Casablanca is a city of different sides. Where there are shantytown shacks, there are five star hotels. Where there is French, there is Arabic. Where there is old, there is new. There's constant construction, especially along the waterfront. Morocco is growing from its phosphorous trade and dealings with West Africa, so no doubt the city will change with time. I kind of wish I could come back in ten years or so to see what it looks like.
In the morning, Brianna and I went on a bilingual tour of the Hassan II Mosque. There's only one word to describe the mosque- gigantic. Words cannot fully describe the scale of this building, the height of its single minaret taller than the Washington Monument, the main prayer hall that can house twenty five thousand people, and the courtyard on the exterior that can accomodate eighty thousand more worshippers, the forty some fountains underneath that hall, and the immense bath houses. Yet for its size, it has all these little craftsman intricacies which have to take so much time to produce. It's a modern world wonder to say the least.
In the afternoon, we walked about, checked out this one boulevard with shops, and made our way to the Old Medina. We were greeted by this old man with cataracts, who tried to help us shop, and then tried to get us to come to his store. I, understanding that A) We have no objective in the first place and B) not wanting to be rude to a helpful old man, followed him deep into the medina to his large, rather well equipped store. He asked me where I was from, and I told him the Philippines, and he replied, "Maganda!" Mohamed and I were suspicious on the way, and were ready to bolt if something fishy happened. But we got there no problem, and Hang and I bought gifts for people back home no problem. He even humoured my hardline haggling, and Hang's annoying cutesie "please can you lower the price" routine. So sometimes faith in people pays off.
I've come up with a simple rule: If in a foreign country and a native greets you with Tagalog, he probably is an honest businessman.
In the night, we went out again and walked what felt like forever to get to UN Square. At the square, there was nothing going on, save for a few kids playing soccer. So we went to... a McDonald's. There, I checked my facebook, and I saw how everyone was leaving messages on Max Cowan's wall. August 8th was the anniversary of when he departed our lives. (To conclude the chronicles, we also went to a juice bar, and then bought some bread close to the old medina on our way back. But that's not important.)
I knew Max for a millisecond compared to everyone else. My first experience with him came on our spring trip to Florida, where he sat next to me. Although I was my typical, emo I-really-don't-want-to-talk-right-now self, he was more happy, more rambunctious, and more alive than anyone else. We wouldn't really get to know each other until our junior year, when we had English together and had to debate one another. He came to the assignment with a brightness and enthusiasm that nobody in my group could match, and we were soundly defeated. He also almost ran over my foot once before an AP test.
But even though I didn't spend much time with him, I knew she was an essential part of my sister's first year at River Hill. They both had Jazz Band together. I know with his personality he must've done a lot to cheer her up when she was down. I appreciate him so much for looking out for her, even when I failed to.
It was unfair how such a character left the world so abruptly. He had so much going for him. He was about to entere senior year, he had plans for Israel. He had tons upon tons of loving friends and family. And with a blink of an eye, a reading of an email, and a burst of tears, he was gone like that.
You have to understand our mortality, how with a flip of a switch the world can go black like that. Our time is limited on this planet one way or another, we each are ticking time bombs. What determines the worth of our lives, no matter how many hours, minutes, and seconds that constitute it, is how we spend that time. Max lived his life to the fullest, working hard in school, practicing his saxophone, joking with friends and loving everyone around him. I can only hope that when my time comes, whenever that should be, someone could say I was maybe half the man he was.
I like to think the events of that year shaped the person I am today. I was such a recluse in high school, and I regret being who I was. Lord knows I wasn't always the "Yes Man", the dude who is up for anything and everything, whether it be ordering food or taking excursions into D.C. even when I had exams hours before. (Boy do I gamble and win a lot...) Heck, maybe that perspective is what pushed me here onto Semester At Sea. I guess I've changed. I wish it didn't have to come from this.
So Max, I know I'm doing awesome things, but if you were still with us, I know you'd be blowing all of us out of the water. I can only hope to live my life by your example. Should we meet again, somehow, some way, I'll be more than happy to share my stories with you. Earth is a darker place without you. The world misses you. Your friends miss you. I know Nkki misses you. I miss you.
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