I don’t remember what hurt more, the cold or the smile on my face. That’s what I remember first when I see the photo Sarah shared on my FB wall a few days ago.
A perfect night on the Nile, celebrating my 30th and her 40th. Bundled up, huddled together, surrounded by friends, laughter, a vibrant city we used to call home.
Cairo is like a sandy box filled with time capsules. 7 years of tiny stories and calling people my family, away from home. It’s one of those things I never would have imagined, after growing up with such close family members who would show up for every birthday, every graduation, every holiday. Such closeness, put on a permanent hold because of long distance.
Decisions that are mostly made for us.
Cairo filled that gap quickly. Those people, and several who aren’t in the frame, became my family, my stronghold, my safe space. Fascinating humans whose stories unfolded evening after evening, year after year, merging with mine and the ones we co-created. Effortless bonds. People who took root in my heart.
I see that photo, and melancholy sets in. Years of a lifestyle I wouldn’t have planned—and I’m someone who loves plans. Yet there was something about Cairo that made me embrace more than I could comprehend, mostly because of the warmth of the people I connected with.
I long for them—forever frozen in that photo. People whose paths converged into mine for a brief moment in time, before routing in different directions. Transient friendships, as some call them. People who go from meeting with you every Friday for brunch, Wednesday for wine, or most mornings for coffee before students arrive on campus.
People who went from being a constant to an echo. It’s so hard to keep in touch once everyone is gone. Different times, different schedules, different priorities. We all long for that same connection, but it’s much harder to keep it lit.
Being away doesn’t mean the love for one another changes; that remains forever captured. What I’m learning to make peace with is the nature of these relationships. They aren’t less just because they belong to a certain period of time. They still shine in the past and glimmer when they surface suddenly on an FB wall.
Start with a Story 
This is so very true, Ana. I, too, loved my expat community in South America for four memory-rich, connection-strong, love-filled years. Because of all the things you note, the immediacy must pass, but the reality of its role in your story remains. I love these poignant and beautiful lines:”People who went from being a constant to an echo” and “Cairo is like a sandy box filled with time-capsules.”
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