يمكن لو

يمكن لو في بيني وبينك حكي.. كنا حكينا
يمكن لو في بيني وبينك دمع.. كنا بكينا
لو كان في طريق تودي شوي شوي كنا مشينا
أو كان في شي درب يوصل بيني وبينك كنا لقينا
يمكن لو في بيني وبينك قصص .. كنا قرينا
يمكن لو في بيني وبينك صلاة .. كنا دعينا
يمكن لو في بيني وبينك حلم.. كنا غفينا
يمكن لو في بيني وبينك سِلِم.. كنا نسينا
يمكن في نغمة وحدة بيني وبينك عم بتعيد
يمكن في ناس كتيرة بيني وبينك مابتفيد
يمكن في قمر أو في شجر أو شي جسر حديد
يمكن في سهل أو في جبل أو في شي وادي بعيد

يمكن في طريق جديدة بيني وبينك نحنا مش شايفينا

لما إنت ناوي

لما انت ناوي تغيب على طول مش كنت آخر مره تقول
بالليل اسيب نفسي لهمي ولأفكاري افضل افكر فيك وانت ما انت داري

Blasphemy

"When you can do good and you just don't, this is blasphemy." ~ The Companion.

It's in the zaatar, honey!

Every time I take the first bite of zaatar w zeit (whether as mana'eesh or as a dip with bread), it takes me back years and years in the past, to the time I was in my first school years.. It might not be a comfort food, but it is definitely a security food...

The title of this post came from a friend/relative who gave this answer to me more than 10 years ago when I wondered why Palestinians are usually better performers academically (all Palestinian/Lebanese mothers feed their children zaatar sandwiches before exams because it is rumored to improve memory). So maybe it really improves memory or maybe it doesn't, but it definitely triggers memories.

maskeen

مسكين وحالي عدم من كتر هجرانك
ياللي تركت الوطن و الاهل على شانك
قول لي على ورد خدك
و قول لي على حالك
اسمح وطمن فؤادي يا ضياء عيني
وجود بقربك وخليني على بالك


I have always had a love hate relationship with this song for as long as I can remember. I hate the victimization tone, turns me off, but maybe it is Abdelwahab's performance that makes it less weak/pleading than it sounds.

في الشارع

اللي على الناس بيجرى

غاير من اللي هواك قبلي ولو كنت جاهله
يا هل ترى نال رضاك وصادف الحب أهله
مين ده اللي متع عينيه وقلبه بالحب قبلي
ومال فؤادك إليه وصان لك الود مثلي

إن قلت مات اللي فات والقلب عاش من جديد
أقول وفين الثبات وفين صيانة العهود
نسيت غيري وبكره تنسى وأشوف الأسيه
واللي على الناس بيجرى لا بد يجرى علي

أحمد رامي و محمد عبد الوهاب

my phone..

so the thing pissing me the most about my phone with a death screen is not the lost sms history (since there was none, except for a couple of messages that are better lost than kept), is not the last 1.5 yrs contacts, is not the lost BBM list, but it is the fact that I had a comprehensive list of all the books I need/plan to buy...

This, I could not get back.

Blukh.

Défoulement

انتكاسة

Watch while the queen
In one false move
Turns herself into a pawn
Sleepy and shaken
And watching while the blurry night
Turns into a very clear dawn
Do you love any, do you love none,
Do you love many, can you love one,
Do you love me?

One false move
And a secret prophecy
Well, if you hold it against her,
First hold it up and see
That it's one side stone
One side fire
Standing alone among all men's desire

And if you wonder
What I am doing
As I am heading
For the sink
I am spitting out all the bitterness
Along with half of my last drink

I am thinking
Of your woman
Who is crying in the hall
It's like drinking gasoline
To quench a thirst
Until there's nothing there left at all

"Walk on the blind side"?
Was the answer to the joke
It's said there isn't a political bone
In her body
She would rather be a riddle
But she keeps challenging the future
With a profound lack of history

********************************************************

"Tu fais battre mon coeur plus forte que les vagues quand le ciel est sombre. D'abord tu me dis oui et, tout doucement, tu me fais mourir." ~ Bratsch

********************************************************

I have a confession. I hate the color orange. I almost hate it with a passion. I hate the combination of orange and brown.

storyteller

The only way to let it die is to let it out. But this Scheherazade will not keep her stories to the Shah anymore.

my new retro living room

I redecorated here again.. we could call that my own blue period..

