Sixteen months after the revolution in Tahir, I wake up with the city hurrying up to vote. She doesn’t know what the turnout will be, she has no clue wether the military will finally leave power, but there is nothing that could possibly stop her. The muezzin calls to prayer along the Nile in the midst of the sound of cars honking, centenary trees have their trunks painted with the colors of Egypt and the slogans of the revolution. Long lines outside of schools, and a whole generation stuck on the phone or their laptops to follow candidates and guard a gesture that we have often wasted. My Cairo, going to vote. Today is my birthday and I feel whole, and there is no other place on Earth I’d like to be.