When I lift up my hand to rest my chin on it, I can't help but notice that my skin smells like tabeekh. Tabeekh is the Arabic word for cooking; this cooking usually involves a variety of spicy and strong smells like that of onions, garlic, tomato sauce, etc.
My skin is stained with my culture. I barely make tabeekh. But I smell like it anyway. When I pick up things from home, I don't notice until I'm back in my apartment that my clothing, the fabric of my backpack, even my suede boots smell like my mother's cooking. It smells like Egypt. It smells like home.
It's a classic example of East meets West. It's like I couldn't escape even if I tried. Egypt won't let me go. The East is relentless. Don't ever underestimate its power.
And I'm forever grateful.
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