Right now, I'm a little like this:

Interpret it how you will. 

I alternate from being overly excited to feeling like I'm going to vomit. 

Momma, I need you more than you think I do. Ill be safe.

Boston, it's been real. I kind of love you.

I'm about to leave for Jordan. 

I'm still deciding what I will write in here for the next semester and what I'll keep out (opinion-wise).

 I was asked by a few to be as honest as possible. 

As I am compartmentalizing the two dialects, I am also trying to separate my Egypt experience from the experience I am about to have. I have been comparing the two countries all summer. I know it will be disastrous if I continue to do so.  

So this post is the last time I'm going to mention Egypt until I return (unless I'm in class :)). My NSLI-Y experience is very special to me. I went on a government sponsored study abroad studying Arabic and living with a host family. People ask me all the time why I love this culture. That's an easy question to answer. From the get go, the Arabs I knew were the most hospitable and generous people I have ever met. They went out of their way to make me feel comfortable and safe. 

I was sitting by myself in class and a girl named Salma Youssef came up to me and invited me to the movies. I ate dinner with her and her mom often. I considered them to be my real host family. She is such a beautiful girl, inside and out. Seriously.

One time after school, I got locked out of my apartment building. It was getting really late and a crowd of shabab (teenage boys) started coming closer. I remember feeling nervous. A woman peeked her head out of her door and invited me in. Her family is from Saudi Arabia. She was so hospitable. She gave me food to eat and offered me tea. Her little boys taught me a couple words in Arabic. They would ask me to repeat and when I would in my terrible accent, they laughed their heads off. It was a great night.

My host family had servants named Maiza and Nagua. Maiza was my favorite, mainly because I felt loved by her and she wasn't a spy for my host mother. She was around my age and the hardest worker I have ever seen. I never saw her sleep. We couldn't really communicate with each other. We took turns braiding hair and making bracelets while watching So You Think You Can Dance. When hip hop would come on, she would get up and dance. <3

Egyptians know how to throw a dance party (and get this... the boys know how to dance). I love it. Our host siblings would bring drums and other percussion instruments on the busses. Everyone would stand up and dance to the beat while we were going over 80 mph down the road. Absolutely exhilarating.

Egyptian time. I do not have an internal clock myself so I was late to everything and so were they. It was relaxing. I enjoyed sitting with friends for hours in a cafe doing nothing but drinking juice and talking. Oh and laughing, a lot. The kids I met put relationships before time.

In high school, I would avoid any subject close to religion. I did not want to be labeled a religious freak or attacked for something that was a huge part of my life. Cowardly, I know. Egyptians are great member missionaries. Everyone I met asked me if I knew about Islam. Everyone. It was humbling to see the kids my age leave a cafe or activity to a mosque and pray. They taught me that it was okay to be religious. Normal, even. :)

And the Americans. I cannot even end this without writing about the group of ten with whom I spent the most time. Catherine commented during our last reunion that we were easier to talk to/closer than old friends. I feel the same. I love them dearly. They are some of the most intelligent people I've ever met and they inspire me daily to work hard.

I'm often accused for ignoring negative issues in this region. They're not ignored. I'm not blind. For one, I hate the social class system. I watched (uselessly/hopelessly/helplessly) while Maiza got beat daily. I had to listen to those cries. The only thing I could do was sneak her a mango afterwards. Not okay.
I was also lectured by my host mother regularly because I was hanging out with Egyptians who didn't have "class." Yeah, that got annoying fast.

I  hate the harassment in the streets and treatment of women. I have stories, but will only tell them in person and at my discretion.

I recognize work needs to be done (in every country), but this culture has more positive aspects than negative. The core beliefs of Islam are beautiful. The people are incredible.
 We (SLI kids) feel we are self imposed defenders of this culture. Someone needs to be. Our media constantly gives the region a bad rep. The average person is a good human devoted to his/her religion, providing for his/her family, living his/her life, surviving.

That's my long winded response to that. 

So that's it. No more Egypt for now.

I'm ready to go experience a new culture, a new language, and new people.

Today was my last day at the Gap until the end of December. Can I get a 7umdilallah?! A coworker once told me that working at the Gap was like being in an abusive relationship. So true. 

So August. It's been a busy month. The mentor job ended. It was, by far, the best job I have ever had. I made more in the month of July than I do in a year. My mom laughs. 

