When I got out I felt like I was in a circus.
There was an implicit collective agreement to not talk about it.
And to surrender to depression.
I didn’t like that.
No one could understand what it was really like.
The ones who knew what I was going through were the ones that regularly visited me and sent me letters.
Those were the people closest to me.

I like to dance when I feel like doing something new.
I only enjoy dancing with a few people.
I don’t feel like hanging out with my old friends.
I can no longer tolerate being politically correct or fake like I used to be.

I wasn’t allowed to show my real emotions for 15 months.
For 15 months, I had to always be politically correct.
You have to be when you’re in there.
I couldn’t be myself.
I couldn’t express my opinions freely.
I had to be cautious about everything I said or did.

I paid too much attention to the people around me when I got out.
The pretentiousness I saw made me mad.
Nothing was forcing me to be around those people, so I decided to stop seeing them.

Yes, I’m weird. That’s who I am now.
No one bothered to ask what caused this change.
I’d tell them that it’s not me who’s weird, it’s them.
I never noticed that before.
I used to be like them.

Fighting over the little things made me appreciate the small details.
I’m grateful to the people who stood by me the entire time.
I was worried people would forget about me while I was in jail.
But I learned to appreciate time and space, and my friends.
My tolerance for acting, being fake and politically correct has significantly decreased.
I couldn’t survive in jail without them.
One had to put on a mask in front of people.
Even if they were people you liked.
They’re not necessarily people you hate, but they aren’t important to you.
I think those are the things that changed.

I like having my space—sometimes a little too much.
It could be annoying at times.
I can’t have a roommate at this point in my life, for example.
I think that’s the only change that’s bothering me.
The rest of the changes have become part of who I am.
It’s impossible for a person to go through an experience like this and not change.
I’m not bothered by this change.
I think it’s natural at my age.
I don’t want to be a 30 year old who does certain things out of peer pressure.

And don’t get me started on the license renewal process.
The officer took a quick look at my ID and signed the papers just because I lived in Masr el-Gedida and worked as a lawyer.
But it’s not as smooth with my friends.
It’s not like I chose to go to jail.
I don’t want to be treated differently.
I don’t want special treatment.
Prison is not a place for reform.

I remember these things when I’m, for example, packing a bag before a trip, and and I’m not able to tell from the forecast if I’ll be needing summer or winter clothes.
Feeling like a burden.
Forgetting to eat.
Not liking to eat alone.
These are the kind of things that remind me of that place.
I was with 2 close friends yesterday and we talked all night.
I realized on my way home how much I’ve missed these gatherings.
When we’d talk about everything and read letters.
I really miss that.
My mother doesn’t usually cook Egyptian food, so we order in.
I miss that too. I miss eating with my family.
These things are always on my mind.
I remember them in certain situations.
That experience was just like any other experience.
I think about it when something reminds me of it.