Unleashing the Misfit
When I was eight years old, I tried reading Harry Potter & the Philosopher’s Stone but I only got to the end of the first chapter. I couldn’t believe I’d read about a world full of wizards, magic, and this very special boy called Harry Potter. There was nothing about this fantastical (and may I add absurd) world that I could relate to. Worst, I couldn't imagine spending my free time reading a book.
Over two decades later, I sit here thinking about that moment and how profound it was.
Only now do I realize that in me was already a spark of madness that no book could compare to, even if it was the great Harry Potter and whatever stone he had or didn’t have or wanted to have. I couldn’t have cared less because I already saw the world through a prism of mysticism and curiosity.
You see, I wanted to observe the world around me, not read about it. I wanted to see every event, every shift, every sentiment and make sense of it all. There was a mysterious puzzle called life that needed to be solved. Like everyone else, I’d spend the rest of my life trying to figure it out.
We Go Where No one Goes
Hugo Chávez was the asshole, I mean President, when we left Venezuela to move to Syria. He’d actually been appointed leader of the country in 1999. I vividly remember the gloom over my dad’s face. As if the dementors had sucked the living soul out of him.
He said this victory officially marked the beginning of the end for our beautiful country. At ten years old, I did not understand that but I believed him.
Time would prove him right as Chávez drove Venezuela into excessive hyperinflation and extreme poverty. For example, in 2014, the annual inflation rate reached 69%. By 2018 it reached about 1,700,000% hyperinflation. Imagine not being able to afford a loaf of bread with all your life’s savings! Or having an illness and not being able to afford food and medicine.
This was a human rights violation of the biggest magnitude.
I wasn’t sure how different Syria would be to Venezuela. Syria, was - and is - a strict, Islamic-country led by Bashar al-Assad. It was a country that first identified as Islamic and then Syrian and then Arab.
Being home to one of the oldest civilizations in the world, and located near the birthplace of the world’s three biggest religions (Islam, Judaism and Christianity), I guess having an authentic culture was an important attribute to maintain. Despite its rich artistic and cultural heritage, I couldn’t help but notice that the streets were made up of men by what felt like 80% to 20%.
As a young girl walking around in jeans and a t-shirt, I felt like a zebra hunted by a pride of lions at times. I guess that’s why women were a rare sight in a world preyed by men. On the rare occasion I did manage to see women they were likely wearing hijabs. They did not drive, or walk ahead of their husbands, or study or work, or order food at a restaurant. Women were not allowed to want or do the things the way that men were allowed to have them.
As I learned about the intricate dynamic between men and women, there was yet another dynamic I would have to learn too.
One night my dad made a big announcement at the dinner table. He said there were three things we are to never speak about in public: religion, money, and our opinion of the Syrian president. “And remember! Trust nobody. Anybody can be the ears of the government.”
I did as I was told. I did not speak about these things (for the rest of my life) because I understood that my opinion, especially my voice, could be condemning. It could put my family at risk, whether it be punishment or prison or who knows.
With my keen observation, I faithfully studied the Syrian people with the intent to become them and by that nature, become safe. I noticed all the things, the look in their eyes, their tone, the mannerisms, the pace. I read in-between the lines. I stayed vigilant. Never missed a moment. Until slowly and then all at once, it happened…
I became a chameleon.
Sticks, Stones & Bombs
We lived in Syria until the United States’ invasion of Iraq in 2003.
While walking home from school I saw what I thought were bomber planes. “This is the beginning of war,” I thought, stopping to take in that moment for whatever weird philosophical reason I had at 13 years-old. As fate would have it though, Syria wouldn’t be the only time I’d come across bombs.
While visiting Jordan with a few classmates, we noticed the sky across the sea light up. We asked the guide about it but I can’t remember what he said. Either Jordan was attacking Israel or Israel was having a military training session. I quickly lost my appetite for the apple I was happily munching on. Whatever the reason, I could not imagine enjoying my dinner when people nearby were potentially suffering.
