Constants

Editorial Note

The universe is a chaotic, ever-changing place, but underneath all that change are constants, constants that have always existed and always will. For one, there are the laws of physics that have governed everything from the start of time, and it’s a safe bet to assume they will continue to do so. On a much humbler scale, the history of our small planet seems to show that there are forces at work that keep things from changing too dramatically; a species may go extinct, but its role in the environment will just be filled with another one that looks surprisingly similar.

But what of us? Do we change? I would argue that, as a species, we are capable of change, but we generally choose not to. After all, we’ve been told that history repeats itself, and recent developments prove that. We’ve all read about pandemics in history books, and the corona virus outbreak has shown us that, despite all

our current technology and science, we are still as vulnerable to nature as we’ve always been. Perhaps events in the US show us that we’re just as tribalistic as the average caveman was, stuck in the primitive thought process that those like us are more important than those not like us. It’s a nice thought to think at some point we will evolve past such things, that some social or technological advancements will be a game-changer for us, but until then, we should expect more and more of the same.

“What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.”

Ecclesiastes 1:9

Thomas Mikhail Editor-in-Chief.

The

The Smell of

The Self In Perpetuance

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Writer: Atlas Editor: Mahmoud El Hakim

The Evolution of Evolutionism

How Western culture conceptualizes change has in and of itself evolved throughout the centuries. In today’s day and age, the evolutionistic paradigm has entrenched itself so deeply into the modern sciences that the previous body of theories it usurped is now relegated to collecting dust in obscure historical textbooks and niche esoteric magazine articles. The universe in the Western world view was once seen as eternally static, in which both the natural and social order were divinely ordained and unchanging. Over the past two centuries, we have seen the rapid replacement of stasis with change. From geology to cosmology, and everything in between, a wide variety of evolutionist theories concerning nature have risen to prominence. The simultaneous arrival of these evolutionist theories cannot be seen as purely resulting from the advance of scientific methodology and rationality. Rather, they must be situated in their proper social context, as they arose in accompaniment to the shifting nature of social relations in the Western World over the last 600 years.

The (in)famous philosopher of science, Thomas Kuhn, once argued for digging

up dusty old scientific theories, not for the practical value they provide, but to show that science is a fundamentally messy affair. Rather than view science as a steadily growing collection of facts that are gently corrected with the arrival of new evidence, Kuhn asks us to consider scientific progress in terms of two distinct phases. There is a period of “normal science” where certain ontological entities, rules, and methodologies are accepted, and periods of “revolutionary science”, in which anomalies generated by the previous paradigm, trigger the rapid spread of radically different reinterpretations. Thus the reinterpretation of space, time, mass, and energy brought about by Einstein’s theory of general relativity brought about an incommensurable rupture between it and the old Newtonian worldview. What Kuhn (smartly) avoided discussing, however, was the interpenetration of the scientific and the social. Though it is not controversial to state that science as an institution, consisting of universities, professors, and journals is influenced by social phenomena (such as racism) or financial incentives, nothing provokes more outright anger from many scientists than the suggestion that the facts and theories of science, or the

scientific method itself, are influenced by social forces.

Pointing out these social forces is by no means a denial of objective reality (coincidentally an action often attributed to Kuhn himself). Simply put, to do science is to be a social actor engaged in a political act. The progression of science and successive dominance of paradigms is not purely the result of an internal logic of scientific methodology, merely related to knowledge that professes direct correspondence with a material world. Nor is it purely the result of an external logic relating to social forces or functions. What we should consider instead, is the fundamental tension between these two logics and how that tension drives science forward.

Before the spread of evolutionist ideas in the nineteenth century, it was obviously recognized that changes occur in both natural and social systems. But acknowledgment of the difference between past, present, and future cannot be a sufficient feature of an evolutionary worldview. In the previous paradigm, such changes were always relegated to

the background and considered as lone exceptions within a static universe. In the face of a growing fossil record which shows that old forms die out at various epochs, and new forms take their place, the image of a mainly static universe was steadfastly maintained by theological geologists such as William Buckland. Indeed, his theory of catastrophism invoked a succession of divine floods and acts of spontaneous creation by God. In the social world, classes were frozen in their relations by divine will, but occasional changes in the social status of individuals could occur through the withdrawal or conferral of grace. King Charles I ruled through the grace of God, but as Oliver Cromwell observed, such grace was removed as quickly and neatly as his head was. Human beings tend to see the natural world as a reflection of the social reality that dominates their lives. Accordingly, the domination of evolutionistic paradigms can be seen as the necessary outcome of the slow but profound collapse of European social relations during the Bourgeois revolution. The distribution of power shifted from being solely through hereditary means to being done on

the basis of entrepreneurial activities. Previously, the structure of society was one in which the qualities and actions of individuals were determined by their social relations: peasant and lord, cleric and freeman were tied to each other through mutual obligation and subject to their own laws. With the continual disarticulation of social and economic life, individuals could then play many different roles, sometimes as buyer, other times seller, with their role being determined by the momentary relationship one has to the objects of exchange, not by their longlasting social relations. The enclosure acts in 18th-century Britain took land that was commonly accessible and transformed it into private property. Forcing the commoners off the land intensified this process of social atomization and created a mobile army of free laborers who were no longer ‘possessed’ by others. Accordingly, a world of fixed hereditary relations that saw change as resulting from allocations of grace was in direct contradiction to the growing power of merchants, financiers, and manufacturers. This reorganization of the “constant” material relations to a dynamic structure which allowed for the wave of evolutionistic “revolutionary sciences” to wash over the modern Western World from the eighteenth century onwards.

However, the simple inclusion of change into a scientific theory does not make it evolutionist. Change is a necessary but insufficient condition of evolutionary systems; if a deck of cards is reshuffled continuously to produce new combinations, the system is changing, but not evolving. What the evolutionist theories of the 18th-

century onwards embodied is a hierarchical set of concepts which include change, order, direction, progress, and perfectibility. Different evolutionist theories sit at various levels in the hierarchy, with order requiring change, progress requiring direction, and so on. Evolutionist theories embody order by describing the outcome of the specific evolutionary process in terms of an emergent property, rather than simply providing an exhaustive list of attributes. These properties are then given dynamics specifying their change with time as a function of their current state. For example in geology, rather than noting down the positions of movements of all material particles on earth, John Hutton (1785) provided an evolutionist account of the planet’s surface by describing geological processes in terms of higher-order concepts such as mountains, lava flows, and rainfall. These entities were placed into a dynamic and uniformitarian framework in which gradual processes such as mountain building and erosion were responsible for the current geological environment and have been operating ever since water existed on Earth. Often times these ordered variables are theorized to change in a certain direction, as with the increasing entropy (and thus disorder) of the universe in evolutionary thermodynamics theorized by William Thomson (1851). This direction often gets interpreted as progress towards a desired state, as in Herbert Spencer’s theory of social Darwinism (1860), where societies were seen as evolving from homogeneous to heterogeneous as they increased in complexity. Finally, this progress can be seen as a process moving towards perfectibility. Dialectical Materialism is an example of a 19th-century

social theory that is explicitly progressivist and perfectionist. Marx and Engels posited the successive replacement of states from slave society to communism through a series of revolutions brought about by the contradictions inherent in each phase.

