The Second Snowstorm

I have always wanted to leave Egypt, my home country, for some reason or the other. I would continuously try to find ways to get out.  The reasons are endless but the ways to find a way out were very limited. No reasons, regardless how valid they were, would be approved of primarily from my parents. Except for education. The trips to embassies were made after being accepted to masters programs abroad, and for foreign policy justifications, my visa application would be rejected. Or the other reason would be that the program was highly expensive-too overwhelming for my family to spend for just one of their four children; which I could try to sensibly understand in some way.

So the time has finally come. After being turned away from my masters program in New York and after a horrendous, traumatizing, and deeply dramatic emotional experience, I insisted on leaving. I had to leave the country that seemed to close its doors on my face, day in and day out, and that has caused turbulence and deterioration to my emotional state.  My destination this time was Canada. And as expected, there had to be something that had to blow that plan, too. But that happened after I arrived to America, which was quite relieving, because at least I made it outside of Egyptian soil. America was just a mini-transit before I go to Canada. But for various reasons, whether I liked or approved of them or not until today or back then, and needless to mention them, my move’s destination altered. I was to stay in America for a while. So technically, my first stop, my first move was to New York-precisely Hoboken, New Jersey.

Shocked at the sudden change, I got lost in my emotions, my mind, and my actions. I lost the reasons, the objective, and got lost along the way in the experience itself. As unpredictable life is, the most predictable thing I knew about me is that nothing in my life goes as planned. I think it was by then that I learnt my first lesson during depression: never plan. And if I do, know that the chances are strongly high in taking a different direction, undoubtedly. Although I lived by the wise saying, "the only constant is change-" it seemed that I forgot that it applied to me and my life. And that along with all that, I was just purely unlucky back then, as I was before in my life as I am unlucky today. But things change, and they happen the way they do, and I wish I could say that they happen for a reason. No one will ever know, no matter how hard they try, why things happen. It takes more than time, reasoning and precise studying to decipher life’s sly ways of shifting things the way they do. We could only try to understand- that’s about as much as we can reach. Until we give up, or give in to God’s will, fate, destiny, the unknown written, or the sciences, even zombies (whatever you believe in)- there will be a time where we just stop thinking and stop trying to figure it out because we then realize it is beyond us.

Depression seemed to be my best friend at the time. And it just got closer to me in every sense and every way, and to every body part in me. As extravagant the city was with its massively energetic people, its breathtaking lights and infinite skyscrapers, the unlimited beauty that’s unraveled each day through art and creativity, nothing seemed to fix what was broken, bring back the person lost, or mend the torn heart. I felt defeated and smaller than normal people as I weaved through the busiest corners of the sleepless city. The luminous effects around me didn’t shine on me and reflect on me hope to a more promising future. Instead, I found comfort in counting everything that resembled the person I lost and the moments that felt very similar to the ones we once shared.

My stay in America was entitled to a title, according to my family. It was, “a cleansing period.” I didn’t approve of that, for reasons that were logical. But I knew that they were right. I just had to accept that this is where I reached to and had to accept that I did need time to myself. I needed to collect the time I have always yearned for to find in my busy schedule back in Cairo-time to reflect, cleanse, purify, get away, be alone, cry, scream, yell, and even smile freely. Find time to enjoy the actuality of reading a book, take long showers without feeling pressed with time, enjoy long walks, take my time in indulging into my meals, find pleasure in smaller things, and take as much time as I wanted to figure out the Sudoku puzzles. But my heart and body felt so sore – they were too heavy to lift to make any move, improvement, or any sign of life.  I already had my heartbreak and my long years on my shoulders -the unprecedented events hadn’t yet been behind me.

To crawl out of depression I think I needed to be in a warmer place. New York in November is far from warm, and it only got bitter cold with time. It was my first encounter with snow, ever. It should have been joyous, flurries of snow drifting from the skies, making snowballs and building snowman whom I grew up drawing on my childhood sketches- but it personally meant nothing to experience it. And to my luck, it was the first time in 50 years since snowstorms, harsh snowstorms, have occurred. The first snowstorm which I didn’t even know would happen, took place while I was sleeping. Towers of snow took over the domination of the city’s skyscrapers; it seemed like they were competing, inhabitants unwelcomed them and felt threatened by the unexpected comers that took over their streets for some time.  It took days for the city to come back to life. To me, it didn’t really matter how long it took. I was just looking over the window-observing the arrival of any signs of hope.

The second snowstorm, I walked right through it. I walked side by side its sharp winds as its snow flurries accompanied my footsteps through the dark, soulless night. For some reason, I had no fear, even though the residents were all warned and pre-alerted of the upcoming storm to stay at home. My frustrated furry and disturbing thoughts directed me outside my apartment building instead of within my warm cozy layered covers. Yes, it was a crazy experience, and you must say I am a crazy person. But the beauty of life happens in those crazy moments that not so many are given. And coming from a depressed person who had almost suicidal thoughts, it doesn’t sound as crazy as it really was.  The experience was actually soothing- it was comforting knowing that while people found comfort at their homes, escaping harm, I was right in the middle of action, in the heart of it, and found myself enjoying the fearless heart I held. This snowstorm helped me come out of my fear zone. I finally stepped out and enjoyed realizing that I could take myself out of harm. I could prevent myself from harm as much as I possibly can, and the means weren’t limited to staying at home. Wherever I could be, there will be potential risk. But the place where I am put in, I have to notice the harm that could be done to me. I have to accept being present in the rushing winds and the stormy sharp blazes. I just have to realize how I could protect myself and walk myself away and out of harm.

I went home, safely. I knew I had maneuvered my way out from storm’s harm. If I hadn’t walked through the second snowstorm, I would have never been able to step out of my fear, which I held throughout my entire depression period. And that night, a gradual lift of relief and a reward of triumph have been experienced. It was like a key to the first door of hope was being handed over to me.  It was a moment of realization: I have to start recovering. The first step to recovery had to start in accepting the given events, forgiving everyone including myself, and start helping heal my trembled heart, fearlessly.