It really isn’t the cleanest of cities, it’s not the richest, most developed, most organized or even prettiest.

But it’s my city, and strangely, I never want to leave it.

No, I don’t ever long for the American dream, I don’t get butterflies thinking of what it’d be like to live in Europe and I certainly do not apply for every possible job in Dubai. I am not crazy, honest, but I did turn down opportunities to live abroad and willingly, with my full mental capacity, chose to live in the only place I can truly call home.

Don’t get me wrong, I love travelling, I think you can learn a lot from living a little abroad, but each and every time the plane touches down I get that strange feeling of peace, home and pure longing washing over me. I lived in London twice, and each time I counted the days until my time there was over and I make it back to the motherland. I love London and I love the Brits, I am fascinated by the high street fashion in the bustling metropolitan and the long, rich history and culture. But it’s no Cairo, it’s no Egypt.

There’s something about that mysterious but charming city. There is something about the sadness and utter cheerfulness that fill its streets and people. Something about the tragedies, the drama, all the poverty, all the charms, all the meddling, nosy aunts and uncles, all the childhood friends who stick by you and just all the hardships you get through to achieve anything. No, we don’t have it easy here, we struggle to get through two kilometers because of lousy city planning and lousier drivers. We practice extreme sports every morning trying to get on a crammed bus and manage to make room for one foot — one limb is all you need on the vehicle, really, in Egypt’s public transport.

But yet, through that struggle, we learned to appreciate all the smaller things.

I love this city, and I love its people because in the most crowded of streets and traffic you still see the taxi driver cracking a joke with the neighboring car. Because when you’re 30 minutes late for iftar (breaking the fast in Ramadan) you know you can count on some stranger in the street to hand you dates and milk.

I love it because even though the man probably stood an hour in line to get that loaf of bread, he would still call on a stranger and insistently shout itfadal (have some) to share his thin meal. Because we would be in the most screwed up political situation and still manage to make jokes of it. And when you only have one hand on the rails of the bus, you will find about five people pulling you up on that bus.

I love it because many have lost their brothers to bloody political murderers and still determinately and defiantly fight each day for a better future. Because even though we see men stabbed and shot everyday and women harassed and raped in broad daylight, our youth are unbreakable and still take to the streets to voice their words and fight for justice. Because our people, bless them, fought bullets and ignorance with chants, songs, dances and prayers.

I love the people because behind the sweat and the dirt you see deep, dark eyes that carry meanings of pain and hardships, but also hope, wisdom and utter kindness. I love the people because they manage to ignore the traffic, the dirt and the ugliness and stand on the Sixth of October bridge to enjoy the beauty of the Nile with a corn cob and a lover.

Because despite all the ugly extremism and violence in the name of religion, our Christian friends turned off the music at an engagement party because they heard the adhan  (Muslim call for prayers) and there were a few Muslims in the party. Because even though we are now ruled by a Muslim majority who try to separate us to conquer, my Coptic friends at school would fast with us in Ramadan to show support and share the festive month’s spirits with us.

I love this city because despite everything we ever went through, despite the many wars, colonial atrocities, corruption and miseries, we still manage to smile and see hope in the darkest of situations. We still manage to maintain some of that world-renowned hospitality and good-heartedness. We still manage to be some of the funniest people on the face of the earth.

Just like you see a special kind of beauty in eccentric faces with beautifully-flawed features that add a touch of uniqueness, mystique and charm that make you fall in love with it, each and every flaw in Egypt, to me, has added that quiet, sad but strong charm to it. Just like I do not see charms in a perfectly-proportioned face and gorgeous, but shallowly cheerful eyes. It is those strong, defiant, vibrant, wise, emotional, sad but smiling eyes that draw me in the most. Those dark eyes that reflect the Nile and the beauty of its trees and monuments but also reflect the poverty and hustle that is our city.

That beauty that speaks not to your eyes but directly to your soul and touches you.

But mostly, it allures me because we still manage to fall in love each and every day with our troubled, yet mystically charming, country.