Contrary to expectations, biology was one of the last domains of intellectual life to adopt evolutionist thinking, mainly due to the perceived uniqueness and superiority of human life. Even so, several theories of evolution existed before Darwin in the early 1800s through the writings of Lamarck and Geoffroy Saint Hilaire. Accordingly, the Darwinian theory of evolution is not the origin but the culmination of not only 19th-century evolutionism but also of the Bourgeoisie worldview.

Here, Darwin owes a considerable debt to the political economists of the 19thcentury; as Marx once commented: “It is remarkable how Darwin rediscovers, among the beasts and plants, the society of England with its division of labour, competition, opening up of new markets, ‘inventions’ and Malthusian ‘struggle for existence’.” Darwin’s dangerous idea was the fundamental mechanism of natural selection that converted differences within species to differences between species. The idea of natural selection acting on populations came after he read Thomas Malthus in 1838, who had believed that the mismatch between population growth and food production would lead to a brutish struggle for existence in which the strong survive and the poor die off. Furthermore, in contrast to Lamarckian evolution, natural selection is variational as opposed to transformational. Ideal entities

were replaced with populations of different individuals, upon which natural selection acts to drive evolution. One can find the same ideas with the earlier 19th-century bourgeoise idea that self-interest and competition among differently-abled agents for limited resources was a strong driver of social progress. Furthermore, while on The Beagle, Darwin read the naturalist Henri Milne-Edwards, who had taken Adam Smith’s concept of the division of labour and applied it to the organs of the body.

After exploring a Brazilian rainforest Darwin also realized that division of labour applied to species within an ecosystem, thus providing another crucial component of the Darwinian worldview.

Science tends to be seen as separate from society, a free-floating island of objectivity above a churning sea of chaotic subjectivity. It is better imagined as a ship traveling through turbulent waters to its destination. Trying to understand the currents and winds that push the ship along certain paths would be of infinitely more value than pretending they don’t exist. After all, progress is based on the dual elements of tension and resolution. One mustn’t forget that the same winds that threaten to dash us against the rocks can also bring us to shore.

References: The Dialectical Biologist, Lewontin and Levins Not in Our Genes, Kamin, Lewontin, and Rose https://www.marxist.com/marx-darwin-and-gouldthe-revolution-of-evolution-pt-1.htm#_ftn4 https://www.learnliberty.org/blog/what-charlesdarwin-owes-adam-smith/

THE FAN

BY MARIAM KOTB

IT IS NOT EARLY MORNING, CLASS, OR FRIENDS. IT IS NOT DISTRACTIONS, THAT GIRL’S YELLOW JACKET, A BOY’S PASTEL SHIRT, THE BUS ROCKING AWAY FROM THE LEGO BUILDING ON ROAD 90.

IT IS BED, WHEN ALL YOU HEAR IS THE CEILING FAN FRANTICALLY THRASHING. ONE MUST IMAGINE THE FAN HAPPY.

Sports Injury

BY FARAH EHAB KHALAF

Your entire life, it was all you have ever known, you have allowed yourself to become deeply dedicated to it, to the extent that it has shaped who you are today; your character, your relations, why you are who you are today is all because of it. You have allowed both yourself, and your dreams to grow with it and have committed to it more than you ever will to anything else; all of this to handball.

It is all you have ever known since you were in elementary school; back when your parents would pick you up from school and drop you off at practice. Or the more glorious days when you would get excused early because you had a match to go to. You were around six years old, but you felt like your life already had a purpose; you were destined to become a champion and continue winning one tournament after the other. Fast forward a couple of years later; you have become a part of the team and you have all become a family; you train together, go out together and travel all around to win each tournament. There was no doubt that your grades were falling, you were always sleepy in classes and god forbid you had any time to finish any of your homework, but all of this did not matter, nothing did. Only handball. You started to miss out on school outings and birthdays but no one could blame you; you are a champion in the making. And when the time came when you have to choose between handball and focusing on high school more; well, there was not much of a choice for you to make; neither for you nor your teammates.

But then, one day, you hear a pop, the worst nightmare of any athlete becomes

your reality; cruciate ligament and you fall. You start denying it and trying to convince all those around you that it is not, but your limp and inability to walk prove otherwise. How could this happen to you? But it’s fine, the season was ending anyway; you decide that you’ll get the operation done and that you’ll be back on track in no time with your family. But you still have to start your physiotherapy sessions, you are not as strong as you once were but you cannot accept that. You keep attending all matches and practices but this time you are on the bench, you convince yourself that you are only there temporarily, but what you fail to realize is that you are no longer the player you used to be, no matter how much you try. You try to regain your strength and hope to pull through; for the sake of your teammates, your parents, for all the time that you’ve spent in training and the effort you have exerted. You try to pull through for you.

You then accept the fact that you are no longer a main player of the team and that your journey is now over. But you do not regret any of it; not the time, effort or whatever else you gave up through your journey because this sport has helped shape you into the person you are now, you have grown and developed your character through it. You now realize that throughout this entire time, you have already become the champion you have always aspired to be; because to you, a champion is not just a title but an attitude and a lifestyle you live every day through this sport. Regardless, if you could do it all over again, you most certainly would.

Dedicated to Aliaa

The Gatekeeper’s Text

By Ahmed Mohamed Badr

I’m holding this novel while I tiredly wobble. The font gets way smaller and seems to lose color. It’s not in italic yet harder to read, not a single quotation and no it’s not weed. A whole paragraph’s missing or just not of need. It seems like a plot hole that leads me to bleed. If someone could fill it, they could save my spirit, that’s lost in a wasteland that always expands; a wasteland of doubts with the deadliest routes, that never gets tired of killing the scouts. An epically grand land lies under my hand, in a cliff-hanging page and an unreadable text.

An old-written message that’s blocking my passage, it’s written in puzzles that I can not solve. It looks like a treasure that promises leisure, yet the more that I hope, the further it walks. A mirage of a treasure that haunts me for nights. No longer a thriller but rather a killer. An utterly evil that lusts for distress and its daily pleasure is my failure to rest. Its heart knows no mercy nor granting me death. It tortures me deeply and burns down my chest. That

vile evil creature and unholy lands lie deep in a page that is left blank. The mist of a mystery that hurts me indeed, no matter, I fight to fulfill the deed. The pain is eternal cause it’s incomplete. Am I losing sight of what’s written inside, or is the gatekeeper blocking me outside? I think for a reason it fears what I hide.

I know I’m not perfect but neither is he. I am merely a human who’s losing his mind. To prove my intentions and show you my side. I threw down my pride in your river of might, in less than what you call a second of time. Yet you choose to lie and just leave me be keeping me locked at the gates of your way, or forcing me passively to just walk away. Is the page double-sided or did the chapter just end? I’m losing all hope as I drop down my pen. While I think it’s over, I ain’t really sure. I can’t tear this page nor flip it away. I’m so bloody tired, I wait for a hint but honestly, truly I wish it would end so for once in my life I can peacefully mend.

The Smell of Contentment

By Zeinab Mahmoud Abdelaziz

And there she went, right after it. She kept following it. She just unconsciously found herself going there, no matter how far it seemed, or how impregnable it might have been. She did not give it that much thought, perhaps no thought at all. It just felt right to her at that specific moment. But, no, it was not a rabbit with a pocket watch that she aimlessly followed. She is not Alice, and this is certainly not Wonderland. The thing is, she was only following the smell of something, but to her, it was more than just a smell. It was like following the feelings, the memories, and the people it reminded her of. It was more of a door that she desperately wanted to open, hoping to see the scene she had in the back of her mind. Just like how they do in the movies. As soon as she started smelling that scent, shivers went all over her body. Back when she was 16 years old, she had a scented candle that she loved the most. It had the scent of lavender; her favorite. It was special. Whenever she got into her room, she immediately lit it, until it became the signature smell of her room, but she never really gave it that much attention. It was quite habitual.

