I once wrote a love letter to New York. I know, it’s cheating, but it came from a really honest place. In the letter I lamented a love that would never be. I believed that my chances of leaving you were slim, and that my destiny was hiding somewhere in Harlem or on the Upper West Side. I ached for a love I did not have. A seen, understood and welcomed type of love. A forever love. A vibrant, vivacious, larger-than life love. Maybe, just love. In my head you were too cruel, exhausting, divisive. I condemned your crowded streets, your pollution, your noise. I perceived you as a scab I wanted to rip off my skin: part of me, but separate somehow. I wanted nothing to do with you, I wanted out. But that was then and this is now. Now I can’t think of a place that is more home than your 7awary. I picture myself going to sleep under your skies, lit by a thousand electrical lights, and know that this is where I’m meant to be.

When I think of love, I think of running errands with my mom around Mall of Arabia. I think of getting lost amidst the shops, grabbing coffee, and being sold sweets by the Syrian refugees standing outside of Arkan. Love is a full day in Zamalek: parking at my uncle’s, walking down 26^th of July, working from Sip or Amor Perfecto, having lunch with Ali and Zein, and then meeting at Mousti’s or Abaza’s for an after-work hang. Love means Ratios mornings with Farida and random Maadi wanderings that inevitably lead to Osana. I think of all the places I have tried to move (Sane, Salma’s studio, GSC, our compound gym) and how my body has been shaped by you: roughly, but still pliable. I flashback to my time at RiseUp and ambling around the GrEEK campus in search of the perfect cup of coffee. I remember all the little streets in Downtown Cairo and how each one seems to lead to a different bar. Love in Cairo is historic crown moldings and foll and Kleenex sold on the side of the street . I think that is what defines you most to me, that feeling of standing in history wherever one turns. When I think of you I think of languishing in my garden, soaking up the sun like a cat on a hot day and having a picnic-breakfast in the grass. Love is commuting to work with just the right playlist or going for an after-work shisha with Dido or Farah. When I think of love, I think of afternoons spent at Nour’s house gossiping or just walking around the compound limits, running into people left, right and center. I think of evenings at May’s drinking tea and tasting whatever new sweet she has brought from her travels. I think of unburdening myself and being seen and held. Love to me is returning to my school for Weihnachtsbazaar every year, catching up with all my friends and gorging ourselves on Bratwurst and cake. Love is getting lost on the way to Tagamo3 but spending a full day there doing nothing. It’s Sokhna weekends and Sahel season and diving, so much diving. Unlike New York, love in Cairo is slow and warm, like koshary tea. It creeps in on you, instead of meeting you headfirst. Love is photography walks with my dad and the next trip to one of the oases. It is weddings on weddings on weddings, walking Milo, and hearing the adhan for every prayer. Love is weekend brunches at Amina’s (whenever she is in town), ful and gebna beida, gathering lemons and taking another trip to the tarzi. It is natural products by the dozen, free-flowing naanaa, and reading a good book on the couch. It’s the smell of oudh or misk, zikr gatherings, days spent tidying up and listening to Somaa complaining about his workload while he smokes a cigarette on the balcony. When I think of love, I think of staring into the space outside my bedroom, gazing at all the little Hod Hods and wondering how infinite the world is that connects us. Love is birthdays at my Uncle’s, Laila’s chocolate cake and the whole family congregating outside for a powwow. There are many small things that spell love to me, but mostly it is Friday breakfast, lunch at Nona’s and get togethers with Poupy, Dina and Nunz. If there is one typical Cairo scene that I would like to commit to memory, it’s that liminal moment when I am driving on the Da2ery and the sun sets just so over the pyramids and I can’t believe that I actually get to live here.