My Alternative Reality

Reincarnation

2012-02-12T13:09:00.003+02:00

Even now, years later, my heart skips a beat for the memory. I believe that parts of dead people's souls could recycle themselves in the living. But is it also true about living people?

Or do we notice the same patterns over and over again?

what's in a name..

2012-01-30T12:13:00.002+02:00

لا أذكرُ .متى اكتشفتُ أن لي

اسماً موسيقياً، يليق التوقيعُ به

على قصائدَ موزونةٍ، ورفعُه في

وجه أصدقاء لهم أسماءٌ عموميةٌ

ولا يفهمون المعنى العميق لأن

تمنحك الصُدفةُ اسماً ملتبساً

يثيرُ الشبهاتَ حولك

ويقترح عليك أن تكونَ شخصاً آخرَ

كأن يسألك معارفُك الجددُ

- هل أنت مسيحيّ؟

أو

- هل لك أصولٌ لُبنانيّة؟

~ إيمان مرسال

الصالحون لصداقتي

2012-01-30T12:09:00.001+02:00

مُروجو الشائعات

من أجل الرضا عن النفس

عاشقو البانجو وجلسات

الاعتراف

الموتورون ضد الدولة

منظروا الخيانات الزوجية

الباحثون في أسماء جدودهم

عن القاب يسهل حفظها

المصلحون من الداخل

الصرحاء كالقمامة

المتشائمون عن بعد

الطيبون لعدم وجود بديل

أشباهي

الصالحون لصداقتي

الذين تخلقهم من أجلي

وفيرون هذا العام

ياإلهي

ارفع عطاياك عني

ولا تخلف وعدك لي

بأعداء جدد

~ إيمان مرسال

The Ugly Face of Happy Endings: Is Capitalism Brainwashing the Masses?

2012-01-26T02:00:00.002+02:00

This was actually the title of a paper I wrote in a film course in my last year in uni. I don't remember everything about it, but I remember that I was comparing the rise of capitalism in the US and the effect of that on the film industry, how it portrayed capitalism as the solution to everyman's troubles, and the road to achieve the All-American dream. And part of the argument was to illustrate that -just like communism and other similar schools of thoughts- Capitalism was still using the mass media to brainwash people, albeit in a more subtle, and less sharp, way.

This comes to mind now because there is something I do not fully comprehend about the current World order. During the last period, I've been repeatedly thinking (and saying) that it is indeed a strange world that has so much money and wasted resources and yet has people who die of hunger or cold or lack of clean water or what have you of these "natural" causes that could have easily been avoided. I cannot get my mind around that. And then we come to those mega big-ass multinationals, that are obliged (both by law and by their own self-imposed sense of made-up morality) to dedicate a percentage of their profits to what they refer to as "corporate social responsibility" (CSR), which ensures they sleep better at night, knowing they did their part in paying back the world.

Don't get me wrong, I truly respect the role these CSR efforts play in making the world a slightly less ugly place to live in, but I just question the true value Vs. the perceived value of these efforts. Thinking they pay back society by constructing a school in some rural area whereas in some other part of the world they can have a factory polluting the environment. Thinking we give back to society by our tiny random acts of kindness! yay for us, we use recycled paper! We did our part, and what happens next is not our responsibility.

Is it really that hard to be less apathetic about something that happens to other people? regardless of their race? Is it that hard to be outside ourselves and get a bird's eye? How can we all sleep at night knowing we are part in some major crime against humanity? With all the modern signs of globalization, and with the world becoming a little village, and everything being a few clicks away, is it really that easy to share information but that difficult to share feelings? Are we becoming supportive only on paper/media? "Share this to save another child from hunger", "For every email you send, XYZ will donate a dollar for medical care in this poor underprivileged country", "Finish your food because some people cannot find this food you're wasting."

And still, as I write, in another part of the world, another person dies of hunger or for lack of the most basic health care.