Now, she is 28, she no longer lives in the room that once held her 16-year-old self. She no longer has her parents by her side. She is on her own now. But the scent, oh that scent, it took her back to that room. It took her back to contentment, to equanimity and to safety. It took her back to the time when things were much simpler, when things were under control. She desperately wanted to feel that again. She went after it for this feeling, regardless of the fact that she knew that her attempt had nothing behind it. But all she felt when she found the new, small, boutique that sold lavender products was disappointment. Even when she knew that it was all in her head. She bought a similarly scented soap and desperately went back home, or back to reality, as she would describe it. But, what had she possibly expected to find? Her disappointment was meaningless. The candles were not some sort of time machine that she hopefully aspired to find and turn on. They never were gates

THE SELF IN PERPETUANCE

Writer: Arwa Hezzah Editor: Laila El Refaie

Defining the self has been among the most complex mysteries of our world, especially in the realm of philosophy and spirituality. Philosophers over the years have made various attempts at coming to a conclusive definition of the self. Many religious thinkers, such as Plato and Kant, theorized that the self was equal to an immortal soul, which went beyond the limits of the physical world. Similarly, Descartes believed that the Mind, the part which comprehends one’s existence, is what constituted the self. He argued that, although the physical body changes, the self remains the same. On the other hand, naturalist philosophers, like David Hume, actually denied the existence of the soul altogether. Hume argued that there was no such thing as an unchanging soul and that the self is a mere bundle of thoughts, perceptions, and sensations that are constantly transforming. So, is the self a stable entity or is it constantly changing? Definitions of the self have and will continue to vary, depending on one’s perception of the world. But, if we assume that the self actually exists, can we say that it remains constant throughout our lives? Think of yourself as a child; think of the memories you have of yourself three or four years ago; do you feel like you were the same person you are today or do you feel like you were someone else entirely? The common assumption would be that we have not changed intrinsically, but that certain things about our minds and thought processes have developed as time passed. One religious theory that seeks to explain the dynamic self is Buddhism. In

Buddhist belief, one’s mental and physical existence consists of five Skanda, or parts: the body, feelings, perceptions of objects, mental formations, and consciousness of one’s existence. All of these elements are thus subject to change across one’s life. Buddhists argue that the notion of a constant, unchanging self is a mere illusion imposed upon us by the world around us. They claim that no stream of consciousness is ever constant, but rather that each self is ever-changing.

While arguments about the self might not appear to be empirical, theories in neuroscience are actually in agreement with Buddhist theory. Some neuroscientists argue that the physical parts of the brain are constantly wavering, keeping our essential self in a constant state of flux too. Philosophy and Mind professor Evan Thompson told Quartz: “from a neuroscience perspective, the brain and body are constantly in flux. There’s nothing that corresponds to the sense that there’s an unchanging self.” Similarly, Taoist beliefs uphold the notion of total changeability of one’s self, whereby they maintain that there is no stable self, and so one can be whoever and whatever they wish to be. In a sense, Taoism, like Buddhism, sets forth that a person can become several different people throughout their life, depending on their surroundings and the events affecting them.

With that being said, the alternative argument, which claims that the self is constant, has been made by many. It could

be argued that the belief in continuous change or in the malleability of the self creates a perpetual sense of self-alienation. Those who make this case claim that the self is a vessel that holds our most vital ideas and guiding principles. Thus, the people we become during our childhood development remain the same throughout the rest of our lives. From this point of view, the self is essentially unchanging, keeping a person anchored to their core being for their entire life. According to Thomas Cotterill, “anyone who is not in touch with their stable authentic self lacks a well-defined sense of self and remains trapped in the endlessly shifting thoughts and personas

While both arguments contradict each other, they are both viable to help shape the idea of the self. To better understand or comprehend the notion of selfhood, one needs to consider both the possibility of a constant self and a perpetually changing one. Buddhist and Taoist beliefs of a self that is in constant flux present a possibility of change, and of being able to have several selves throughout one’s life. The belief of a stable self, on the other hand, provides a connection with a well-defined sense of self. Although it seems more likely that the self is always changing, I believe that the notion of a stable self rings true. I would argue that the self remains the same, but merely reacts to its continually changing

As a child, you see everything with a different perspective. The world is full of opportunities, there is no limit to your dreams and what you can accomplish. The barriers that stifle one’s dreams, that change one’s reality, and the obstacles that life continues to throw, are not yet visible. For a child, the world is nothing but a realm of possibilities, and an open canvas desperately waiting to be filled. Throughout childhood, one’s identity is developed, their understanding of the world is created, and they start to embark on the life they are going to lead. The developments that occur while growing up remain at the core of one’s personality. The child within never leaves, and so the inner child stays in each and every one of us. Even if it does not show, or is suppressed, the inner child continues to be a significant part of each person’s life, no matter how much they grow up.

Do you know what your inner child is? Are you aware of its existence, its emergence and its effects? These are the aspects of the person that remain unaffected by life’s pressures, and the parts of the identity that continue to be formed by innocence, naivety, aspiration and wonder. This inner child comes into play at any moment of time. Your inner child is represented in cherished memories you have of a place, or something you have idolized since childhood. It’s a dream that you had and

Writer: Nourhan ElHadba Editor: Hanya Captan Copy Editor: Lauren K. Clark

ConcealedA Child

continue to dream about, even if it’s in the back of your mind. The inner child could also emerge out of a fear brought on by a traumatic experience you had in your past. It could be your child-like humour, your attitude, your interests, and sense of wonderment.

Your inner child can be ever-present, or it can come out only with the ones you are most comfortable with. It’s not the same for every person, and it certainly does not appear in the same instances. However, it also wouldn’t make sense for your inner child to consume your existence. A person who is governed by their childlike behaviors and actions will then be perceived as immature and may actually be going through personality development issues. Tackling the inner child differs from one person to another. For some, it may be easy to have the perfect balance between childlike playfulness and maturity, when the situation calls for it. For others, however, they may forcibly suppress this part of their identities, which may allow it to negatively take over their lives.

Being aware of your inner child may not be very common for many. Some may be unaware of the resonances from their childhood in their everyday adult lives. Some may feel like they are not allowed to indulge in these child-like behaviors or thoughts. Others may not understand

Concealed

that having an inner child does not automatically translate to being a childish adult. Rather, it means maintaining unique aspects of one’s identity from childhood. Every single person has an inner child that is distinctive to them, and that operates in its own unique way. What differs is how the person interprets these behaviors, how they respond to them, and how they engage with them. Not being aware of one’s inner child during everyday interactions doesn’t mean that there isn’t one present. It may simply indicate a lack of awareness of this part of one’s personality.

