nice earrings

the first thing I noticed about her was her earrings. I really appreciate nice earrings, to the point that I believe they tell more about a woman's character and strength more than any other jewelry item. Much more.

So, I noticed her earrings, first on her, then on the dressing table.. several pairs of them.. all lovely, all catchy.. And I complimented him (as I didn't know her much back then, or now) on his wife's taste in earrings, joking that she wouldn't notice if a pair went missing by me...

She still wears nice earrings, but it doesn't matter now, for there is another who also does..

nice earrings, short dark hair, and big smiles. Patterns.

ordinary corrupt human love

"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

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?

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

في الشارع

Famous First Words

إكتئاب ولا انشغال ولا مجرد إهمال

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

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?

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

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.

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

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."

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

Silence

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"!

Nour

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.

overflow

"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

The Beginning of the Affair

“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.

Amertume

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

تذكرة بانتحار غير مكتمل

موت ثان


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