Yay for humanity.

ordinary corrupt human love

2012-01-19T13:08:00.004+02:00

"I’m not at peace anymore. I just want him like I used to in the old days. I want to be eating sandwiches with him. I want to be drinking with him in a bar. I’m tired and I don’t want anymore pain. I want Maurice. I want ordinary corrupt human love. Dear God, you know I want to want Your pain, but I don’t want it now. Take it away for a while and give it me another time." - Sarah

~ Graham Greene, The End of the Affair

Proof of Love

2012-01-09T01:43:00.003+02:00

we search for little proofs that the other(s) loved us. Small pieces of evidence that they cared when they said they did, and sometimes pieces of evidence that they still do. Anything that the other does or says can be interpreted to mean what we please: If they call, it is because they still miss us, if they don't it is because getting over us is too hard and they cannot do it right if they are still in touch. It is hard on our self-esteem, pride, and maybe heart, to believe that they are gone for good, and that maybe -just maybe- they never were there to start with.

I remember this when I think of things one told me to feel less alone (we share secrets to feel "less alone", that's what I believe). Maybe it was not really a secret, maybe it was a dear little piece of information. Regardless, you shared, you trusted, you loved.

The fact that the others come back to question this love (or we do) does not mean it wasn't there in the first place. So yes, if I can find my little pieces of evidence to proof you/I did, then maybe you/I did. But what good would it be to know now?

Sunday Secrets

2012-01-02T14:56:00.002+02:00

and it suddenly hit me that for several several weeks I have not remembered my weekly ritual of checking postsecret.

يمكن لو

2011-12-21T17:59:00.003+02:00

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

2011-11-25T14:47:00.003+02:00

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

Blasphemy

2011-10-31T21:46:00.000+02:00

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

It's in the zaatar, honey!

2011-09-21T01:55:00.005+02:00

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

2011-09-13T12:36:00.003+02:00

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

2011-08-04T23:07:00.001+02:00

اللي على الناس بيجرى

2011-07-25T01:13:00.003+02:00

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..

2011-07-11T10:52:00.002+02:00

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

2011-07-11T05:36:00.002+02:00

انتكاسة

2011-07-11T03:29:00.004+02:00

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

2011-07-02T22:59:00.004+02:00

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

2011-07-02T22:43:00.006+02:00

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

2011-06-24T15:44:00.001+02:00

إكتئاب ولا انشغال ولا مجرد إهمال

...

2011-06-23T09:45:00.002+02:00

the rules of duality and the curse of forgetting.

Little Deaths

2011-06-20T04:00:00.004+02:00

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

2011-06-15T09:53:00.001+02:00

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

2011-06-09T17:00:00.003+02:00

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

2011-06-05T06:02:00.007+02:00

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

2011-06-02T13:41:00.003+02:00

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

2011-06-02T13:37:00.001+02:00

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

2011-05-30T21:39:00.008+02:00

"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

2011-05-30T00:11:00.004+02:00

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

2011-05-25T19:17:00.005+02:00

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

2011-05-21T23:18:00.000+02:00

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

Letters to Dead Men

2011-05-19T02:00:00.003+02:00

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

2011-05-16T05:00:00.001+02:00

L.A.M.E

2011-05-16T04:08:00.003+02:00

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

2011-05-02T20:30:00.002+02:00

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.

2011-05-01T11:06:00.001+02:00

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

2011-04-14T15:08:00.002+02:00

Dear Picasso: You Lied.

2011-04-04T14:49:00.003+02:00

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

2011-04-01T23:00:00.002+02:00

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

2011-03-24T15:54:00.004+02:00

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..

2011-03-22T16:14:00.002+02:00

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...

2011-03-20T00:50:00.002+02:00

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

2011-03-16T19:02:00.001+02:00

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

I miss who we used to be :)

Tired of Small Talk

2011-03-15T01:18:00.000+02:00

Apathy

2011-03-08T17:46:00.004+02:00

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

2011-03-06T23:39:00.003+02:00

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

2011-03-06T00:45:00.002+02:00

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..

2011-02-28T03:17:00.001+02:00

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

2011-01-18T18:47:00.002+02:00

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

Chinese Wisdom of the Day

2011-01-18T16:05:00.004+02:00

"My memory of you is better than you."

~ Lao Tzu

Secret Message from Salomé

2011-01-17T21:54:00.005+02:00

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

~ Lou Andreas-Salomé

Waiting

2011-01-13T17:49:00.002+02:00

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

2011-01-12T02:35:00.006+02:00

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

2011-01-12T00:33:00.001+02:00

"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

2011-01-11T09:05:00.001+02:00

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

2011-01-05T09:50:00.010+02:00

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

2011-01-04T10:27:00.000+02:00

Et après toi, que dois-je faire?