Nevertheless, this aspect of one’s personality is not all playfulness and fun. It can be the source of destructive behaviors which stem from a lack of awareness of the remnants of the child still inside. When society pushes people to abandon their childish personas, they only focus on giving up the tendency to dream, the sense of wonder, the unwavering hope, and the constant sensation of fun. However, the reality is, childhood traumas, grief, and fears remain as the most dominant constituent of the inner child at a person’s core. Without addressing this inner child, and understanding how to deal with its unresolved issues, one puts themselves in the position of acting irrationally because of these lingering negative feelings. Ignoring this inner child allows for the negativity of the past to take hold of one’s actions and

behaviors in the present. Not only that, but they also halt the prospects of progress and development, due to the inability to move forward without having resolved the past. In other cases, some people abandon their inner child altogether due to traumatic or extremely troublesome childhoods. As a result, they bury the good with the bad, in an attempt to get over the whole period. However, you can’t completely abandon the foundation on which your identity is built. You can’t deny a significant piece of yourself just because it may bother you. The presence of an inner child needs to be acknowledged. Issues need to be resolved. The positive elements of the inner child need to be singled out and appreciated as a part of one’s identity. An identity on which more developments can be made, and that can be a source of strength and genuine expression.

There is no denying the existence of an inner child and the importance of understanding and embracing it. The inner child continues to stay constant within yourself and is the key to a better understanding of oneself. What is more important than understanding the inner child is healing it. This happens by using the development of growing up, the knowledge gained, and the experiences gathered, to heal what that child went through and to embark on a journey of a better, more wholesome self.

COMFORT CONSUMERSCOMFORT CONSUMERSCOMFORT CONSUMERS

Writer: Farah Desouky Editor: Hanya Captan

Bob The Boomer: Bob, champion user of the phrase “these millennials are so entitled,” is a boomer. Like a lot of boomers, he’s the kind of person who believes “ok boomer” is the equivalent of the n-word. Bob misses the days of his self worth being measured by a KPI, the “avocado toast” fiasco free days. Bob was born in a time of economic flourishment, post-WWII, and learned the values of competing for resources by heart. Everything had to be earned, demanded, and fought for. His nostalgia clouding his judgment, he deems progressive values in the workplace a luxury. The minimum wage, to Bob, is a punishment to people who should have done better and worked harder, instead of just delivering his food and cleaning up after him. Comfort and pleasure, for Bob, are to be marked off the never-ending to-do list. Demanding them for everyone just isn’t fair, because then how will we self actualize and follow rules without conforming to pre-existing structures that separate us? Without faint hopes and struggle, we millennials shall not survive, according to Bob.

Hustle culture - the idea that greatness only comes out of strugglemanifests itself from the Boomer mindset. But, instead, hustling is more modern and fashionable. Boomer mindsets basically oppose anything new or progressive, they just can’t understand what we’re “whining” about. The modern-day measure of success is determined not only by how much you make but also how busy you are. Do you have three side hustles? Are you

monetizing your hobbies? Are you eating your kale salad in an Uber on your way to your next meeting while taking a selfie to tell your Instagram followers about your crazy day? If the answer is “yes,” then, you get the official hustler qualification. Heads up though, you’re probably also suffering a severe case of internalized capitalism. Another Cog in the machine, but make it hip. The thing about hustling is that it momentarily makes people feel good. They feel accomplished, even if they are hungry, with a stomach full of kale that they had in an Uber. A hustler is a sugarcoated version or better branded, form of a workaholic. So, as a result of hustle culture, we find ourselves praising lack of sleep and chronic stress. We praise poorer mental health and flat out misery; wrapping all that into a pretty, success package. A capitalist society thrives on this package because what’s better than exploiting masses, is creating the illusion of choice, self-worth, and attainable lasting comfort.

Hustle culture is a big part of capitalism, this concept prevails as equating self-worth with money and position on the corporate ladder. The higher you climb it, the closer you are to the mirage of comfort and happiness. Interestingly, capitalist systems constantly bombard consumers with products and advertisements, all promoting the same thing: comfort. Be it food, smart tech gadgets, or the latest vacation hotspot you can visit after not taking a vacation for three years, so you can write on Instagram that you haven’t taken a vacation in three

years. This constant chase for comfort and never-ending consumerist cycle to acquire comfort accompanied by praise for discomfort, this paradox, turns us into guilt-driven individuals who feel bad about taking sick days. Because, we don’t want to be “lazy entitled millennials,” and also our boss will think more highly of us if we go in sick. There is definitely a quote somewhere about (insert billionaire) never taking days off. Isn’t that a pretty meaningless bargain, one where we live, at best, an uncomfortable life with the promise of one day being able to afford comfort - although comfort is already stigmatized? Internalizing capitalist values, and accepting the discomfort of others, makes us reach a point of not believing we deserve comfort to begin with because that’s just part of the deal. This chase turns societies into alienated, less empatheticif at all - groups. We adopt a competitive mentality, each focused on their misery, unable to peak outside the bubble of their own chase.

Then, amidst the gladly uncomfortable hustlers, comes the wellness industry. It finds a gap in the market and sells us some more guilt, personalizes our discomfort to give us

some temporary solutions. Privatizing what is social and political, telling individuals that they’re probably miserable because they don’t eat enough kale, or because they don’t have a yoga mat, or maybe they need a mindfulness class that’s gonna make them cope with homelessness better. That is not me debunking cognitive psychology. I just am slightly conflicted when I hear that if people manifest and make a mood board after finishing their shift at Amazon, they will become the next Jeff Bezos. It would take twentyone thousand years for a minimum wage worker in the US to make a billion dollars - assuming they don’t spend a dime and don’t pay taxes. It just doesn’t quite add up. It is with naivety and irresponsibleness that we blame groups facing systematic injustice, like homelessness leading to deteriorating health conditions and a rotten health care system leaving them helpless and hopeless. How will looking at the bright side and smiling through the pain heal them then?

So to the Bobs and the hip-kaleInstagram-hustlers, in our constant uncomfortable search for comfort, we are not going to reach it.

Photo by nbcnews.com

To be Like the Clouds

Writer: Reem Elmaghraby

I was stuck.

Things just kept happening over and over and over again. It was like my life had become this wheel that never changed, sand that never stopped spinning.

I lay down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I imagined it to be the sky and I could see all the clouds move and shape shift into animals and objects. I envied how easy It was for them to just change like that; to jump from one form to the next.

I couldn’t even change what I had for breakfast. Three fried eggs with salt and a pinch of pepper, and a huge mug of black coffee. Sometimes, if I felt dangerous, it was just the coffee.

My alarm rang again, and I hit snooze. Every day, I allowed myself three times to ignore my alarm and then I had to get up and get ready for the day. I waited patiently for the last ten minutes to pass even though I wasn’t really tired.

Why did I wait then? Why didn’t I just get up and leave? This would have given me an extra ten minutes to do anything that I wanted. I could have smoked an extra cigarette with that time. The alarm rang and as soon as my feet hit the ground, the blue of the sky faded back into the dull white paint of my walls. I contemplated getting back into bed in order to watch the clouds again, to try and dream up a life that wasn’t so rigid. I felt suffocated and instantly walked over to the door to get ready to leave.

Editor: Sawsan Ali

I brushed my teeth, went to the bathroom, changed my clothes, applied some perfume, prepared my bag, and took out my pack of cigarettes.

Before I knew it, I was standing outside with a lit cigarette in my hand.

The smoke burned my throat as I inhaled it into my chest. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall. I blew out the smoke and watched as it blended in with the clouds in the sky.

The sky was beautiful today. My mind drifted again to the clouds and I imagined myself amongst them. I closed my eyes and smiled as I flew away from this cycle of disappointment and mistakes that I call my life.

