I watch as the people of Egypt spill into Cairo’s Tahrir Square — Muslims, Christians and immigrants alike — devouring the streets in the name of Revolution, shouting البلد الام, “Homeland!” Calling for the fall of Mubarak, bleeding for a democratic society and in the process, falling in unanticipated love with their fellow revolutionaries, groups that have been separated by ideology for far too long. Young men in tightly-woven fabrics and women with and without hijabs throw their arms in the air, signaling for peace with their middle and index fingers. On the verge of Revolution.
I realize in this moment how foreign the concept of a homeland is to me. And I wonder if I owe my home country much more.