Existential Ramblings

Quite particular cravings of mine

2010-12-16T18:03:00.000+02:00

I need

A breath-taking new year's, however farfetched it seems to be
Home/self baked toll-house cookies
A Parisian adventure

Taken by Sondos El-Faramawy

A good book
A certain relaxation beach

Inspiration

It's not much to ask for... is it?

But the comeback is a depressing one;

2010-11-01T13:16:00.002+02:00

A preliminary conclusion:

I'll never make it.

A falling star fell from your heart...

2010-07-31T13:04:00.001+03:00

...And landed in my eyes.

It is cosmic.
It is contagious.

It is perfection... embodied in the shadow of your heart.

It is all the imagery I might have one day dreamt of capturing on film. All the scenes that should've belonged to people who are not me. Who are not us.

...And then life came along, swooped us up and the tide brought us to this bank of unfound magnificence. And "niceness". And good music. And beautiful movies. And a bright world...

...and everything I ever wanted to be.

The Rules of Life

2010-06-24T16:38:00.000+03:00

By the time you hit 22 (or 21 if you've had a head start on life) your 24 hour days would/should probably be split 50-50 between your home and your office.

12 hours here. 12 hours there.

Anything else you need to do during your day or night will have to take up time that is originally dedicated to either.

This is exactly where your life choices are concieved. That's how you put together your priorities.

Time won't let you go..

On the 20th of June

2010-06-20T20:09:00.001+03:00

I sat in my office next to my window. The wind blew, and the hot air outside seemed to penetrate my insides although I sat completely protected. The tree leaves rustled.

I sat on this chair in the midst of my scattered papers. I listened to this song and realised...
I truly am in love with love.

For the first time in a very long time, my heart is stuck in my throat.
Oh have I missed you...

2010-06-17T12:56:00.002+03:00

I need to learn to be quiet.

"I am the war of Head vs. Heart"

2010-06-03T14:18:00.000+03:00

And it's always this way...

I heard it resonate

2010-05-26T15:11:00.005+03:00

Don't you just love it when...

2010-05-26T11:45:00.000+03:00

...Life sneaks up on you with a big surprise in one hand and a heart in the other?

It's all good

The Truth (III)

2010-04-28T17:18:00.000+02:00

I don't mind waiting.

That's What I've Always Done...

2010-02-03T12:32:00.004+02:00

I've been an avid Dashboard Confessional fan since I was 15. I cannot begin to describe their geniosity, all that can be done is listen to their music.

Listen to their music starting with Hands Down (my all time favorite), Stolen, and all the way down to Belle of the Boulevard and you should get a sense of their brilliance. There is no official video for the track I've posted yet, but the music and the lyrics say it all.

Dashboard Confessional genius

Personally, I've never done anything else. And I'll continue to do that right this instant too, because it only takes a small word, a small sentence or a small gesture to change eveyrthing that's been in the making for months. In the end I'll always blame it on the changes.

As much as I like living my "right nows", as much as I'd really really like to fast forward 3 years in to the future. You know... just to check where it's going and if things would ever fall into place, or where I'd really end up in that time.
Suddenly, I feel 16 again saying that... and listening to Dashboard Confessional... and not making a shred of sense.

Say Hello To The Real Thing

2010-01-25T15:38:00.002+02:00

Photo taken by Mehdi Slaoui

Just wanted to post the real thing. The real tremendous view. This is it during dusk, as beautiful as the Nile river could possibly be. The photo itself is taken by a colleague (and friend!) of mine- he went ahead, got himself one of those nice big cameras, and started taking pictures, that I have to honestly say are pretty good.

I suggest listening to this today.

And Finally, Winter Comes Home

2010-01-20T14:54:00.007+02:00

18th floor balcony, 10:09 pm.
Tip of the Island; perfect view of the Nile where its branches reunite.
I stood there and I let it all rush in: It was magnificent.

It was cold and it was windy and it swept my hair in all directions.

The shiver that fleeted by my body brought back many memories, the scents attached to that temperature made me dizzy from all the things I knew I craved, and the scene I had my back turned on caused a slight smile to form on my lips. I can't quite explain it, but it felt like winter had finally come home. And it came home exactly when it should've.