It was a beautiful sight, but I grew a bit bitter once as I realized how easy it was for the smoke to attain what I’ve been dreaming of my whole life.I sighed and turned my attention back to my cigarette. The smell was putrid, and I couldn’t wait for it to be over. The flame ate away at the cigarette and flew away. Another object that changes while remaining stuck in what seems like a constant cycle.

The flame would burn bright then turn the paper into ashes. Eventually, it would slowly die down and repeat the same cycle over and over again. How was it not sick and tired of it all?

Why can’t I be like the flame? Why can’t I just accept that everyday is the same? That

this routine I’m stuck in isn’t supposed to be confining? That this constant repetition is good for me? If the flame can do it, why can’t I? Was I the problem?

I lit my third cigarette. My habit of smoking wasn’t really one I enjoyed, and it had caused me some problems in the past. I had problems breathing and had to quit running, a sport that made me feel like I was running among the clouds. It was the closest thing I could get to seeing the sky around me. My feet would stomp on the ground, causing dust to rise up around me in the form of clouds, lifting me higher and higher. I realized then that I replaced one form of cloud with another.

I stared at the cigarette with a solemn look on my face. Why can’t I stop this? I know this isn’t good for me, for god’s sake, I don’t even like smoking that much and yet, I can’t get through my day without finishing a pack.

I decided not to finish the cigarette and threw it away. But instead of disturbing the flame’s course, I decided to let it eat away at the cigarette and finish its last cycle. My day was a blur, as always. Same classes, same professors, same assignments, same people, same, same, same, same.

Something slightly different did happen though. A friend asked to hang out and, of course, I said no. I couldn’t risk wasting time. I had to be home by 6 to be able to finish my work for the day just in time for bed. Just in time to escape to my other life amongst the clouds.

I got home, changed my clothes, cooked some food, drank some coke on the side, watched a movie while eating, comedy obviously, washed the dishes, cleaned my hands, made some tea, worked, and then at last my day came to an end.

I felt like a robot. What was this? What just happened? How was I just able to get through all his time without putting any thought into anything? How did I just repeat what I’ve been doing without changing a single thing?

I buried myself in my bed and closed my eyes begging my dreams to carry me to a better reality. To a world where my days don’t all feel the same. Where I can identify a day based on its events. Where all my days aren’t just the same old boring routine over and over and over and over and over.

I wake up and smile at the clouds in the sky. God, how I envy their ever changing forms.

The noise around me dulled into a quiet whir. I just stared in anguish at his lips. Each movement they made used to make my heart flutter, but in that moment I simply felt a void growing with every movement. I focused on every tiny hair, drawing from the stubble around his mouth. I averted my glance to his eyes, his brows dancing to the tune of apology and sadness.

“Hey, are you listening?”

I shook my head. “Yeah, I’m just…why now? Why after all I’ve put in?”

“I tried to- “

“I’ve done everything you’ve wanted and more. I’ve attended every presentation, birthday, and funeral you had to go to, even if I had work, I’ve always been there for you. And how often have you been there for me?”

He fumed in response, “I’ve done plenty for you, what are you trying to say?”

“I let you sleep with me. I’ve met your

family. I’ve dedicated so much to you. Just… just fuck off.”

I pushed past him and went to the door. As soon as I went out into the winter winds, my skin chilled, but my blood boiled. Somehow, despite feeling both, I also felt nothing. I focused on walking through campus. I took out my phone and texted my best friend, May. I told her I needed to see her. I wasn’t sad, I was fuming, and I needed someone to be there for me to yell both with and at. I stared, waiting for her response before I got impatient and put my phone away.

I went into the cafeteria, thinking that food would be a good outlet right about now. Despite the lack of people around me at the counter, with no one ahead of me, and no one near me, it still felt like it was crowded. The cashier was talking to the chef beside him. I stared at his lips, waiting for them to stop, waiting for his focus to shift to me. I pulled out my phone from my pocket and stared at it a bit to try and see if May had responded yet. She hadn’t – despite her profile saying she was online. I groaned and

messaged her, telling her to fucking answer already. I then put my phone in my pocket and looked at the cashier, and impatiently scolded him, “sorry but I’ve been waiting here for five minutes, can you do your job yet? Or should I find another cashier?”

“I’m sorry - I thought you were on your phone.”

“Nevermind, just please pay more attention.”

When I got my food, I walked out and picked a seat, annoyed at the overwhelming number of couples in the area. Holding hands. Heads on shoulders.

I was going to one empty chair when I noticed a girl a few tables away: May. I hurried up to her and put down my tray quickly and glared into her eyes. She instantly broke away from her phone, looking up, scared. “Where were you? I needed you.” Her eyes looked worried. Scared.

She looked at me apologetically. Worried. Scared. “Sorry I didn’t notice – what’s up?”

“We broke up. After all this fucking time, and all this fucking effort – and worst of all, there was no one there when I needed them.” She looked down, embarrassed.

I started telling her about it all. About the whole thing. And then she started tearing up as she looked up at me.

“Don’t be so upset,” I responded, trying to console her, “I’ll be fine. I just fucking hate him. He-“

“My mom’s in the hospital.” “What?”

She replied quietly and briefly, “Yeah.” I looked at her eyes again. Red. Watery. We sat in silence. And my eyes started matching hers.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, almost whispering.

A moment later, I got up in silence and just walked out. I felt guilty. Guilty for being mad. Mad at her mom for being hurt. Mad at her for not caring more about my story. Mad at myself for storming out. I needed air. I couldn’t breathe.

I finally reached the gardens. I could have sworn it was raining. I felt the cold air. I felt the droplets on my clothes. But I looked up and saw the sky was clear. I closed my eyes and felt teardrops cool my reddened face, and breathed a long, slow breath, doing my all to calm myself. When I opened my eyes, my breathing stabilized. I noticed the flowerbeds of lilies, daffodils, and jasmines adorning the sides of the pathways. I stared at them for what seemed like an eternity, as the yellows and whites captured me.

“Hey,” a voice shattered my focus, “long time no see!”

I turned to see a familiar face, and replied quietly, “Hi.”

“How’s your semester going?”

“It’s fine. Busy. How have you been?”

“I’m great!,” he exclaimed, “Oh, have you met Dina?”

“No,” I smiled, “it’s nice to meet you.”

I saw the way he held her hand. His fingers lightly wrapping around hers. Her arm barely pressed against his. Hardly the way

I did, when I tugged on his arm and held him constantly, worried someone would take him. I looked at his eyes and smiled. It had been years since I first looked into them. They instantly captured my attention, leaving me breathless: the light bronze surrounding his pupil. And then one day I decided I loathed them. I don’t know how but it was so stupid. I hated every part of him that I used to love. But today I remembered. They were warm. Friendly. And I hadn’t noticed, but they were soothing me.

“I just wanted to say hi, but I have to walk Dina to class,” he said.

I had just really noticed Dina now. She smiled and recognized the pain I was hiding. I don’t know how I knew, but I did, and I don’t know how she knew, but she did.

“It’s okay, I bet you two want to catch up.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you later on,

okay babe?”

She had such confidence. Not just in herself but in their love. She knew it would be there forever, if she took care of it. And I remembered how I used to be with him. How I used to demand he come over when I was upset. How I used to go over to him when he was busy. When he was depressed. When he needed to be alone. But I needed him more. And I demanded him there, always.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “Yeah. But let’s meet up sometime, the three of us” she reassured me, smiled and walked off. I guess she had no reason to be worried about me taking him.