5 yrs studying computer science, and I could not change my post titles' color (I still cannot find the html variable for it, want to make it a darker shade)!! Also cannot remove that pattern-less box in the rightmost area since it is part of the image I used as background template.. sad sad..

T., my nemesis, is leaving to Australia for a few months, and even though we barely meet except by chance, I feel I will miss her.

also, for some reason I am obsessed right now with owning a blue Vespa! Super cute.

Famous First Words

إكتئاب ولا انشغال ولا مجرد إهمال

...

the rules of duality and the curse of forgetting.

Little Deaths

وكثيرا ما كنت أسأل نفسي حين اسمعهن يروين مناماتهن: لماذا نقتل من نحب في مناماتنا؟ هل هو الخوف من الموت الذي وحده يفقدنا من نحب، أو أننا نقتله في المنام كي لا يتركنا في الحياة، يفلت منا ويغادرنا، وتصير حياتنا خاوية وميتة بدونه؟ وهل بالحب وحده نكتشف الموت، أم نذهب إليه لنعيد إكتشاف ذلك الحب في ذروة خسارته وفقدانه؟ هل هو عبء الحب يا ترى، أم عبء الموت الذي نكتشف أننا ممتلئون به في جسدنا وحياتنا إذا ما انزاح عنا ذلك الحب؟

علوية صبح - دنيا

I wondered the same, when I kill people in my dreams (not kill, but have them die).. I have learned from Mama to say "enkatablo 3omr jdeed" when someone alive dies in a dream. But sometimes we are just training ourselves for the loss, and yet when it comes, we are never prepared. In my most recent and most vivid "dream death", I woke up to think "enkatablo 3omr jdeed, I'd rather lose people in life than experience their deaths" but I also felt all the pain, the dream pain was real, like I recalled the feeling and relived it all over. And I insisted on recounting my dream, ending it with letting go (just don't die in my dreams!), and then trying to analyze ("this dream is really about someone else").

It doesn't matter. Maybe you died in my dream because it is the easy way out.

China Doll

I will not condemn you
nor yet would I deny

I would ask the same of you
but failing will not die

Take up your china doll
it's only fractured -
and just a little nervous
from the fall.

a stolen PS of Farthest Happiness and Hallucination

From an abandoned letter:

"I know this must've been disturbing. This unbelievable combination of fear, happiness, desire, hatred, satisfaction, rejection, disgust, hesitation, peacefulness, despise, safety, agony, longing, denial, joy, laughter and laughter again is clearly unprecedented. I shall ask for forgiveness and forgetfulness for the harm I've caused, and remembrance of the smiles. Let this be an improved version of the 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind'. Don't just erase all of it."

my problem with Nizar

I have always had a problem with Nizar's poetry. There was something that bothered me but I just could not pinpoint it. So the man loves women, to the point of adoration even, what is MY problem with that exactly?

I cannot deny I liked some of his poetry. I would not seek it though, I would only read what comes my way -whether by chance or recommended-. I have one small booklet for him that a friend bought for me last year (as a joke I think, or as a symbol).

And then, a couple of days back, Mourid Barghouthi is on TV with Radwa Ashour, and he refers to Nizar's opinion about women, and I finally get what has been bothering me. Nizar talks about the perfect woman:

يصف نزار قباني على إنه شاعر الذكر العربي، الذي يصور المرأة دائما ككائن من "مرمر ودانتيل" فلا يعكس في شعره الوجود الواقعي للمرأة ترتدي نظارة أو تقرأ جريدة

This is EXACTLY it. When this person/friend referred me to Nizar, that was my issue. I do not want the "woman/muse" model.. I do not have an issue with being an inspiration or a muse, in fact who wouldn't want to! But I do have an issue with this being what defines me. I have an issue with this forming a screen between "who I am" and "how you perceive me to be". Because I must stay young, and lovely, and sweet, and happy. I _must_ stay this person. I must not worry or doubt or question. I must not feel insecure. Even when you like my imperfections, you like them as part of my muse-being, just like you would admire a chip in the body of a lovely sculpture, just like you admire Venus without arms.