There I was

Even though it's almost end of January, we -the Cairo people- hadn't yet witnessed the cold season. This week, the visiting rain that cleaned out our air and the fast dropping temperatures we hosted in the evenings, constituted what could possibly the one honest-to-God winter week this year.

I actually wouldn't mind if there won't be any more "winter weeks", because I know that on that particular day in that particular week, the portrait that I had become part of made me happy. I knew where I am, and where I wasn't any longer. I knew what my options are, even if I do not know which to pick. I knew who I am, and who I would definitely like to be. And I sorta, kinda knew with whom I'd like to share it with.

It's been an exhausting couple of weeks, but the calm content they have bestowed upon me is unimaginable. It is spectacular how one can be introduced to a whole new world they didn't know existed. And to be guided to its door step by sturdy hands. New people, new perspectives.

And there is still more to come. As long as you're ready and willing it to come, it will.

Today's Lesson: Content and Satisfaction 101

2010-01-11T00:29:00.006+02:00

Beauty

Today I learnt that:

Things will resolve themselves if I let them.
I need to breathe. I should take a moment to do that, there's isn't anything wrong with it.
It's okay to ask for help. Most probably it will help, even if it explicity doesn't, it'll help me know what doesn't help.
Motivation comes from the outside as much as it does from the inside. When I allow myself to be motivated, others will be willing to motivate me too.
I shouldn't be so anxious to leave. The more I want to leave the more I'll be devastatingly stuck."Let it be", enjoy your time and the time will come to pack up and go.
Happiness loves company too.
There isn't anything better than wanting to share with a loved one. Even if I can't reach them. At least I know they exist.
Brilliant ideas come when I least expect them. Like when I've been working for 10 hours straight and can't see infront of me.
When the hot water goes out, I should realise that this is the cue to leave. But only after the cleansing, wakening, clarifying, freezing water touches my skin.
Beauty will always be in the eye of the beholder. Even if that beholder isn't me.

Letters to Existence

2010-01-09T01:28:00.002+02:00

Ici

A 17 year old I used to know once wrote:

"I feel envoked to walk this path and go through with it. Like the endless night-time roads that make me feel at ease, only this one has a stop. A stop that may decide whether the road really is endless.

My heart swells and soars at the mere thought of the future. My future. And it bursts when I think about the seconds that have passed, not by me, but through me. Do I notice? I do. I do during those nights when -astoundingly- everything is so clear yet so confusing. When I lose touch with everything but feel so in tune with the world. Where does all that faith come from?

I seek more. Not out of selfishness; out of eagerness. Out of passion."

Brilliance

That 17 year old was me.

The Truth (II)

2010-01-06T10:59:00.001+02:00

I am scared.

This Morning, Last Night

2010-01-04T11:53:00.007+02:00

Did I ever mention I have a Death Cab T-shirt? I do.

I got it from a thrift store when I went broke in the US. It didn't bother me the slightest that this was owned and worn by someone else, on the contrary, I was surprised someone let it go, not matter what had happened to it. I like it. I wear it too. I washed it a couple of times before I did that, but I do wear it.

This is my this morning and it is my last night.

The Tahrir Square Siege

2010-01-03T01:15:00.006+02:00

Those up to date with Egyptian news would probably know that during this past week there have been intensified tides of protests and marches by Europeans, Americans and a few Egyptians/Arabs washing over the country. The point of their protests? The "Egyptian-Isreali" Gaza siege.

Personally, I only found out about this entire "current event" when I myself witnessed the "event" itself "currently" taking place across the street.

It was a regular work day. And by "regular" I mean frustrating, seeing that the typical tasks I've been assigned recently mostly entail trips to governmental institutions all over Cairo, in order to request data and official papers. Anyone, anyone, who knows Cairo the least bit would know that this entails the following: ugly traffic, ugly bureaucracy and ugly sizzling weather in the middle of December.