A moment of silence passed. A moment that lingered for a while as we watched her walk off. Without turning, I said something I hadn’t told anyone in a long time. Something I had to learn to say more - to my partners, my friends. To the people I’ve hurt.

Identity’s Relation To Language

Writer: Lauren K. Clark Editor: Laila El Refaie

Language is a powerful attribute concerning cultural and national preservation; it is the foundational essence that defines a people. How they move and matriculate within a given space and times - especially - as it pertains to a particular body of land which defines their very existence. Language provides a sense of belonging and commonality. One gains liberation, a sense of value and self worth, in knowing that they are connected to a particular people, culture, and nation, based on their mother tongue. There is a unique aspect and essence when it comes to being part of a unique language. It is your cultural marker, especially, when it comes to the world of international travel.

Every language has its own unique color, structure, and rhythm; it has its own texture. These essential elements highlight the essence of a people. How they matriculate in, within, through, throughout, around, in between, and inside Earth’s domains are all connected to Language. It is fascinating, and it is telling. What should also be notated is how one language can convey different or similar elements of another, and vice versa. Therefore, language conveys a deeper meaning, as it concerns the shape, design, pattern, and overall artistry, of different cultures and their reflections in society. One of the lurking questions also relates to how a nation or culture’s language directs

them within their spatial and national domains. Therefore, when one travels to different cultures (while experiencing different cultures), one of the things that must be addressed is how “foreign eyes” are also experiencing different rhythms and movement patterns.

Languages come in different shapes. Some languages have had their sounds captured and crafted within the context of symbols and designs, onto paper. Others have remained hidden and therefore require the imagination and sensory of feeling, in order to gain a sense of what those hidden sounds would look like, should ink be allowed to reveal its identity. This is descriptive of various African, or Native/Indigenous languages in South America, Asia, or the Americas. When we examine the different symbols and representations of sound, alphabets (or however a particular culture defines their symbols) become the focal point. Some sound representations are long, then some are also curvy. There are those symbols, which have used pictorial representations (i.e. Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics), and their connection to sound. In the case of certain Chinese letters, we are introduced to certain symbols being indicative of ruling over another individual, and so forth. How letters and symbolic representation within a language is positioned or directed also brings insight into the mentalities and thinking of a particular nation or culture. Certain languages such as Arabic and Hebrew clearly move in a different direction than most languages - being written, read,

and spoken from right to left. Then of course, in the context of Black American Vernacular English (BAVE), the English language becomes varied and reconstrued to create a poetic flow of different dialects - used in music and US popular culture. This also takes place in Caribbean nations (i.e. Jamaican patois) and “Francophone” nations, as well. Lastly, we have the diversity of the Latin alphabet, and how it has been able to create different languages in Europe, based on its manipulation of lettering, through the markings and others.

Culture is heavily reflected in a language. As such, it becomes philosophical. In addition, it also speaks on how a society perceives life. Furthermore, how society perceives women, and if there is a hierarchy, class system, or sense of gender neutrality, that is expressed within the positioning of letters or symbols. Does language have a more feminine touch, or understanding, when it comes to women’s role in that society; as is the case of the ancient women’s language of Nu Shu in China (where women went against society constraints against women and used the language to create poetry and meaning in support of their Sisterhood)? One of the benefits of having a written language is being able to analyze these cultural patterns. An attribute of not having a written language is that you can imagine what they would look like when written down.

Another interesting attribute concerning language and sound, is how it is able to

translate into people’s perception of the Divine. It is also interesting in seeing how religion comes forth, through the creation of language and how that is connected to Divinity. In addition to the belief, itself, it is also connected to the rituals associated with religious practices and beliefs. One is even propelled into wondering how a culture, nation, or community has connected with the land in such a way, that it was from this very connection language was formulated. The uniqueness of land, in conjunction with sensory experience, is what creates the diversity of tongues, making language diverse and plentiful. Such leads to the next phase of this article.

When we examine the essence of land, and the diversity of land, on Earth’s domain, we are awakened to the richness awaiting us. With such richness is the artistry of sound. Sound, nature, the syncopation of rhythms, and the acoustics of nature all play a role in understanding the foundations of language building and development. The beat, tones, rhythm, and other linguistic structures are somehow connected to a deeper, rhythmic structure to the natural vegetation, by which they are surrounded. The challenge is for humanity to connect to that level of depth and understanding. It is a vital challenge. Nevertheless, it is nature, which shows the fluidity of language, and it’s engulfing all forms of sensory’s experience for the human psyche. Which means that it gives insight into the creation of culture, culinary, fashion, and other cultural attributes. Designs, styles, patterns, and how people fashion themselves are

created out of their language; and how that language has been created and crafted from their natural surroundings. Thus, when nations, cultures, or communities create language, they are in turn, clothing their very existence and identity with the sounds, colors, and textures of nature.

Many arguments and opinions have been held concerning the role of language and its connection to identity. Often, those conversations have been relegated to the context of nation, borders, and those migratory communities. Outside the context of poetry, linguistic shaping, coloration, and design has not been addressed, as it concerns those rich elements in the creation of language. Nor has this creation been addressed, as it pertains to the context of human beings connecting with the acoustics in the confines of nature. And, isn’t that the irony of it all? That it is that process of experimenting with sound and its design, which allows humanity to even write it down. Those pre-phases of “written language” are what allow it to be created. Therefore, what has often deemed to be “primitive” (those cultures who truly immerse themselves in nature, her understanding, ability to adapt to nature, becoming knowledge producers of her understanding and wisdom) is actually the foundation for bringing written languages, and anything of the visible realm, into fruition. It is the magic of the sound. It is the magic of Universal mystery and wonder. It is the miracle of humanity’s connection on Earth and Earth’s connection with a greater realm of… sound.

The Birth of Fakis

Writer: Laila El Refaie Editor: Ru'a El Siwy

Much like a species, languages grow and evolve over time. They bend their shapes and attributes to adapt to changes in politics, culture, and communication. If they cannot adapt, they erode and become classified as “dead languages.” People develop new concepts, and in order to communicate these concepts, they need something with which to describe them. We then begin to get creative and conjure fitting images or letters, and sounds, to ascribe to it. Through the seemingly contrasting frameworks of Ferdinand de Saussure and Charles Sanders Peirce, we

can begin to illustrate the ways in which a word like سكاف enters the Arabic language and situates itself in our speech patterns.

Ferdinand de Saussure argued that language is conventional; it is something that groups of people agree on together. In precisely the same way, language is difficult to change. If I decide on a whim that the word “never” now refers to the concept of hunger, and say “I am nevery,” nobody will understand me and my communication will be impeded. Enough people need to agree on the usage of a term for it to be included in the language. Then, as with any change in language, you find two opposing camps; one descriptivist, and the other prescriptivist. Descriptivisits will tend to argue that language should develop freely; we should be as open to changes in language as possible, because this is the natural process. Prescriptivists, on the other hand, believe in the preservation of language and in the importance of its rules. When the singular “they’’ began to be introduced into the professional lexicon for academia and workplaces, some were very open to the idea. It conserves space, it’s inclusive, and it worked very well in the 16th century. Prescriptivists, on the other hand, remained very attached to “he or she,” stating that “they” should only be used in the plural. Otherwise, it would cause confusion. According to Saussure, the conventionality of language means that, as more people begin to adopt the singular “they,” and as these people grow to become a majority, it will eventually become included in our everyday language.