Thank you, 3ammo Mourid.

The Fullness then the Emptiness

And the teacher said, "Bible mysteriously describes the time where Christ came as being "mel2 el zaman", la pleinitude du temps, the fullness of times. There is absolutely no explanation to why this was the fullness of times."

And then he talked of my fullness of time, "You will know when the fullness of times comes. You will feel peaceful."

But I did not. I felt turmoil, disorder, confusion. But since we see things as we want to see them; we saw this as peace.. And for a while there was some inner peace, but only for a while. This was the sugar coating. The core was pushiness, demands, and self-deceit leading to my self-deceit.

And only now, when the emptiness swept over me, did I feel peaceful.

And I was right. This was overrated.

More Broken Promises

I promise...
To give what is to Caesar to Caesar, what is to God to God...
To be a background musical theme...
Don't know when it will fade out though, to be replaced by a main theme...
I promise to divert from my route, with the intention of joining back my path...
Don't know whether life's tenderness will bring back the two ends together soon or late though...
I promise I won't regret a thing... I don't do regrets... Not anymore...
I don't know whether there would be things worth regretting though...
I promise...
What I have in hand...
But I don't promise on behalf of destiny... La fatalite... though.

The Sin of Forgetting

"وَلا تَكُونُوا كَالَّذِينَ نَسُوا اللَّهَ فَأَنسَاهُمْ أَنفُسَهُمْ أُوْلَئِكَ هُمُ الفَاسِقُونَ"

"نَسُواْ اللَّهَ فَنَسِيَهُمْ إِنَّ الْمُنَافِقِينَ هُمُ الْفَاسِقُونَ"

Between two painful punishments: forgetting oneself and being forgotten (ignored? for lack of a better translation) by Him.

Dear Narcissus Boy

Narcissus was a youth that knelt daily beside a lake to contemplate his own beauty. He was so fascinated by himself that, one morning, he fell into the lake and drowned. At the spot where he fell, a flower was born, which was called the Narcissus.

But this is not how the author of the story ended it…

The author goes on to say that when Narcissus dies, the goddess of the forest appeared and found the lake, which had been fresh water, transformed into a lake of salty tears.

"Why do you weep?" the goddess asked.

"I weep for Narcissus," the lake replied.

"Ah, it is no surprise that you weep for Narcissus," they said, "for though we always pursued him in the forest, you alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand."

"But… was Narcissus beautiful?" the lake asked.

"Who better than you to know that?" the goddesses said in wonder. "After all, it was by your banks that he knelt each day to contemplate himself!"

The lake was silent for some time. Finally it said:

"I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected."

~ Quoted from Paulo Coelho

And so, dear Narcissus, I hope you understand..

La Gitane

أحتاجُ أن أبكي
نعم!
أنا البنتُ
التي تخلطُ في الشوارعِ
وتخطئُ في العدِّ والحسابْ
البنتُ التي تضحكُ طيلةَ الوقتْ
وتبتلعُ ابتساماتِ المارّة
حين لا تعرفُ أسخريةٌ
أم إشفاقْ
تحملُ قِطّتَها فوق صدرِها
تجوبُ طرقاتِ البلدةِ بجلبابِها الرثِّ وشعرها المنفوش
ومن جيبِها الممزوق
يسقطُ قشرُ الفول
وكِسَرُ خبزٍ جافْ
أسنانُها سقطتْ من فرط الضحكْ
فابتلعَتها
لأنْ ليس لها أمٌّ علّمتها طقسَ الشمسْ
"يا شمس يا شموسة..."
ولأن عجوزًا تجلس عند باب الخَلْق
علّمتها أن ابتلاعَ الضِّرس
يُنبتُ غيرَه
لهذا لم تتخلص من الكِسَرِ اليابسة
وأجّلتْ قرضَ أظفارِها الصفراءِ
انتظارًا لموسمِ الأسنانْ.
وحيدةٌ متوحّدةٌ
لا أهلَ لها
لا أصدقاءْ
وأخفقَ الناسُ في حبِّها
تغنّي
رغم اللثغةِ
ورغم انعدام السِّين والشِّين والثَّاء والصَّاد
صَلَبَها رجلٌ على ساقيةِ البلدة
واستولدها طفلةً
أطعمتْها من خبزِها الناشف
فماتتْ
لا أهلَ لها ولماذا الناسُ يخفقون في حبِّها؟
فكّرَتْ في الأخير أن تبكي
نعم
عبيطةُ القريةِ تحتاجُ الآن أن تبكي
على كتفِكَ أنتْ
أنتَ الذي لا ينهرُها
حين تخطئُ في عدِّ أصابعِها
ولا يتلصّصُ على فخذِها
حين ينحسرُ الثوبُ
أمام وهج الفرن