Fais de crochet!

hahahahaha

2011-01-03T10:52:00.005+02:00

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

2011-01-02T17:46:00.004+02:00

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.

منتصف الليل

2010-12-31T23:59:00.001+02:00

مع اقتراب تمام انتصاف الليلة

سيشتعل الصخب

ويحلق طائر البهجة الفضي

فوق رؤوس المدعوين

غير أن أصواتهم جميعا

سيصاحبها الصدى

وسيتحركون كأطياف متراقصة

بطيئة

مثلما يحدث

حين يستدعون زمانا آخر

أو مكانا آخر

في لقطات الأفلام

سأكون واقفا هناك

تحت هالة البهجة

في منتصف دوار الصخب

وابتسامة مطمئنة مرتسمة على شفتاي

بينما أنظر مطولا

من دونما اختلاس

إلى وجهك الودود

- الصورة الوحيدة غير المهتزة في المشهد -

بينما يغمر الحجرة

وأتنفس عميقا

حين يصعد عطر يديك مرة أخرى

إلى رأسي

فتدور

وأنا بعد ممسك بكأس النبيذ

لم ألمسه

Silence

2010-12-29T10:33:00.013+02:00

يا ماري- أنتِ تعرفين سبب سكوتكِ أما أنا فأجهله. وليس من العدالة أن يكون جهل المرء مصدرا لتشويش أيامه ولياليه
الأعمال والأقوال بالنيات، ولقد كانت نيتي ولم تزل في راحة الله. أخبريني يا صغيرتي المحبوبة عما حدث لك أثناء العام الغابر. أخبريني واكسبي أجري
والله يحرسك ويملأ قلبك من أنواره

جبران

p.s. Mary is the Christian name of May Zeyadeh
p.p.s. To the Mai who is named after the May, Thank You ya "sagheerati el kabeera"!

What Remains...

2010-12-28T23:17:00.002+02:00

"She wondered what she was afraid of, losing him or losing all those things: the curtains, the paintings, the carpet. All the security folded carefully away in the drawers."

~ Paolo Giordano, The Solitude of Prime Numbers

La Solitudine dei Numeri Primi

2010-12-27T10:53:00.003+02:00

The title is what attracted me, I simply "got" what he meant. Then the synopsis. Then the writer's bio (Italian, working on a doctorate in particle physics, one year YOUNGER than me, his first novel, won him the top literary Italian award Premio Strega, sold more than 1 million copies). I would've still bought it with just the title though..

"Prime numbers are divisible only by 1 and by themselves. They stand in their place in the infinite series of natural numbers, squashed in between two others, liked all other numbers, but a step further on than the rest. They are suspicious and solitary, which is why Mattia thought they were wonderful. Sometimes he thought that they had ended up in that sequence by mistake, that they’d been trapped like pearls strung on a necklace. At other times he suspected that they too would rather have been like all the others, just ordinary numbers, but for some reason they weren’t capable of it. The second thought struck him mostly at night, in the chaotic interweaving of images that comes before sleep, when the mind is too weak to tell itself lies.

In his first-year Mattia had studied the fact that among the prime numbers there are some that are even more special. Mathematicians call them twin primes: they are pairs of prime numbers that are close to one another, almost neighbours, but between them there is always an even number that prevents them from really touching. Numbers like 11 and 13, like 17 and 19, 41 and 43... Mattia thought that he and Alice were like that, two twin primes, alone and lost, close but not close enough really to touch one another. He had never told her that."

~ Paolo Giordano, The Solitude of Prime Numbers

Nour

2010-12-25T23:57:00.002+02:00

I am awkward around children. It is true.. I always treat them like little short grown-ups, assuming they understand more than they show. Fortunately for me, Nour does act like a grown-up sometimes, or gets treated as one..

I found myself re-living a scene I did with Saif my younger nephew more than 15 years ago.. Standing in front of that small flowery bush, I ask him to pick a flower for his mother. Unlike sentimental Saif, Nour is more compassionate towards the flower than towards giving one to his mom, he tells me it will cry if we pluck it.. I say, no, this one will not, it is too small and it is okay (me and my double standards to the kid!).. and he plucks it, and I say let's give it to Mama so then he says then let's take two to her and he does so (did he give them to her? I don't recall; "we" received some disciplining comments when we went back to the breakfast table!)..

