
I’ve danced wildly in a Macdougal street basement on a Sunday night to some house music you can only hear in a city like New York without a drink in me, caught up with old friends who’ve converged on New York, met someone who lived in Cairo longer than me doing something similar, been rained on Central Park, danced with a penguin, talked about Balkan road trips and clubbing in Kosovo etc. It’s good to be back here, despite the assholes I’ve forgotten about, there’s such a beautiful mix of strange and interesting people, it’s invigorating. I couldn’t stop blabbing to myself or others the first week back about how high I felt I was getting off it all, every night absorbing all this energy and mixture of people, I was caught up in some kind of ecstasy of diversity.
So, so far coming back isn’t as bad as I thought it might be. In fact it’s been a smooth, fun and interesting ride.
So I think this closes it. From now I’ll start posting photos. I’ve enjoyed the blog thing, so I might start up something a bit more free flowing and general once I get a little more settled…inshallah.
