And I keep running.
I keep looking for a shelter.
I want a shelter of thoughts, a place of familiar feel and sound and noise and thoughts.
I am a stranger. I am not home.
I cried for a jet plane, knelt down in tears and screamed for I am tired of fighting, I am tired of fighting conceptual battles and judgments and ignorance and pointless discussions with people who don't even listen and who don't even know me.
Then again, I realize I needn't to run off my country. You know, it gets beautiful too and beautiful enough to offer me an escapism along the Nile.
I am leaving too soon I know that.