I love him because of his big round curious eyes and the eternally amazed look that I know he won't lose as he grows up.

I love him because of the way I imitate him when his father pisses him off, telling him "eih ba2a ya papiii" with those impatient hand gestures.

I love him because I watch him managing -like I did- a firey father and a down-to-earth wise mother, and I see him taking after the two.

I love him because he is the continuation of someone near and dear to me.

I love him because of his cute funny imitation of his mom seeing a dead fly.

I love him because of the grown-up words he uses after his papi using the word "3abeet" to describe a naughty friend of his.

So here is to you Nour, with your round curious eyes, and your coloring books, and your quirkiness, and the beautiful little impatient lively person that you are.

Amertume II

2010-12-24T12:15:00.000+02:00

If you wish someone a great time "with friends and family", doesn't it simply imply that you're neither?!

لا مشكلة لدي

2010-12-23T17:56:00.004+02:00

أحلامي رَكِبَتْ، أمسِ، قِطارَ الليلِ

ولم أعرف كيف أودعها

وأَتَتْني أنباءُ تَدَهْوُرِهِ في وادٍ ليس بذي زرعٍ

(ونجا سائقُه من بين الركّاب جميعاً)

فحمدت الله، ولم أبكِ كثيراً

فلديَّ كوابيسٌ صغرى

سأطوِّرها، إن شاء الله، إلى أحلامٍ كبرى

لا مشكلة لدي

أتلمَّس أحوالي منذ وُلدتُ إلى اليوم

وفي يأسي أتذكر

أن هناك حياةً بعد الموتِ

هناك حياة بعد الموت

ولا مشكلة لدي

لكني أسأل:

يا الله!

أهناك حياةٌ قبل الموت؟

no you don't

2010-12-22T12:59:00.002+02:00

You give your hand to me
Then you say hello
I can hardly speak
My heart is beating so
And anyone could tell
You think you know me well
Well, you don't know me

and -just for AN- the Michael Buble version http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c7k2y08dSV4

overflow

2010-12-20T14:41:00.001+02:00

"That's the day I realized that there was this entire life behind things, and this incredibly benevolent force that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid. Ever. Video's a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember... I need to remember... Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it... and my heart is going to cave in."

~ American Beauty

Jargon

2010-12-20T13:43:00.002+02:00

cutting edge
top-notch
state-of-the-art
one stop shop
streamline
standardize
transform
calibrate
benchmark

The Beginning of the Affair

2010-12-08T23:20:00.001+02:00

“A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead. I say ‘one chooses’ with the inaccurate pride of a professional writer who - when he has been seriously noted at all - has been praised for his technical ability, but do I in fact of my own will choose that black wet January night on the common, in 1946, the sight of Henry Miles slanting across the wide river of rain, or did these things choose me? It is convenient, it is correct according to the rules of my craft to begin just there, but if I had believed then in a god, I could also have believed in a hand, plucking at my elbow, a suggestion, ‘speak to him: he hasn’t seen you yet.’”

~ Graham Greene, The End of the Affair

There are little triggers that nudge our memories, calling back certain thoughts or ideas, or certain scenes to the mind. This memory came to me uninvited (as intrusive as memories are): the stocking.. I remember that specific scene from a movie, a guy taking a stocking off the legs of his lover, telling her he is jealous of the stocking because it gets to stay all day with her, and he hates the shoes because they take her away from him.. and slowly bits and pieces came back to me, and the resemblance was too much to ignore. The affair vs. the relation, with one person wanting one type and the other needing the other. There and then, I knew I wanted to get the book, and I knew I wanted to give it away when I finished it..

So there it is, a book about Catholicism, conjugal love, divine love, and promises one makes to self and to God. A story about the melange of love and hate until you can no longer distinguish one from the other. A story about the end of the beginning and the beginning of the end, and that exact moment when you just know there is no more.

equal in magnitude, opposite in direction

2010-11-24T08:15:00.001+02:00

I don't know which is worse: to forget you, or to NEVER forget you.