عبيطة القرية - فاطمة ناعوت

enfelat amni

Every single time I am coming back from Maadi at night in a cab, I am scared like crazy.

Letters to Dead Men

لا شك أنني أحتاج عاماً من الهلوسة ولابد أن أقول لأبي إن الرجل الوحيد الذي فتتني من الرغبة فيه كان يشبهه تماماً

وأن أخبر أصدقائي: عندي صور مكتملة لوجهي، كلها حقيقي، وكلها يخصني، وسأوزعها عليكم تباعاً

لابد أن أقول لحبيبي: أشكر خياناتي المباركة، لولاها.. ما انتظرت كل هذا الوقت لأكتشف فضاء استثنائياً في ضحكتك أما بالنسبة لي، فأكاد أجزم أنني أفضح نفسي لأختبئ وراءها
- إيمان مرسال

Dear Man-

I miss your stories.. both real and made-up.. mostly made-up, mostly real.

I seek you -or little parts of you- in others.

I do not need lecturing about my daddy issues. The daddy issue is a daddy issue, and is deceased. But the other is only dead in soul.

I do not need lecturing about letting go.

Also, free falling is not for me.

The borders get blurred and all (both? all?) men merge into one. And he is dead. And you are dead.

And I walk.

some Neruda love

L.A.M.E

my lame-o-meter has become very sensitive lately.. almost everything and everyone is lame most of the time, including myself..

I wrote many words and deleted them, no point.. Even the posts I share are lame.

Double Standards

I didn’t really get it today when he looked at me and said some comment about how R’s appearance have changed.. I didn’t actually get whether the question/comment was satirical or real (because I don’t really see her changed that much).. So I nodded and mumbled in agreement and decided to let it pass.. but later in the coffee break I reflected on it when I saw them standing and joking together, and I understood (or so I think). It just takes me by surprise every time how appearances can deceive a person (both me about him, and him about R).

I always used to get pissed off by his double standards. My first recalled memory of that was our discussion about kissing hellos. I don’t see it an issue (to kiss or not to kiss the other gender hello), but I respect the norms of the society on this matter. He didn’t, and thought that it is weird that people as close as we are (were?) would refrain from doing it just because “someone might say something”. I remember telling him that in his so-called freedom lies the worst judgment of all: that people who are different, who reject this, are prudes! I remember telling him he’s an extremist in his liberalism..

I have double standards worse than anyone. But I don’t deny them.. I have actually told my friend recently that one would think that my experiences have changed me, taught me a lesson and made me wiser re judging people, and they have but I still judge. I just do it with more awareness now, premeditated judgment! And I know that I am judged too, so yeah whatever.

And why on earth did Edith Piaf start playing now?! Non, rien de rien.. non, je ne regrette rien..

on muses, by a man.

muses don't do housekeeping
they don't raise children
they don't argue over financials
and don't want to change the color of the dining room
muses recite poems
and care about their beauty
and the happiness of the partner
ONLY
and this is exactly why
muses cannot be wives
***************************

Men can be such brainless romantics sometimes! :)
Why do we really have to choose?

ما يحكمشي

Dear Picasso: You Lied.

Mon cher Picasso-

Quand j'ai confié mes peurs, tu as tenu ma main et m'a regardé dans les yeux et m'a menti.

Tu m'as écrit un message dans une bouteille, mais -comme d'habitude- tes mots appartiennent à des profondeurs de la mer.


Merci, pas pour moi.

Gros bisous,
Moi.