August brought many visitors: Grandma Cherry, Csilla, Luke, Ynna, Aunt Allisa, and the Youngs. I'm a lucky girl. These visits included many trips to the beach, a Red Sox game, shopping on Newberry street, Salem, The House of Seven Gables, and lots and lots of walks on the freedom trail. I love freedom. 

Ynna helped me buy oversized clothes. I'm going for frumpy in Jordan. I cried, she laughed. It's fine, we're lovers. We went to a used bookstore while she was here and now I'm addicted. Since she has been gone, I have purchased over ten books that I won't be able to read until December. They will be my reward after a busy semester.

I met up with some of my favorite SLI'ers in New York on an impromptu Fung Wah bus trip with Catie.  Yeah, that's right, Fung Wah. You can't beat fifteen dollars for a bus trip. Once we got into NYC, it took us three hours to figure out how to get to the orientation, only thirteen miles away. We laughed the entire time.

Shout out to Liz: I'll miss you, my friend, my cousin, my sister. You are one of the people I trust most. Even though we drive each other crazy, I know we will always remain close. 

Yesterday was my last night with Jess. We decided to go rock climbing. Our plans were halted by the rudest employee who wouldn't pass our belay tests. I hate knots. She told us she was too busy to remind us how to set up. Um, there were ten people in gym. It was about to be a girl fight, but I looked at Jess. His eyes begged me not to make a scene. I turned around and got my money back. I stewed about it for the thirty minute car ride home. Jess turned on Mason Jennings, kept commenting on how awesome his voice is, and suggested Vietnamese food. He has a talent of staying calm. Everyone needs a Jess in their life. 

I am regretting not studying any Arabic this summer, but I don't regret how I spent my time. Does that make sense? I know that I don't have much time left with my family. I hope I made it count. 

I want to take this opportunity to thank the student who burnt popcorn at 2:30 AM last night. Not only was he up past curfew, but he sent one hundred plus people out of their beds waiting in the rain for the firemen to come and find the cause of the smoke. It took an hour for the search and thirty more minutes to return everyone back to bed. Wake up call is at 6:00 FYI. Also, it is well into the next day and my room smells of popcorn death.

There is a silver lining. I am grateful the kid was not smoking cigarettes or worse. It would have been too late/early to yell and write him up. I'm not even sure I know how to discipline fully conscious. So alhumdilallah it was just popcorn.

She did it again, folks.

http://twostepartizani.wordpress.com/2011/07/21/a-sort-of-homecoming-2/

I won't mention it every time, but this is by far my favorite blog that I read. My aunt is a true hero. Come August, I get to spend time with this brilliance and nothing can make me happier.

A Little Update

It's currently ninety degrees in Boston. I'm going to go ahead and add ten more for humidity and ten more for residing in these cinder block dorms lacking air-conditioning. We are in survival mode. The mentors decided that all of the kids should sleep in the lounge (only room filled with AC) while this heat persists.

Am I the only one who thinks cramming seventy-one high school students in one room is crazy? I will be shocked if I get sleep this weekend. I am not sure when I became this old lady, but it happened.

2:19 AM, Saturday Morning

For the month of July, I am living in Cambridge dorms as a mentor for a high school summer camp with seventy one kids. I love it except for nights like tonight. A rumored "toga party" is keeping me up into these wee hours. Every so often, a kid will open his/her door and peek out to see if I am asleep. I am determined to outlast the little suckers. I am terrible at disciplining. Normally, I just let things slide like late nighters of dying people's hair or kids being a little late for curfew. I understand what it was like to be their age and the desire to be respected. Everyone needs mercy. However, drunk minors are no good hence the sleepless night of patrolling.

New dorm trend: Both girls and guys are shaving half of their heads and leaving the other side long. Let's just say the parents are not thrilled. I have received many a phone call.

We spent the evening at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston with a tour guide, something I highly suggest. Despite their half-witted attempts to sneak around, these kids are brilliant and I love spending time with them. I am amazed at their knowledge of art history and their ability to create. I would stare at a painting and one would explain the history and the concept behind each piece of work. Artists are misunderstood geniuses. Every brush stroke they make serves a purpose. They taught me this as they analyzed and discussed pieces together. I feel an art history course in my near future.

We split up into groups in the museum. Mine, of course, was the best.

Also, I highly suggest seeing Chihuly's glass exhibit and a glass blowing demonstration.

The other mentors I work with are artists as well. They are fabulous. When the kids are in class, we hang out in a hallway and they work on their own art. I watch and hopefully soak in the creative fumes. I had every opportunity and more to dive into this way of documenting history and I failed. Tonight, I am humbled.