Amertume

2010-11-23T16:37:00.004+02:00

Amour indéfinissable! Dieu de la nature! Amertume dont rien n’est plus doux, douceur dont rien n’est plus amer. Monstre divin qu’on ne peut définir que par des paradoxes.

~ Casanova

missing Delirium

2010-11-23T12:22:00.003+02:00

DEATH: Del...? That's not for eating. I think it's a table decoration.

DELIRIUM: It's nice. It tastes a bit like forever. I like the way colors taste. Except I don't like crimsons... or turquoises... especially when they put their heads into their shells and won't play. And when you break their shells to let them out, they die...

DEATH: That's turtles, dear. Or tortoises.

DELIRIUM: I think it's turquoise.

~ Neil Gaiman, Sandman series, Chapter Three: In Which We Wake

November 18: Pour Vous

2010-11-18T01:21:00.009+02:00

Exactly one year ago, I did something I wanted to do since I joined my current work (i.e. for 2 years before that date). I walked from my office to Zamalek. It was during some hotshot soccer match so the streets were perfectly deserted, and I had an enjoyable stroll with my friend (because I wouldn't cross the corniche to take a cab).

The memory is nothing, or ya3ni not much.. The reason I remember the date is that this date (November 18) is a date I have always noted, for reasons that make no sense to anyone now, but that made some sense to me more than 10 years ago. The fact that this lovely incident took place on that particular date is the only reason I remember when it happened..

And so on that rooftop, over some shared spring rolls, a cup of Turkish coffee, a glass of tea, and a shisha, many stories were told and an interesting friendship was born. Interesting would even be an understatement!

I also remember I was freezing, but too proud (shy?) to admit it.

Concrete Proof of (In)Sanity

2010-11-18T01:01:00.002+02:00

I was thinking recently of the reason behind all this, what I write and share here.. I am not entirely a private person, not to my close ones and not to all details, however, I find it a bit "cheap" to share deep and private emotions over a blog for anyone (not worthy enough!) to read.. I realize am a bit judgmental (cheap, not worthy, yes!)..

And this thinking led me to some conclusions.. I do like sharing, but I do not always like relating. I realized, therefore, I was doing this for me. I was doing this to have some concrete proof of my (in)sanity. Taking snapshots of my life. Not necessarily as it is but as it appears to be. Chosen recorded moments, over a span of almost 6 years now. Impressive..

A lot has changed.. Going back and reading, sometimes I don't even understand what made me write something or the other.. Sometimes I even forget that I felt this way about something or someone.

The frequency of posts is proportionate (directly or inversely I don't need to tell!) to the intensity of actions and feelings..

It is like spying on myself from outside my head. I find that amusing! The happiness, the bitterness, the nostalgia, the anger, the cynicism, and -occasionally- the temporary peace..

My concrete proof of sanity.. this time without the doubting parentheses.

تذكرة بانتحار غير مكتمل

2010-11-14T09:25:00.006+02:00

موت ثان

حين تعثرون على الجسد
إعملوا له شاهدا من أحمر يليق
وانقشوا عليه
...ولما فرح"
...ضوَى
"فلم يخطئه الردى

..bein el gamar wel thoraya..

2010-11-07T09:19:00.003+02:00

ودي صالحة يا صلوح يـــا شمعة القلب والروح
ومنيـــــن آجي واروح وأنا على الفرش مطروح
يا بنــــــــــــات الهنود يا راخييــــــــــن العدايب
وما ترحموا العليـــــل اللي على فرشه نايـــــــم
وافرشوا له سريــــــر ما بين القمر والثريـــــــا
وارموني في بيــــرَكُم وماورد رشوا عليّــــــــا
وماورد رشوا عليّــــا ردوا عليــــــــــا ثيــــابي
خبير دوايــا انا عندكم ولا تحرموني شبـــابــي
يـــــــا ابو محمد سعيد يـــــــا ابو المشالي تلاتة
كيف جرحك لم يطيب والعطر تحت الوســــادة
هيلا هيلا هيلا يلـــــلا آه ياسلام
يا حبيبي باحبك تعالالي آه يا سلام
اتمشى اتمشى وارجع تاني آه يا سلام
ياما سهرنا ع اللوز لاخضر
وبقيت انا املى يا عيني والحلو يشرب
طب هيلا هيلا هيلا يللا آه يا سلام
يا حبيبي باحبك تعالالي آه يا سلام
اتمشى اتمشى وارجع تاني آه يا سلام
وانا اسأل الله كريم يحنن
يا رب حنن يا عيني قلبه عليا
طب هيلا هيلا هيلا يللا آه يا سلام
يا حبيبي باحبك تعالالي آه يا سلام
اتمشى اتمشى وارجع تانى آه يا سلام
مين ف المُحبة المُحبة يعذر
غير اللي جرب يا عيني شاف العذاب أشكال والوان