That day (31.12.2009), it seemed like the world was making me pay for the kindness it had been offering recently- traffic was a living nightmare and it took me about 45 minutes to move 100 meters downtown. As imaginable, by the time I got to the next traffic light I was practically banging my head against the steering wheel. But then something caught my eye and I had to stop doing that. No, it wasn't the staring guy in the next car; it was more of what was going on on the sidewalk next to his car.

They finally revealed themselves to me. The reason behind my misery. The people who unknowingly almost entirely ruined my day. The protesters and the security forces tightly surrounding them.

It took me a couple of seconds to realise what was going on. After it sunk in, I immediately thought three things:

"I'd like to murder every single person behind my getting stuck an hour and half in one block"
"This is emotional"
"I should take a picture"

The first thought disappeared about a second later, as a consequence to the second thought that actually brought tears to my eyes.

Personally, and in all honesty, my interest in the Palestinian issue is limited and relatively irrelevant. The issue has so many sides to it, is so protracted, and depressing to think about to the extent I actually trained my mind to not care about it that much. I do have opinions though on the Egyptian position and policies concerning the Gaza situation though, and they can be summed up in that I am totally with the government on its decisions to build the wall across the border and to block the borders last January (issues of sovereignty, territorial integrity, weapons smuggling and Israeli ploys are only some of the points I would bring up. However this is neither the place nor the time).

But you see what got to me right then and there, when I saw what I saw, was not the topic they cared about, it was the fact that they cared about something to begin with. That they cared so much they organized themselves, booked those plane tickets, flew all the way to Cairo and stood in the face of security forces with genial faces and determination in their hearts.

Now that is humane. That hones my faith and belief in humanity. It tells me that even though so many act like robots a big part of the time, human feelings, emotions and collective care do exist. That brought tears to my eyes.

As for that third though, I acted on it immediately. I fetched out my phone from my bag when I realised I do not have my camera on me, operated the camera application on it and started zooming in for the picture.

As I snapped it, a man in civil clothes yelled from across the street. I didn't bother at that moment and I didn't even begin to consider he might be yelling at me. I was two lanes away! Turns out I was the target of the loud words he produced, and when he noticed I wasn't even going to look at him, he decided to make his way through the sea of traffic and reach my car. He forced his head into my window and started talking.

""يا انسة، ممنوع التصوير"

"ليه يعني؟"
"هو كدة، ممنوع التصوير. ممكن يأخذوا التليفون منك"

"أيوة بردو ليه؟"

"هو كدة، دي التعليمات"

"تعليمات مين؟"
"تعليمات مدير الأمن"

"هو فين ده؟"

"بقولك ايه، اخلصي أحسن..."

"خلاص خلاص متزعلش نفسك"

And I took off.

Yes, I was totally playing dumb. I did know the dude was an informant, but I just wanted to see where this could go. My mom, on the other hand, thought it was the stupidest thing I could've ever done and almost forbade me from going out ever again. They say things could get ugly. They say in situations like those, things could get out of hand. They say those people wouldn't care what I look like, who I am nor where I'm from.

I don't know about that, they seemed rather tame to me.

The picture that created a "security" issue

Counting

2010-01-01T04:40:00.002+02:00

Check

It's been so long since I last sat in bed counting the seconds. Yes, I'm counting the seconds and no, not till new year's; it's already the 1st of January here. It has been for the past handful of hours.

My newly found optimism scares the crap out of me. Especially tonight. But there is this small tiny feeling in my gut that keeps nagging and nagging: "be optimistic it's worth it, be optimistic it's worth it".
We'll see about that. Till then, I'm just going to keep counting the seconds.

Now listen to this.

The Forbidden "L" Word

2009-12-31T11:21:00.004+02:00

I've been on a diet for some time now. I've been refraining from anything even remotely related to that word.
To my utter surprise this sorta, kinda made my heart pop. I didn't know I can react to things like that anymore. I'm going to presume this is a good sign; that I do in fact have a heart, not just some metal machine pumping blood through my body.

See this photograph here

For the sake of the forbidden "L" word (and humanity too) take a look at the post. Your heart might dislocate too for a minute or more. Especially if the quote used applies to you.

