As soldiers and civilians cart away the metal barricades and debris, Tahrir Square has begun to return to normal. But what's normal has forever changed. For Egyptians, Tahrir finally does mean Liberation.

Like many things in that country, Tahrir Square hasn't always been what it purports to be.
At its core, it isn't even a square; it's a circle. An enormous traffic circle -- what the Brits call a roundabout.

And the heart of a bustling city. Roads radiate out to every part of Cairo. Clustered around are Egypt's major seats of administration, education, and cultural history. And until two weeks ago, the seat of its ruling party.

Watching events unfold over 18 days, Tahrir's underlying geometry has gradually come into sharper focus. In the first week, overhead views showed just a teeming mass of people. As more and more began staying the night, a tent city sprang up -- its outline precisely that of the central circle. (Overflow crowds also set up a tent suburb across the road.)

Six years ago, I was in Tahrir Square as a tourist. And the contrast with recent tumultuous scenes was, well, stark.

Back then, I was the only person in Tahrir Square.

Following my guidebook maps (thank you, Lonely Planet), I'd strolled from upscale Zamalek, across the Nile, and through much of downtown Cairo. My plan was to take a rest break at Tahrir before crossing the Qasr el-Nil Bridge to head back home.

Braving multiple lanes of traffic, I entered the oasis of well-manicured grass and trees. With no park bench in sight, I plopped cross-legged on the grass.

Slowly it sank in: I was eerily alone.

Looming over the square was the Mogamma, a massive neo-Stalinist building that I'd read held 18,000 government employees. Yet not one worker was in the square with me, enjoying a smoke, a coffee or a chat with a colleague. No students were reading books. No families were picnicking, no dogs were being walked. No shawarma vendors or balloon men. Certainly no clowns, mimes or performance artists. No hookers, no druggies, no pickpockets. No one. Not even a cop to tell me to get off the grass.

Now, maybe I'd just arrived at a bad time. Maybe at noon I would have seen dozens of people eating box lunches. Maybe people simply preferred air-conditioned interiors to the polluted outside air. Maybe. But there were plenty of pedestrians on the sidewalks, just not in the square.

My feet were sore from my walking tour, so I toughed it out as long as I could. After five or 10 minutes I stood up and strolled to the opposite side of the circle, as if that had been my intention all along.

Today, I think I grasp what I only dimly registered then -- that Tahrir Square was simply not intended for human use. Cairenes instinctively knew they weren't welcome in it.

Tahrir was an illusion -- a sterile image of orderly neatness in the midst of a rowdy, chaotic city.

Bureaucrats and party officials could look out on the well-tended greenery, reassured that everything was precisely in its place.

And as long as Tahrir remained empty of humanity, tell themselves nothing ever needed to change.