~ a Tanbura folklore song, and memories of downtown

On Choices

2010-11-02T16:17:00.003+02:00

"It will hurt less if you didn't have to choose."
"No it won't. If I will choose, it will be a deliberate choice. Deliberate choices don't hurt."

This has to be the understatement of the year.

...and in front of my eyes is this

2010-11-01T19:10:00.001+02:00

... Il est pareil aux dieux, l'homme qui te regarde,
Sans craindre ton sourire, et tes yeux, et ta voix,
Moi, je tremble et je sue, et ma face est hagarde
Et mon cœur est aux abois...
La chaleur et le froid tour à tour m'envahissent ;
Je ne résiste pas au délire trop fort ;
Et ma gorge s'étrangle et mes genoux fléchissent,
Et je connais la mort...

~ Sappho

Colonization

2010-10-31T12:53:00.004+02:00

Every time I check the origin label of a tshirt, jeans, or pair of sneakers, and find it's Made in Cambodia, or Vietnam, or Bangladesh, I freak out. I imagine little children with shiny beady eyes stitching up the hand-made work on that blouse. I imagine under-nourished, under-paid, mistreated women who stitch up my jeans or pair of Converse, for less than minimum wage, just to feed their families of shiny beady eyes..

Then I feel infinitely guilty for being part of this humanity. Being part of the colonization.

On a lighter note, I do not feel that when my item is made in China, because I think of it as little oompa-loompa robots doing the work.. I think of it as "internal" rather than external colonization; which somehow makes it better for me.

Am I helping the children or the colonies by buying? Am I going to help them by boycotting? How can I change such a sad sad reality? Is "Fair Trade" a reality or is it just a label we stick on our products to feel less guilty drinking that cup of coffee or wearing that beautiful handmade item?

Jealousy

2010-10-29T09:17:00.001+02:00

"Hatred seems to operate the same glands as love: it even produces the same actions. If we had not been taught how to interpret the story of the Passion, would we have been able to say from their actions alone whether it was the jealous Judas or the cowardly Peter who loved Christ?"

~ Graham Greene, The End of the Affair

Gypsy

2010-10-26T19:18:00.002+02:00

I had forgotten how much I loved this song and how much it meant... Melancholie..

You come from far away
With pictures in your eyes
Of coffeeshops and morning streets
In the blue and silent sunrise

But night is the cathedral
Where we recognized the sign
We strangers know each other now
As part of the whole design

Oh, hold me like a baby
That will not fall asleep
Curl me up inside you
And let me hear you through the heat

You are the jester of this courtyard
With a smile like a girl’s
Distracted by the women
With the dimples and the curls

By the pretty and the mischievous
By the timid and the blessed
By the blowing skirts of ladies
Who promise to gather you to their breast

Oh, hold me like a baby
That will not fall asleep
Curl me up inside you
And let me hear you through the heat

You have hands of raining water
And that earring in your ear
The wisdom on your face
Denies the number of your years

With the fingers of the potter
And the laughing tale of the fool
The arranger of disorder
With your strange and simple rules

Yes now I’ve met me another spinner
Of strange and gauzy threads
With a long and slender body
And a bump upon the head

Oh, hold me like a baby
That will not fall asleep
Curl me up inside you
And let me hear you through the heat

With a long and slender body
And the sweetest softest hands
And we’ll blow away forever soon
And go on to different lands

And please do not ever look for me
But with me you will stay
And you will hear yourself in song
Blowing by one day

Oh, hold me like a baby
That will not fall asleep
Curl me up inside you
And let me hear you through the heat

Et pourtant si douce

2010-10-25T18:27:00.002+02:00

بداركم مشمشة وبدارنا خوخة
يا شجرة المشمشة مالت على الخوخة
حاجي تروح وتجي من تحت هالطاقة
يا رب رشقة مطر والأرض مشتاقة

Imaginary Conversation

2010-10-25T05:34:00.003+02:00

"I miss you. Come back."
"But we just spoke for one hour, and we were just together a couple of days back."
"I know. I know, but I miss *you*."
"Hmmm.. okay, I don't know what to say."
"Nothing. I just wanted to acknowledge that I missed you."

