By fourteen I was a “normal” teenager. I’d moved classes and was forming friendships, as well as a secret crush on another boy I’d write teenagerish angsty little poems about. I even started to harbour ambitions, wanting to be a doctor despite an immature perception of science as too cold and rigid. Most importantly, I had the privilege of travel, visiting my grandmother in the first of many trips to Egypt where she’d relocated after my grandfather died. He’d been a well-respected academic in Cairo. These annual visits allowed me to get to know the man I’d so recently lost.