Charles Sanders Peirce, on the other hand, presents the potential of the changes that take place within language through more subjective terms. Peirce defines the sign (such as a word) as standing in for a concept, rather than being attached to it. For example, the written or spoken form of the word “book” acts as a replacement for the physical object, and your own individual conception of that object. In time, people begin to develop different conceptions of the object to which the word is referring, and we begin to see a

shift in perception regarding that object. When you look at language in this way, you begin to open the door for questions of entitlement. I am entitled to the decision of which words stand in for my identity. Regardless of majority or minority, the voices of those who are more justified in their claims of changing a particular word or phrase become more important and ultimately overthrow the existing terms. This was the case for numerous slurs used against people of different races, genders, and sexualities. When an oppressed community rises up against its oppressors, one of the things it must overthrow is the oppressive and dehumanising language that was used against it. The oppressed community stands up, empowered, and says: “you can’t call me that anymore. That term does not represent me or what I am.” In taking control of the language used to describe them, people also take control of their identities as well. They are no longer the slur used to describe them, but rather a “human” entitled to universal human rights.

Saussure and Peirce do not agree on every aspect, but what is clear regardless of which school you follow, is that excessive prescriptivism can be detrimental to societal and linguistic development. We must maintain a certain level of prescriptivism in order to continue to understand each other, but when we begin to shun the development of language out of fear of the implications it would have on society, we drag ourselves into a state of stagnation. How can we adopt new ideas if we have no means of communicating them? Much like the enforcement of the rigid and dreadfully limited “Newspeak” in George Orwell’s famous novel 1984, denying people the right to express themselves using the language that they feel most matches and stands in for their ideas is a clear form of oppression. It forces people to think within a very tight box, and to alter their thoughts and identities to suit the acceptable language. We often think of freedom of speech in terms of the content being communicated, but the language used to communicate it is equally as important.

If we take some examples from our everyday experience, we’ll find that the Arabic word سكاف, pronounced fe-kiss, came into usage in much the same way. The younger generation grew to use it to express the (figurative) act of brushing something off. Soon, it was conjugated. Past, present, and future tenses became embedded in the generation’s lexicon, and were followed by the adjective form, ناسكف, to refer to unpleasant people or things. When this word was first introduced, parents were gasping in shock at how such a vulgar word could permeate the walls of their households. They scolded their children for saying it, and lamented its presence on their phone calls with fellow parents. Now, our parents have grown to use it themselves, and the term is a mostly acceptable part of the colloquial Egyptian dialect. Maybe the resistance to the term is inevitable, but when that resistance acts as a symbol of racist, classist, or elitist thought, then the development of language becomes not only permissible, but necessary.

Language is a tool for communication; we use it to convey our thoughts in all their complexity, and as our thoughts develop, so do our means of communicating them. As long as there is no inherent disrespect in the language being employed, and as long as both parties understand what’s being communicated, it is unnecessary to be excessively pedantic. Your English teacher may have gotten a moment of pleasure in asking if you can go to the bathroom, before reminding you that you should say “may I go to the bathroom,” but they still understood what you were trying to say. Rather than enjoying that brief moment of superiority, it would be much better to revel in the inherent beauty to the evolution of language. We are infinitely lucky to not only bear witness to this magnificent process, but to also play an active role in it.

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THE 10TH RANK

Writer: Heidi Aref Editor: Lia Abdelwahab

“I wanna hear it again!” Lapar insisted. “The story of the Lost!”

Nanna smiled weakly at the request. Avaah looked annoyed, but Lapar knew she liked hearing it as much as he did. Tales of the Lost People - the ones who lived without walls, without Ranks. It didn’t seem possible

“Again?” His sister whined. “Why not the Founding or the Separation?”

“You can hear those from teachers, Avaah,” Lapar huffed.

“You can hear the Lost from teachers, too!”

“No, you can’t! Right, Nanna?”

Their grandmother nodded, “The teachers… the higher Ranks… they change the stories. Just a bit, a bit you won’t notice. Not ‘till you know something’s different and you can’t find what...”

Nanna seemed to shrink in her chair. Lapar didn’t look at Avaah, who glared at him. So, there might’ve been a reason behind her feigned annoyance. But he couldn’t help it! He’d keep asking for the story ‘till he’d memorized every word. The teachers really didn’t tell Nanna’s version!

After a moment of silence, Nanna looked around at the windowless walls, then up at the ceiling, seeing something they couldn’t. He and Avaah leaned forward in anticipation.

“Before the Separation, before the Founding, before the walls, they say we were Lost. Lost among choices, lost in our freedom, and lost to order,” Nanna’s voice took on a sudden strength, eyes alive in her weathered face. “But we were not the Lost People, as they’d have you believe,

children. The story of the Lost is simply about the people we’ve lost...”

Nanna didn’t tell stories like the teachers did; with boring books and fuzzy pictures. Her every word seemed alive, dashing across the room to draw pictures on the walls of their underground hovel. They rushed past, stirring the stagnant air, and Lapar marvelled at what he saw. Houses lining roads, people moving freely, cars rolling along - and not just behind the 1st and 2nd Ranks’ walls! There were no walls that he could see, so the cars must’ve been able to move everywhere!

He saw little rooms in big buildingsclassrooms, they were called, but they weren’t like the ones he knew. Each person had a seat, and each person had a book! Everyone! They were learning to read and write, Nanna said, because everyone could learn. It was important, and not just for 7th Rank and up. It was so strange, so interesting! Lapar often wondered what it’d be like not to have to commit everything to memory.

He saw a woman meeting with a man in some little building. They were a pair in love, even if one was richer than the other. That meant that they would have belonged to different ranks, but back then one didn’t have to bow to the other, move out of the way, or avert their eyes.

He saw a fancily dressed man speaking to a crowd to earn their approval. What a thought! To put effort into accomplishing what the upper ranks were naturally born into. It seemed almost absurd! This was followed by a woman who worked her way, tirelessly, from an unforgiving little job up to some position at the very top of a building. He could hardly imagine the view.

He saw a family working a field, much like

his own, but they sold their crops. For money! Not just that, but the people who bought from them… they were well-dressed with their noses in the air - surely of higher status. And, once the sun set, they didn’t have to retreat underground like the 10th Rank did. They sat together, in homes above, sometimes even walking outside. And when they looked up, they saw stars. And what were those? Thousands and thousands of little sparkles in the sky. Nanna said it wasn’t something she could do justice with words, but the sight he imagined was breathtaking…

Lapar saw people, so many people, making more of their lives, moving in a sea of change. They flowed with the currents, fought against them. While some went under, others rose up. They all moved with such ease, such life! Their lives were like some kind of frantic dance - an energetic duel against fate to shoot past expectations and barriers and--

Nanna stopped abruptly and Lapar felt like a bird hitting a window. Words stopped flying, the rush of air subsiding. The room suddenly seemed stuffy.

Mother stood, unmoving in the doorway, staring disapprovingly, “To bed.”

Her tone didn’t leave room for argument. He and Avaah darted away. Once inside, he heard Mother and Nanna arguing. She had never liked Nanna’s version of the Lost, even as a kid. She’d repeatedly told Lapar and Avaah to stop asking for it, though he could never understand why. It was so much better than the teacher’s telling, so why not? The answer to that was discussed in the other room, even as he tried to sleep.

