Cat Blues.

All of us have grown hearing to all stories about victims. Black people are victims of a go-way-back history of racism. Women are victims of violence, harassment, sexual exploitation and a bunch of big-worded titles that I am not interested in recalling. Palestinians are victims of… of basically everything you can think of. The result behind living such a childhood full of such Utilitarian slavery, is that I am simply not moved anymore. It gets really awkward sometimes, when people are all sympathizing around me and everything, and I can’t help control the muscles of my grin. Furthermore, what’s even worse, is that I get really tense when I find people around me still get “surprised” by things. I don’t think anything in this world is neither surprising nor original. All things have been said and done before so recurrently – like those stories of victims – to the extent that even paying attention to any happening scenario sounds just silly – let alone, indulging in any so devotedly.

Apparently, that’s not the case in the other side of the world…

Now call me a racist, but I am sure all of you have noticed how Americans living in Egypt get all hype, excited and enthusiastic about the dumbest things. I don’t get to deal much with any really, but on the short occasions that I do, I let my friends do the talking. However, last night I was sitting with an American on my right and an Eastern-European on my left. None of who was hot, to at least take away from their unjustified excitement about everything. I was asked if I like cats. I told the truth – “No, I don`t really like them, but I happen to be one.” The American twisted in his chair to look at me as the Eastern European asked how that was possible. I declared that I firmly believe I have cat genes and all, that I carry the whole cat-like attitude and manners in addition to physical traits like my eyes switching color according to mood and light. They were all so impressed and I was suddenly surrounded by gasps and no-ways and wows and all. I tell you, it filled me with goose bumps. So I fought back by simply continuing to hold my serious face and controlling my grin’s muscles on a very rare occasion… and I said with question marks all over my cat-like hair… “I am not so sure whether it was my dad or my mom who decided to sleep with a cat though.”

Their wows and no-ways faded into a very awkward situation that their waves of sudden silence could not mop away. That’s it. Nobody laughed. Nobody found humor in what I was saying. So I just kept my serious face and turned the whole thing into a really serious wondering business of who my cat male and/or female ancestor might be. I tell you, it’s a rough rough world out there.