INFP

2010-10-25T03:02:00.002+02:00

"Under stress, it's not uncommon for INFPs to mis-use hard logic in the heat of anger, throwing out fact after (often inaccurate) fact in an emotional outburst... They focus on the way that the conflict makes them feel, and indeed don't really care whether or not they're right. They don't want to feel badly. This trait sometimes makes them appear irrational and illogical in conflict situations."

lol

Do you think I can refute these claims based on hearsay?

Beurk!

2010-10-25T00:37:00.001+02:00

So, thanks to round-eyed Nunu, I can now be disgusted in French!

how cool..

Pessimism..

2010-10-21T23:05:00.002+02:00

Diwan Heliopolis

The upstairs cafe on a Thursday night..

A girl in her 20's sitting with 3 guys in their early 20s discussing some business or group of a sort.. I'm a couple of meters away from them so it is -as always- easy to eavesdrop. Apparently the girl represents some company that recruits salespeople who work from home and get paid only on commission based on performance by end of year, etc.. Something that sounds too fishy and slightly too good to be true.. For some reason, she is only addressing one of the guys. The other two seem like they are the guy's friends, but also like they are already in the girl's team somehow.

The guy -as all guys do- is trying to act 'fetek'. Like he is asking all the "right" questions, and what if this, and what if that, and what guarantees, etc. But it also seems he's game..

So in the middle of it all, I hear a sentence that was going to make me laugh out loud.

Girl: so, f aswa2 el zoroof, you will have 10 contacts.

Guy: tayeb, howa fee aswa2 men aswa2 el zoroof?

Girl: Enta motasha2em bardo?

I thought they called it aswa2 el zoroof for a reason..

des lettres qu'on ne poste pas

2010-10-21T16:58:00.006+02:00

"When that anger sets in, WRITE IT! Write the letters. But don't send them. You never want to leave concrete proof of insanity."

~ Jane Fonda

Software Ageing and the Single Girl

2010-10-20T08:57:00.001+02:00

So, while AN was studying for her midterm in Software Maintenance, she came across this one and felt it was too good to pass..

"....The software has aged even though nobody has touched it. It has actually aged because nobody bothered to touch it."

Fascinating how women are just like software..

The End of the Affair

2010-10-19T18:59:00.006+02:00

"The sense of unhappiness is so much easier to convey than that of happiness. In misery we seem aware of our own existence, even though it may be in the form of a monstrous egotism: this pain of mine is individual, this nerve that winces belong to me and to no other. But happiness annihilates us: we lose our identity."

~ Graham Greene, The End of the Affair

p.s. Can you smell the air in the photograph too?

Monochrome

2010-10-18T01:31:00.004+02:00

"I began dividing life in absolutes... Things and people were either perfectly bad, or perfectly good, and when life didn't obey this black-and-white rule, when things or people were complex or contradictory, I pretended otherwise. I turned every defeat into a disaster, every success into an epic triumph, and separated all people into heroes or villains. Unable to bear ambiguity, I built a barricade of delusions against it."

~ J. R. Moehringer

p.s. Thank you Nerro for the stolen quote.

Si méchante

2010-10-14T11:45:00.003+02:00

Paper Dreams escaping Surreality

2010-10-14T00:12:00.005+02:00

Soñar despierto no deja de ser soñar, no deja de ser maravilloso.

Ma Chèvre

2010-10-13T10:00:00.003+02:00

Few things in life make me feel as good as chèvre cheese does, one of my favorite gastronomical delights..

Crazy female hormones

2010-10-12T12:19:00.002+02:00

Testing for pregnancy in Llamas

"Spit testing". Bring the potentially pregnant dam (female llama) to an intact male. If the stud attempts to breed her and she lies down for him within a fairly short period of time, she is not pregnant. If she remains on her feet, spits, attacks him, or otherwise prevents his being able to mate, it is assumed that she is probably pregnant. This test gets its name due to the dam spitting at the male if she is pregnant.

hmmm... Or she might be just pissed at his attitude.