*** Avaah was worried about Lapar. Months had passed since Nanna’s passing, but he still wasn’t acting himself. She was used to his lively yet infuriating attitude, but now… he just seemed to wander around aimlessly. Sometimes she caught him mumbling quietly. Sometimes it was lines from the Lost. Sometimes it was intense, but incoherent. His eyes looked dead when it got that bad.

Avaah wasn’t sure she could fault him,

though. Things seemed to just have… stopped, since Nanna passed. Mother had never been one for stories, and nothing to break up the monotony of the day really seemed to be weighing down on them both - Lapar especially.

Avaah walked along, tracing her finger against the dirt wall. It was so packed down that no flakes fell where she touched. She sighed. Tonight, she felt a bit packed down herself. She sought out Lapar to talk. She probably didn’t need the break from routine as badly as her brother, but she was sure they’d both benefit from a change of pace.

Walking around their hovel, she couldn’t find Lapar. Neither in the rooms, nor with Mother. Avaah quelled a panic rising within her.

Beyond their little hole in the ground were tunnels which connected them to the homes of the rest of the 10th Rank. And beyond that… Avaah darted from their hovel and into the tunnels. She couldn’t see, but she ran nonetheless.

Beyond the tunnels was the ladder to the surface. Lapar was at the top of the ladder by the time she reached him.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, trying to catch her breath; the air was stagnant. “It’s night!”

At first, he didn’t answer. Then, he looked around at the windowless walls and the sealed entrance, “I...” his face softened, showing more emotion than he ever had in the months since Nanna. “I want to be Lost.”

He flung open the entrance, and a rush of air blew into the tunnels. Just as she thought she could catch her breath, it was taken by the sight above. Thousands and thousands of little twinkles of light - like gems in the sky, a sight beyond words. It was Nanna’s sight. The stars…

The entrance shut abruptly, and just as soon as she’d seen them, the stars vanished. And Lapar with them.

يفو .،ديحولا بولسلأا ،ةنكاس ةظحل يف هظفحو هاري ام طاقتلا ىرخا ةقيرط دجوت لب ؟ايصخش وه هلاوزو ةظحللا لاوز

هنأ قحلا .انلحتراو ليللا لح نإ انعبتي لبقي لا دق ،درش دق ام ةيناث دوعي ةرورضلاب سيلف ،نوكلا دعب انمقتلت نأ ضرلأا يعارت لا .ىلو نإ دتري لاو رابدإ دعب نأ رجشلا ريضي لاو ئرتهي ذإ ثاثلأا ثرتكي لاو انتلمح نأ سانلا رخسو سانلل ءايشلأا هللا رخس دق .هتاقيرو لبذت لاإ نحن انك امو وه ناك امف لدبت وأ لحترا امو ،سانلل دقو ،امهيلك وأ ارش وأ اريخ

ىلعروجي امهلاك تاياهنلاو امنإ .ىضم ام ىلع ةرسح اهؤلمت ةريخلأاو يتلآا نم هدسفي لا يذلا يتعلا قثاولا ءيشلا رامغ ..فصتنملافصتنملا عضخي سيل .ةبئاخ تاياهن وأ ةئيدر تايادب لاإفصتنملا يف ،تاياهنلا بئاخ وأ تايادبلا مئاهل ةرورضلاب لصافلا ىعادتي ،ردقلا روغ ربسنيو كابترلاا للع يفتنت.ريسملا فلأنو قيرطلا نمأنف اديور اديور بيغلا نيبو اننيب بيبد ريصي ىتح لجولا رسحنيو يتلآا رزحنو ءادتهلاا نقتن .اجضانو اينأتمو اقثاو انمادقأ اننأ بسحن ذإ ةيلعفلا لوصولا ةطقن كلت يه اهلع ،اًذإلا ول اننأ ةقيقحب ىضرن اهيف .اناهتنم ،لقلأا ىلع ،انكردأ رادقلأا كلت شيعت يتلا سفنلا كلمن امتحف

ةمقل ءارهزلا ةمطاف :ةررحملا يجنلبشلا دومحم : بتاكلا تباث ىلع ةللادلل G فرح هنيزي نوناقب ةمكحم تناك امهم لاثمف .كنع امغر كملاع مكحت تباوثلا كلت .نتوين هفشتكالماعم نع اًضيأ ربعت و ،كربنز ةبلاصل تباث نع ربعت K لا ،بلصلل ةوقلا لماعمو ،يرارحلا ليصوتلل )coefficient( دودرلا نع ربعت اضيأو ،نامزتلوب تباثو ،مجحلا لماعمو ..كتبيبح نم اهملتست يتلا ةدرابلا نلأ ةدودحمو ةمكحم كراكفأ نوكت نأ ؟دييقت اذه سيلأ يه تباوثلا كلت !لا عبطلاب ؟ةتباث ماقرأب مزتلت نأ كيلعدجوي ديكأتلابو ،نازتا يف ريسي هلعجت ،ملاعلا مظنت ىتلا

لك ىف لمعت امئاد

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اذام -

سيل نكلو ريغص ملأاريثكو ..…3.١4١٥٩٢6٥ ىنعت πلاف ،ائطاخ ادر اذه نكي ملدرجم ةياهنلا ىف هنأ مغر ،ىهتنت لا ىتلا ىرخلأا ماقرلأا نم سفنتو ..اذه لك نم كعد نكلو ..نكلو .ريغص مقرلك لعج ىذلا ام ؟كلذ لك أدب فيك ،ركفت تنأو ةظحلل ؟ةيملعلا تباوثلا كلت لك رضحأ ىذلا نم ؟اتباث ءيشةيرظن قدصي نأ ضفريو ،هتيرظن ريغي نأ ملعلا ضفري هذه لك قدصي هلعجي يذلا ام .ةبرجم

ريغ ةتباث ةقيقح وه توملا

وه توملا ام صخش ربتخي موي

دقو حيحصلا اهباصن يف روملأا عضيو رثكأ ةايحلا نكلو .رفم لا ؛لاجأ مأ لاجاع رشبلا لكل توملا يتأيس .هلوح ةطيحملا لهاجتلاو كاردلإا مدع ةلاح وه بيرغلا

عبطلاب

موي

.هب اهل حرصي نأ هايند رمغي ابيئك املاظ بحلا سمش ليحتست نلآا تداع ..ىرخأ ةرم يساقلا مبشلاب هبلق لأميو ،ةشحولاب كلت يف ةحشتم ،اهتافو

امهيلفطو هتكرت

امبر

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ةعولو قارفلا داوسب ةرملا

يف .اطبختو ةريح لاإ ءرملا ديزت نع هفرصي مل ،هرغص يف هفنتكا يذلا كلذ ديغر شيع ..ةيعامتجلإا هتايح ةشاشهو هترسأ رصاوأ عزمت لاإ هب عتمتلاهدوع دتشا امل ليحرلا رارق هذاختا ةعرس يف اذه مهسأنسأو لاملا ةبوذع هءارو فلخ ،امزاع اديحو .ىوتساو تناك نإو ،ارارقتسا رثكأ ةايح فلخ ايعاس ،اعم ككفتلا لكلا !رملأل هريدقت ايهدب ناك فيك نلآا كردي ..لاام

ةأشنلاو ةئيبلل

ةرطفلل

ةئفو ،نامزلا يف ابيرقت نادهشملا