It hits you when the engine starts running, as soon as you exit the street where you’ve been parked, where you’re likely to run into familiar faces. As soon as you get on the road, the crying fit hits you.
I remember 14 August, 2013, more than I remember most days of my life. I was planning on wearing my new black shirt to work that day; the one with a semi-transparent back.
I remember drowsily getting out of bed, considering which stories I would cover for the paper that day, before being updated by my mum about the latest news.
“They’re dispersing the sit-ins,” she said, shaking, while anchored in front of the television airing live footage of the dispersals.
The amount of time it took me to get sardined into the ladies’ cart made it obvious; this would be a special ride. But … it was just way more special than I had calculated. Continue reading
The agony of knowing her surpasses that of losing her. It’s only when I remember how we used to walk together in that quiet street that it kills me to realize we shall never walk alone any time soon. Her picture, the one when she’s gazing at the camera, lost as the cars pass her by; it tears me into pieces every time I come across it knowing I shall never escort her while crossing the street ever again. Someday, for all I care, she might get run over while crossing with her usual negligence, me not there to forcefully stop her before she hits the ground. Continue reading
The media outlets union announced on Wednesday a $100,000 reward for whoever puts the union through to a ‘No’ voter on Egypt’s constitutional referendum.
The reward comes after journalists from different news services failed to find a single citizen who voted ‘No’ on the draft constitution. Continue reading