What caused one nation to despise another? I wondered. We were all the same, weren’t we? Except that we were separated by an invisible line arbitrarily chosen by a group of men many moons ago.
Borders are a funny thing. We rarely think about them but enough time passes that we get institutionalized by them. Ordinary people become agents of destruction, even those with fundamental standards of morality. Very few people actually have the strength, the conviction and resources needed to resist authority.
I’d come to learn in my teenage years that citizens and their governments were rarely on the same side. If anything, governments tended to destroy their citizens from the inside the same way they had ended the hunger in my stomach.
Aside from political observations, I spent my time making many friends in Syria who I came to love deeply. Who moulded my character, challenged my Western way of thinking. In effect changing the course of my life forever. They made me better, and for that I am indebted to the beautiful people of Syria.
After Syria, we moved to Egypt where I also never spoke ill of President Hosni Mubarak, and where once again, I came into indirect contact with bombs.
Unlike Syria, Egypt allowed Western influences like McDonald’s. In fact, Egypt was made up of people from all around the world because it sat at the intersection of Africa and Asia (more specifically the Middle East) and was of course very close to Europe. It was a beautiful melting pot.
Again, I used my astute observations to navigate the new world I found myself in. I learned to adapt to the many nationalities made even more confusing by their religions, political beliefs, upbringing and experiences.
I learned to understand the patterns of our humanity, to recognize friend versus foe. But more importantly than that, to see how very similar we were to each other. We all wanted the same things: freedom, opportunities and justice.
We wanted fair governments and we weren’t getting them.
The Egyptian Revolution
My family was in Egypt throughout the revolution and beyond but I was living in Canada at the time, constantly afraid for my family. I did not sleep the night the town they were at got bombed. Even from far away, I was still tied up to the political unrest from Egypt.
The revolution was years in the making and was itself very complex. What stood out to me, once again, were the women.
Egyptian women actively participated in the strike movement, sometimes pressuring the men to join the strikes. At the beginning of the revolution about 10% of the protesters were made up of women however in the days leading up to Mubarak’s downfall, they made up 40-50% of the protesters. Women set up defences, barricades, led debates, shouted slogans and put up signs. Women along with men, risked their lives.
There was another truth I learned. Women when enraged with the status quo were the creators and destroyers of society. They were motherfuckers.
Egyptians weren’t bad people. They were frustrated. The system was failing them and robbing them of a lot of basic rights. They were done waiting for things to get better.
Living as a nomad taught me that the systems in which we find ourselves are already so damn complicated, but they’re made cruel when mixed with absolute power, a military army, religion and to top it all off, patriarchy.
Venezuela, Syria and Egypt were countries filled with fascinating people, who like you and I, wanted nothing but to love and laugh and have a stable job and make memories with their families. Yet in the blink of an eye, everything was robbed from them.
Dictators rose to power, took control of markets, destroyed people’s opportunities, intentionally fabricated inequality, exterminated their opposition and murdered their own men, women and children.
What might be better for a group of people is often worse for another group of people. In a world organized in this way, there can ever be two sides: winners and losers. And I, my friend, have always been a loser.
A Final Thought
I’ve spent my life in countries transitioning from a state of peace to war. I experienced the silent tremours that come before the earthquake. Not once, but three times.
That’s why I sit here writing this letter, now as an adult. I want to use my skills and use the lessons I’ve learned throughout my life to help build a more fair and free world. To remind people that there is still a lot of work to be done to push justice and equality and kindness forward.
This letter marks the beginning of a journey where I will share the stories of all the incredible people I have met, the lessons I’ve learned along the way, and in the process, challenge the systems we’re a part of. I’m here to question the status quo. I plan on doing that by doing the very thing my dad told me not to do all those years back - to talk openly about governments, the violations of our human rights, society, money and bitcoin.
I owe it to the curious little girl who wanted to understand the world around her.