"Most people have a harder time letting themselves love than finding someone to love them." - Bill Russell

As cliche and super cheesy as it sounds (and looks), we have to admit there is a portion of truth in that.
The rest of the blog post linked to here is as heartbreaking as it is inspiring.
Read it, reflect on it and listen to this.

Doubt and Decision

2009-12-29T11:48:00.008+02:00

Damn you Jason Mraz, for making so much sense.

Even though I've been keeping myself out of the blogosphere the past month up until yesterday -due to many irritable blogs that just make my blood boil- this man's blog was just too difficult not to keep updated with.

The fact that he's an internationally renowned artist (genius musician I say) and still blogs almost twice a week and allows people to comment on his posts, just blows me away! Respect, respect, respect.

His topics are genuine, they're humane, they're thoughtful and they make you feel that other than the fact that he has a gazillion fans, deep down there, he's just like you and me.

It also seems like he's out to get me. While my previous post had a mini rant against new year's resolutions and all the hype that goes with it, he posted this. Now, I'm still a 100% convinced that new year's is overrated, but I have to admit I can back off a little and recognize the fact that this is a begining of a decade.

In a decade, you will be grown up and moved out, possibly married and a parent of your own. In 10 years, our planet’s population will be almost double what it is now while the possibility of losing your own parents are even greater. The food demand will almost-certainly still be supplied by a military-industrialized system while our armed forces will either be assisting and rebuilding the world or adding more fuel to the fire. No matter what age group or demographic you’re in, 2010 is now and you are its generation.

That's just the tip of the iceberg.

It's my generation at stake here. We're going to be held responsible. We aren't kids anymore- I'm 21 for God's sake! Who saw that coming?!

I don't know about the getting married and having kids part; it seems highly doubtful right now (ha. ha. ha.), but oh dear do I know about the other big and small messes we'll have to manage. I believe in the power of possibility too Jason, but I also believe in the power of responsibility. It's scary.

I still won't come up with a list of things I will committ to doing for the year (nor for the decade for that matter), I know I won't follow through. But what I will do is two things:

Take pride in the fact that I actually admitted I might be wrong, and that I opened up my ears and mind to someone else's take on things
And I'll committ to being committed to daily resolutions that encompass not only myself and my tiny life on Earth, but also to my country and to Earth itself.

I will not hinge my life in the next year or 10 on one night, I'll hinge it on every night.

How about that for grand decisions?

Two Thousand and... Oh Give Me a Break!

2009-12-29T01:47:00.009+02:00

I refuse to be the resolutions-forming kind of girl. I won't waste an entire week of my life thinking of sassy, witty, creative "new year's resolutions" that I'm bound to forget about a week later. It's a week like every other and time is precious.

Once a year we celebrate a night that takes us into a new year. We have this absolute conviction that the New Year will bring us happiness, that we'll change our lifestyle, that we'll lose weight, that we'll fall in love, that we'll be successful and independent. God bless man's forgetfulness; to repeat the same night and same mental routine year after year. I say "we" because, up to this point, I am a part of it. But that is no longer.

I'm a part of last year, I'm part of next year, I’m part of every year to date. Every year is a part of me.

A friend told me a couple of days ago "if you can't beat the system, be part of the system"... or something like that anyways.
I laughed it off at first. It just sounded too... preach-y. But then I gave it second thought this evening. I've never tried to fight the system. I was born different, and I did my absolute best to systemize myself ever since. Excuse me, but I think I've succeeded to an extent- at least I'm capable of humor that other people actually get.

Freak the system.

Self-righteousness is unbecoming. I am flawed. Seriously and in all the ugliness the word could imply: flawed. I hate it, I accept it, I do not brag about it. At least I try not to- I can at least admit that.

Borrowed from Postsecret

My graduation was on Thursday the 24th and it was to be one of the most signifcant events of my life. It was absolutely amazing to be there in cap and gown. My older sister was in tears the second she saw me step out in the march. Her tears brought tears to mine, only then did I realize how major it was. The excitement, the day, the rush, it flowed through my veins; I was high on "graduation-stacy". Yet the second my foot crossed my home's threshold, the bubble burst. It was imperfect, it was unsatisfactory- it was not what I expected. I ignored it and moved on. Just like I did my high school prom.