As Cosmo as it gets

2010-10-09T00:49:00.007+02:00

So, if you know me well enough (or if you are the poor guy working in Germany who gets me this from the airport every time he comes and knows that I prefer the British edition to the American one and yet never reads my blog anymore!), then you would know that I really like Cosmopolitan magazine. Not Marie Claire, not Company, not Vogue, just Cosmo (although I have previously on several occasions bought Vogue for the fashion content).

The question is "Why?".. Why would I like a magazine that 1) speaks fashion language to such a fashion-educated, yet bohemian as myself, and 2) positions men as the core of everything, even when they are empowering women, it is -in a way- to get more men.. Men magazines, on the other hand, mostly talk about gadgets, cars, and sports, and yes -sometimes- fashion and women.. but never in a way where it is imperative for their existence.

Answering this, I dont know.. I guess I just like the mindset and mood it puts me in, i like knowing whats up in fashion, and -I have to admit- the relationship articles aren't all shallow or bad.. in fact, in last month issue they discussed Female Genital Mutilation among African families in UK (never knew it was such an issue there)..

Interestingly though, I remember a few years back a guy commented that he found it really weird (and somehow disconcerting) that a single (or let's say unmarried) girl would read Cosmo, and that it would open her eyes to stuff that in our culture and community girls should not know about (namely the physical relationship aspects). Yes, Cosmo is to blame, because there isn't enough media around us to do that!

So, why blog about it? basically, because the secret I shared above was in this week's postsecret and it resonated with what I thought.. also, because it's one of the cool things I like about that crazy friend of mine but never thank him for, and finally, because it is one of the little idiosyncrasies that I have and my little shallow pleasures.

Requiem

2010-10-06T15:09:00.001+02:00

The crucified planet Earth,
should it find a voice
and a sense of irony,
might now well say
of our abuse of it,
"Forgive them, Father,
They know not what they do."

The irony would be
that we know what
we are doing.

When the last living thing
has died on account of us,
how poetical it would be
if Earth could say,
in a voice floating up
perhaps
from the floor
of the Grand Canyon,
"It is done."
People did not like it here.

~Kurt Vonnegut

Once upon a time in a tube

2010-10-05T15:52:00.003+02:00

"On ne revendiquera rien, on ne demandera rien. On prendra, on occupera."

Social Networking Wisdom of the Day

2010-09-29T17:52:00.004+03:00

"If I need to look at your pictures (and even more than one!) to remember who you are, then it was probably a bad idea to send me a friend request."

Objects in the rearview mirror are much closer than they appear

2010-09-26T03:24:00.005+03:00

"You are so terribly nimble, so clever. I distrust your cleverness. You make a wonderful pattern, everything is in its place, it looks convincingly clear, too clear. And meanwhile, where are you? Not on the clear surface of your ideas, but you have already sunk deeper, into darker regions, so that one only thinks one has been given all your thoughts, one only imagines you have emptied yourself in that clarity. But there are layers and layers -- you're bottomless, unfathomable. Your clearness is deceptive. You are the thinker who arouses most confusion in me, most doubt, most disturbance."
~Anaïs Nin, August 1932 "Henry & June"

The second time I refer to Anaïs and her H&J today, but well..

I find patterns amusing.. not always good/happy, but always amusing. Same time last year I thought about patterns, and then accused myself of jumping too soon to conclusions, of categorizing, stereotyping, etc etc.

This time I see them again, I can sense the air, and I find it cynical, this "self defense against self defense" as it was called by the other. But there is nothing I can say or do about it. Complaining, commenting, requesting, confronting, it won't get you any where. Ignoring, avoiding, denying, well it might get you nowhere, but it will get you there with the remains of the day, and the dignity..

Cute and sort of childish how I sound so serious and mysterious.. I need to go back to being the Scheherazade of storytelling... and I do have stories to tell.

--------
مرايتي يا مرايتي

راح أحكيلك حكايتي

قوليلي انو أنا

أحلى وحده فيهن

أنعم وحده فيهن

شوفيني وما تشوفيهن

--------
my space doesn't look like mine anymore! the color scheme and the post style, the pictures and the lyrics.... but it feels more like mine than it ever did.