Why do I always feel like my life is in transit? I am penniless in Cairo, waiting for another connecting flight to Frankfurt after leaving Bangkok last night. I wish my eyes were cameras unto this world, my eyelids the shutters that would capture light to record what I see at the blink of my eyes. Cairo is smoggy. Arriving at 5 in the morning I watched the sun rise as a dulled golden ball through the airport window panes. It is stale here, and Dutch girls fresh from the markets in Bangkok adorn themselves with silk scarves. I just want some water and sleep. And security, and peace, and a pleasant scent. And a hot cup of milo. And home.