Abandoned Masquerade

The glitter on a paint and plaster face
Is covering desire and disgrace
We could be lovers
But no one suspects at all
Once you're inside that costume ball
And now I'm sitting here before the mirror
I have the skill still to disguise my tears
Then as the magic starts to fade
I find myself abandoning the masquerade

Even though you're suffering
You try to hide it
And pretend you're so nonchalant
You can cry a pool of tears
And sit beside it
Then perhaps you'll know what you want

I hope you never feel this much despair
Or know the meaning of that empty chair
As the illusions that we made all fade away
In this abandoned masquerade

Of Cats and Me

When cats like a person, since they cannot speak, the only way they can express it is through "gifts"... They could bring you a cockroach they caught, or some toy mouse, or -in the case of a friend of mine- a real baby mouse, from outside into your own home, as a token of love and appreciation. They will present it to you with a look of pride, as in "look what I caught for you", and wait to be praised by you... The hunter in them never goes away with being domesticated...

I tend to do the same.. What I cannot express with words (for whatever reason), I would bring to your doorstep in the form of goodies and treats, a chocolate, a cookie, a random book I want you to have, a small piece of ambre I thought smelled nice, random post-its..

I am more like cats than humans and proud of it.. At least we display our affection and we're true about it.

Stupid..

I don't mind you know.. The distance, the dryness, the aloofness.. I really don't.
It does hurt a little but, eventually, everything fades. I might even re-read this and forget what I meant or how I felt.

I know that in the grand scheme of events this will be nothing..

Just don't make me feel stupid. This I do mind.

Reality Sucks...

I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.

~ Anaïs Nin

and to answer an old question:
Are we factually as daring as we “literary” are?
Are we all seeking ecstasy – quasi masturbating – with liberating literature or art, and disregarding – whether consciously or dreamingly – our limitations in reaching “neverland”?

I did, you did, we did.. We dreamt of neverland, and we started creating it. But reality is harsh, and it turned a dreamy neverland into a castle of ashes, another form of shackling reality.. So we were escaping from one cage into another, with the illusion of escape... We promised to float, "etre en mer", but we were weights pulling each other down to drown..

Oh well, reality sucks.. sucks the life out.

my friend

sometimes the smallest things, such as wearing matching Converses, is a reassurance.

I miss who we used to be :)

Tired of Small Talk

Apathy

Apathy (also called impassivity or perfunctoriness) is a state of indifference, or the suppression of emotions such as concern, excitement, motivation and passion. An apathetic individual has an absence of interest in or concern about emotional, social, or physical life. He or she may exhibit an insensibility or sluggishness, also. The opposite of apathy is flow. In positive psychology, apathy is described as a response to an easy challenge for which the subject has matched skills.


To be continued..

Home

يفهم_ قال لي_ إنّ الوطن

أن أحتسي قهوة أمي

أن أعود في المساء..

سألته: و الأرض؟

قال: لا أعرفها

و لا أحس أنها جلدي و نبضي

مثلما يقال في القصائد

و فجأة، رأيتها

كما أرى الحانوت..و الشارع.. و الجرائد

سألته: تحبها

أجاب: حبي نزهة قصيرة

أو كأس خمر.. أو مغامرة

_من أجلها تموت ؟

_كلا!

و كل ما يربطني بالأرض من أواصر

مقالة نارية.. محاضرة!

قد علّموني أن أحب حبّها

و لم أحس أن قلبها قلبي،

و لم أشم العشب، و الجذور، و الغصون..

_و كيف كان حبّها

يلسع كالشموس ..كالحنين؟

~ محمود درويش، جندي يحلم بالزنابق البيضاء ~

(excerpt)

c'est secret, lui dites pas que j'vous l'ai dit

On me dit que le destin se moque bien de nous

Qu'il ne nous donne rien et qu'il nous promet tout

Parais qu'le bonheur est à portée de main,

Alors on tend la main et on se retrouve fou

Pourtant quelqu'un m'a dit que tu m'aimais encore,

C'est quelqu'un qui m'a dit que tu m'aimais encore.

Serais ce possible alors?

uncertainty..

