I'm sitting in my bed, in my now-empty room, with packed bags sitting neatly nearby, and it's finally starting to sink in that it's time to go home. It all went by so fast that it was hard to really realize that it was time to go home - even when we had final presentations in class, or as my students were crying as we gave last hugs, or as we waved our way out of the Ana al-Masri center that last time. I mean, the past week I've been telling myself that this is my last whatever. My last time in Khan al-Khalili, my last sandwich ma ful bilsalsal, my last metro ride, my last time on the Nile. There were plenty of warning signs telling me that it's time to go back home, I just never really took the time to read them, or process what they meant.
And when I say "last," I hope to not mean the last time forever. I absolutely would love to return to Cairo, and hopefully to bring a few of you with me. And I'm excited to go back home, to see my family and some friends and to go on PWILD and to go to Prague. I'm excited for Mexican food, and to see Inception, and to not be harassed in the streets.
And when I say "last," I hope to not mean the last time forever. I absolutely would love to return to Cairo, and hopefully to bring a few of you with me. And I'm excited to go back home, to see my family and some friends and to go on PWILD and to go to Prague. I'm excited for Mexican food, and to see Inception, and to not be harassed in the streets.