Dear Egypt,
They say we change our skin every 28 days.
As if we couldn’t carry forever all the past we’ve lived.
That only stays with us what lasts a lunar cycle.
With my backpack on, I walk erratically these cells hoping to recognize myself in the faces of distant neighbors who coexist under other skies, joys, sorrows, and desires.
To recognize myself in other small stars with also people’s names.
It is at each step of my journey where the 200 million atoms of gold inside my body, agree to continue orbiting in the uknown progression.
And in the meantime, while I sleep in strange beds where other travelers have dreamt of the same place,
I play at guessing what Cleopatra smelled like,
and pretend to read hieroglyphs in the form of love letters.
I also spend time seeking a lost piece of myself among the antiques of street markets,
while attempting to predict my future with the kahwa oracle,
or sneaking into cracks in doorless elevators.
And as the Nile takes away everything I don’t need,
and dozens of clustered palm trees cuddle me between endless dunes,
I patiently wait at the end of the day to bid farewell to Ra as he descends behind the pyramids into the underworld.
Goodbye Egypt.
I return home full of your scales, which maybe, like our skin, will be left behind when the 28th day arrives.
In that transformation, I will recall all those fleeting frames of life that chose to confine themselves in alien boxes, with the simple desire to experience other extraordinary worlds to which they may not belong, yet found familiarity within.
Different vessel but with the same stardust.
With love,
Sandra
— Siwa, February 2024
