The Fork in the Road

I couldn't sleep after the mosque called Cairo to its early morning fast, then finally fell into a restless dreamy state, where I ran into my ex, HM of Dik-Dik infamy. Strangely, he was living (with a woman) under an assumed name, while working at a college radio station as an intern. At a shopping center. In Israel. And he wouldn't speak to me when I called him by his real name, so I had to address him as Raghul. Which all seemed plausible in my dream. And then I woke up and realized the assumed name was a bastardization of the villain's name in the comic book I edit.

That was nearly as disturbing as the nightmares I used to have in Namibia after "Raghul's" sudden disappearance, so I went ahead and got out of bed, though it was just after five a.m.

Anxiety dream? But why? Nothing too worrying is happening.

Ah, but I leave Cairo tonight and suddenly I am full of doubt. I am uncertain as to which path to proceed on, blinking as I stumble along at a fork in the road.

I enjoy living in Cairo. It would be no-big-thing to get transferred here for keeps. Should I go home? Should I come back? Could I really make a life here, join the gym, buy a colonial-era flat and renovate it? Have I really resolved to be a single, independent woman forever, to live life on my terms without being too fussed that I neglected my basic human duties of family in a society where the family unit is utterly important? To do all this in Cairo? Is that crazy talk?

I'm a good expat. It suits me. My theory is that I'm alienated anyway, and when I'm out of my own country, at least I have a justification for being alienated.

But as soon as I bought my ticket to Barcelona, I mentally checked out of Cairo. Two weeks ago, I was loving my life here. Yesterday, I couldn't wait to leave. And now, I'm having anxiety dreams.

I will go to Barcelona, buy some new clothes, and get work done for both the Cairo and New York offices, so that when I go in to work in New York in one week, I'm starting new and not as far behind as I usually am. I've stored things under my desk in the Cairo office, on the assumption that I'll return. Captain M pretends I'm returning. Yasir has offered to find an apartment for me. In my gut, I believe it's time to go home. In my brain, I'm not sure why my gut believes that, and wonder if maybe my gut is just acting as a homing beacon and telling me to follow the traditions I've made for myself. I go to New York because it's what I do.

Is Cairo a distraction from my other life, or is this my life? I don't know if I'm supposed to move on or get comfortable.