Actually when I think about it, I'm rarely ever satisfied. That's one more very common human flaw (duh?). Some people get over themselves and learn how to be contented and fulfilled, and some people fail miserably. I can safely say I'm with the second group. I'm not satisfied with the job I have even though I like it plenty. I'm not satisfied with my financial situation. And I won't even begin to discuss my personal life.
Will I ever be satisfied though? Do I need to be? Or does this come automatically with ambition?

Another friend snapped me out of it for about two seconds though: "saying that you lack inspiration and achievement is just lame, you just achieved something you sought for the past 18 years: you're a college graduate. From one of the best schools too!"

Eye-opener, while it lasted. But it has its repercussions.

Achievement is engraved in the depths of me. "Demotivation" is a big recurrent word in my dictionary, but "quitting" is nonexistent.

She's the mommy, she's the sister, she's the motivation

A third friend whom I truly do appreciate got me a new truly fantastic book (that my mother started reading before me. So much for the concept of "property"!).

As I sat and stared at the book's cover and smelled its -then- unread pages, I made a grand discovery: I am not in the least bit interested in writing a book. I do not care about seeing my name in bold on a book's spine- I've already done that. I'm not one with fiction-writing talents either. Not the least bit. And I do not have a certain message that I'd like to convey to the world that I cannot articulate through my blog. Not that anyone would read a book I write, people barely read my blog.

There is a saying in Arabic "من يطلب الولاية لا يولى". He who asks for authority, should not be given authority.

Based on those exceptionally wise words I theorize the following: who ask for fame, should not be given fame. Fame, power, authority and all other similar concepts are consequences, they should not be targets. Does that sound too self-righteous? I apologize.

I have my eternal inspirations. I have inspiration that pops in every six months. I cannot be brought down -intentionally or not- for long. To a lot of people's misery, I do re-surface.

(Again this is someone's secret as much as it is mine)

And that is all I need to know to go on.

The Truth

2009-11-29T13:01:00.001+02:00

Nobody cares.

Part-Timing My A**

2009-11-25T13:35:00.000+02:00

I have no idea why I'm in this office right now. No seriously... no clue! I also have no idea why in heaven and hell I volunteered to come in the office today... what an idiot.

I'm supposed to be a part-timer. I'm supposed to work 3 days a week. Felxibility is good, stupidity is bad.
But I always try to get some sort of kick out of it anyways. So..ahem.. right now, in stead of working on an introduction to the hugest presentation I had ever seen in my life and in stead of working data on (yet another) excel sheet, I decided to watch Glee! My new absolute favorite show.

Glee!

Into good music, highschool retards, outrageous slushie-smacking and a whole load of perfectly delivered lines by an ex-army-hitperson-horse steroids-consuming cheerleading coach? Watch it! Just let me say that this show isn't for everyone, this kind of show isn't in the grey area at all either; you'll either love it, or you'll hate it.
You have been warned.

Pop Tarts and Their Mystical Powers

2009-11-19T14:36:00.002+02:00

I walked very casually into the Quick store. Just browsing, nothing more.

Their vast array of imported sweets, candy, snacks and cereal proves to be irresistably tempting more times than not, but after much effort and wasteful money spending, I had finally taught myself how to resist the irresistable. So now I just walk in very casually, buy a pack of Egyptian made gum for 1 pound 75 pt and just as casually walk out. This time, however, something happened that made the system I had programmed myself on go haywire. There it was, sitting innocently on a shelf was a box of pop tarts... not just any pop tarts: S'mores Poptarts!

Now, I'm not a poptart fan or anything; wrapped toaster baked thingies don't really get to me; it was the word "S'more" that did me in.

20 pounds later, I walked out of there with a memory in my pocket.

here

First time I tasted s'mores was almost a year and half ago during my first ever All-American camp night and I have to admit they were sensational. Who could ever say no to fire roasted marshmellows sandwiched between biscuits and melted chocolate?

