To a City

Dear Cairo,

I pray this finds you well,

although I doubt it will.

I am writing to tell you that things here aren't going too good... especially on the financial side.

They might not hit the floor, but still. It makes staying here less attractive.

And I keep thinking...

Why the hell am I here?

I don't particularly need this!

Not to mention that I'm giving up quite a lot to be here.

I'm freezing my soul for months at a time just to survive,

pulling a face of stone

lest it betrays feelings

and forces me to feel stuff with it

I don't blame anyone who refuses to come visit you after a while, and I don't think you should either.

Have you any idea how much visiting you hurts?

There's a sort of unbearable longing

not to some past-tense pseudo-utopia

(you made sure of that!)

but to a... I don't know...

to actually caring abt something!

because a person stops doing that after a while here

Yes, we care about our own well-being in a vague manner

and about our rights in an aggressive one

but rarely about anything on the outside

We just couldn't give a damn

Whether the UAE prospered

or Pakistan sank

or the EU failed to become the new world super-power

Just off-handedly, we can discuss world politics

or read the english newspaper to pass the time we spend in transportations

But we won't lift a finger to change a thing

But with you, dear Cairo...

My fingers are itching all the time!

whether I do something or not, is another matter...

but I feel.

And that's why coming to visit after years of cold indifference

feels like hot water on frostbitten skin

it tears at it

burning like hellfire

and forces our hearts out of us

So what do we do?

Do we just cope with limbo?

Do we leave and never look back?

Do we stay trapped in your smothering embrace?

What do we do, Cairo?

Tell me, seriously, what can a man do?!

Waiting to hear from you...

Sincerely,

Peter