So, Carpe Diem or Memento Mori?
I'm sorry, I have no answer to that one.
I only know that Vita Brevis.
Il y a les vivants, et ceux qui sont en mer.
Je suis en mer. I'm a son of uncertainty.

ارتباك الأدوار

"عند رحيل المستحيلة.. خلفت وراءها سوساً ناخراً أعماق كل اكتمال نابت"

Chinese Wisdom of the Day

"My memory of you is better than you."

~ Lao Tzu

Secret Message from Salomé

"If you have no more happiness to give, give me your pain."

~ Lou Andreas-Salomé

Waiting

The song I came to sing
remains unsung to this day.
I have spent my days in stringing
and in unstringing my instrument.

The time has not come true,
the words have not been rightly set;
only there is the agony
of wishing in my heart.....

I have not seen his face,
nor have I listened to his voice;
only I have heard his gentle footsteps
from the road before my house.....

But the lamp has not been lit
and I cannot ask him into my house;
I live in the hope of meeting with him;
but this meeting is not yet.

~Rabindranath Tagore

Your Otherness

I am reminded by your "otherness" so much so that it expands and fills up all the void around us, sucking up all the air. I try to see the likeness, the similarity, to look for the old familiarity, but the otherness is louder, highlighted, magnified. And too hard to ignore. And I don't know if it's my mind playing tricks, or if you really make it a point to point it out. "I am one, you are the other" or "I am the other, and you are the one" (but not the one)

Your otherness in the sense of what I am and you are not.
Your otherness in the sense of what I am not and you are.
Your otherness in expressing Divine love, and me expressing Divine Order.
Your otherness in seeking peace through isolation, and not through connection.

Your otherness in finally accepting laws of nature, when I finally start to denounce them.
Your otherness in not being in my shoes, and not being part of my internal dialogue.

and so on, your Otherness.

On Forgiveness

"Le pardon n'est pas un outil de guérison de la blessure. Il n'est pas nécessaire à la libération de son passé. Il l'est en revanche à la restauration de l'intimité. Le pardon est un mouvement d'amour qui répare la relation ... Je crois en la capacité de chacun de s'ouvrir à l'autre. Je crois au pouvoir de l'empathie, de l'amour et de la parole dans la réparation des relations blessées."

Dear Universe

If you think you're going to break me by forcing me to listen to Mayada's Ana Ba3sha2ak in EVERY taxi ride, and stage it like it's a coincidence, then you're mistaken. You won't break me.

Overheard

Overheard said to a colleague who is even more anal about communication consistency than I am:

"you didn't transform the document or anything.. you just put it in the right template, fixed some wording, and made the font all the same."

ALL THE SAME?!?! So you want to tell me the font was NOT already all the same?!?!?!


Really? You think that's nothing? in my previous life, we would've hanged you.
We actually had the templates locked for editing the styles.. do you know what that meant? it meant you cannot just bold and italicize and write in big letters when you please. Unless we said you can.

oh we were Nazis when it came to structure.. sometimes I miss the Queendom.

Crochet

Et après toi, que dois-je faire?

Fais de crochet!

hahahahaha

I just discovered this song this morning as a part two to a song I love (Jeet Ta Hibbak). The lyrics are very meaningful :)

حبيت...إوعك تقول لي إنك ما حبيت

أو إنك هالفترة بس اتسليت

أنا بدي أعرف إنت ليه فليّت

لشو...ما بعلمي امبارح كنا أحلى اتنين

وعم بتخطط من هلأ لسنتين

وتقول لي راح نبقى سوا بعدين

مخنوق...أسئلتي عم تكتر وما عم روق

قول لي دخلك ليش دايماً ضهرك ما بروق

ما بروق...لازم تجاوب حتى روق

مُصِر...تعرف ليه جيت أحبك قمت نسيت

تعرف ليه جيت أضمك قمت سهيت

أنا كل اللي عملته إني غنيت

خليك...اسمع لي ها المقطع بس وروح

أنا كل اللي عندي قلته وما راح انوح

ها المرة راح أقول لك عن جد وبوضوح

العمى بقلبك...بقلبك

The right to return

My (not-so-secret-to-someone) Secret: Every week I check it, thinking which ones sound like they were sent by me, and which ones could've been sent by the other. This one above is just a wish.