S'mores American National Holiday!

Recipe with a "Skinny" twist

That specific camp night is one to be cherished, not only for this exquisite introduction to what may very well be the most delicious dessert on Earth, or the magnificent view and open greenfields I have never seen in my life before, but also for the spectacular introduction to fireflies!

Lake Elmo

Like most people I've heard plenty of stories and songs about fireflies, -mostly about how people try to catch them and put them in jars- so when I first saw some light blinking about 2 meters away from where I was sitting after night fell on the camp sight and the camp fire was almost out, I had to blink twice and register what I just saw. However, seeing how "out of it" I was at that moment due to a sever case of s'mores-over-consumption, what I registered was that someone was walking the distant trail with a flashlight and that they weren't 2 meters away at all, more like 200.

...not very bright with too much chocolate and marshmellows in my system it seems... it took me at least another 5 minutes and 10 more blinking fireflies to realize what I was looking at.

Getting up ever so slowly, I walked closer to where they were.. or at least I tried. Fireflies are mischevious creatures, they flash their fancy lights, and just when you think you know where they are the go dim and reappear 50 meters away, how on Earth people manage to catch them still baffles me to this day. The thing is, the more you concentrate, the more you can see them; you could be walking right through them while immersed in a conversation with someone and you won't even notice they exist, but if you're out there in the wilderness with the soul purpose of finding them, you'll find them every where you turn.

After some chasing, I decided to stop. Watching them dance around me was beautiful enough, there was no need to waste so much energy and breath in trying to catch something better left alone: wild, free and provocatively stunning.

And in that I learnt the most important lesson of my life.

Borrowed from Postsecret

The poptarts didn't taste so good afterall, but the forgotten memories and lesson were definitely worth every piaster..

To Learn and To Label: Venturing Into Delta

2009-11-18T01:00:00.003+02:00

Almost a month ago, I -finally- found a project-based job that I consider to be appropriate for someone aspiring to be a respectful economist; I'm now part of a team working on a development plan for one of Egypt's new yet run-down cities (to me it isn't just a worthy job, it's one I could've killed for, for many many reasons; working with a multinational highest-ranked consultancy firm being one).

In addition to some economic research, analysis and reviews of ~~442~~ 638 pages of strategic development reports, this new job requires that I sometimes make short one-day business trips outside of Cairo, usually to Delta region cities, seeing as it is the main region we're concerned with.

Delta Fields (pictures I took)

Now, as an upper-middle class young woman who was raised in Cairo and has only ever been to the beaches and tourisitic cities outside of Cairo, having to make business trips to cities like those in the Delta was a huge step outside of a certain bubble I grew up in... not to mention of course an enormous step outside my comfort zone.

First time they asked me to go? Almost cried trying to find an excuse to get out of it. I didn't want to travel 2 hours by car to some rural, run down city and I definitely did not want to go meet a bunch of old Eyptian bureaucrats who'd most probably regard me with disdain seeing as I'm a woman with no scarf on her head covering her hair.

End result? I found no excuses. I ended up going. I also ended up enjoying the experience, the exposure, the ride, the company and the lunch we had on the way back.

The second time I was asked, it was a different situation and a different city and it was by far more intense than the first. This city is one of the biggest cities in the Delta with almost 200,000 inhabitants and being the capital of the governorate.

I called every single sane person I know trying to find only one who would tell me not to go and not to waste my breath even considering it.

...

I ended up going after all; my curiosity peaked one hour before we were supposed to move out and as usual it had to be satisfied. So again it turned out that I enjoyed the experience, the exposure, the lessons learnt, the ride, the company and the lunch on the way back even more than the first time, even though admittedly this time I sensed a certain odd vibe from officials and people on the streets.

A gas pump on the side walk... right next to a qahwa!

(Our French co-worker made fun of me for acting like a tourist and taking this pic)

The whole city is one big informal settlement

Last time they announced an upcoming trip to that city? I was all for it. I wanted to go. I needed to go. I knew I would learn more if I go, I knew I would have a chance to discuss things about my work there and I knew that I could have had a lot to offer in the discussions and findings because I know I worked hard preparing for it.

End result? I never went.

This specific business trip included -among other more important meetings and discussions with officials- piloting a quantitative survey. In plain English, we would've had to walk around the city and ask random people specific questions that we need answers to.

What happened? Well...I got a phone call the night before:

"I don't think you should come along with us this time, even though we really need you there"

Why?

"Because we'll be out on the street, and it wouldn't be safe for you"

Because I'm a girl?

"Yes, and not what people there are used to typically seeing"

Typically?

"You see... your hair isn't covered and you significantly look like you're from out of town...and that might attract unwanted attention."

Unwanted attention. Interesting what young female Egyptian aspiring economists can be labeled as sometimes.

** Links are from wikipedia (which is shameful) but no other website has any info on any of those places!

Lame John

2009-11-11T12:57:00.001+02:00

At the age of 12 my mother handed me down 2 Beatle's tapes. Having been bought in the 70's and survived almost 3 decades, I guess it's safe to say they're vintage.

(Bad image but it's mine!)

I still listen to them daily, and I still sing along with every single song. Honestly, you can't help not sing to those ballads. The songs are short and to the point, usually with the same verse being repeated over and over and over, so it isn't that difficult to know every song by heart.

I had a friend in the car one day as the cassette played and she made a comment that immediately rang truth: "those songs are made for simpler times and a simpler world".
Well... it isn't entirely true seeing as the Vietnam war was underway, Japan was still going through its post A-Bomb reconstruction and Egypt was still in a state of War with you-know-who and had just witnessed its greatest defeat at their hand. "A simpler world" isn't really the right description, but we get the gist of the comment: musical tastes were simpler and music itself was more to the point.

Take the song Michelle for instance: who on our planet today could ever get away with a song in which the chorus says "I love you, I love you, I love you" in the cheesiest way possible? Some might... but I doubt they'd win a Grammy for it and I guess it would hardly ever be the 42nd most played song in the world.

Rumor has it was John Lennon who suggested this "I love you" bridge to McCartney (who was the mastermind behind the song that was intended originally as a slight mockery of the French Rive Gauche culture that was taking England by storm).

Oh John... how lame!

(better image)

Never Mix Sheep and Mental Notes

2009-10-17T17:32:00.001+02:00

Don't you just hate it when you're itching to write something and its just. not. coming. to. you.? I find it quite despicable. What's more sickening is how often it happens to me.

The bigger problem is, however, when all the inspired ideas and topics gracefully arrive in the middle of my nightly ritual of counting sheep. All day I rack my brains out trying to tame the words and compose the structure with no sucess, and then I actually get a decent idea with the right formulation of words in the middle of the night?! Outrageous!

All the same, I try to get around that problem through the masterful utilization of what is generally knows as "mental notes". See, I always had the strong belief that mental notes are better and more comfortable than real tangible ones; you do not have to go through the hassle of finding a piece of paper and a good pen that actually works in the middle of the night, nor keep looking for that piece of paper the next morning for at least an hour before you give up and eventually find it a month later in the middle of a stack of rubbish you were about to throw out. Mental notes are simply easier and better: you just tell your mind to remember it and there you go, the thought/idea is safe and sound.

I absolutely completely believe in them... I even test myself every once in a while to prove it.

I focus real hard on a specific moment so that next day when I try to remember what it was I was thinking about, I can easily trace it back from that sole moment I focused on. After many self-tests and trials, there appeared to be one hiccup in the "mental note" plan: 8 times out of 10 it doesn't work.

That does not mean however that I ever learnt the lesson.

So last night when I was hit by a wave of inspiration as I watched the pretty sheep jump the fence, I decided to make a small mental note to remember whatever genius idea occured to me and to not to forget to put it down on my green book's slightly yellowed paper the next morning. But of course to no avail. I woke up with a vague recollection of an idea and of my constructing a mental note. What the note said however had completely vanished from my memory.

Allow me to illustrate:

1 sheep. 2 sheep. 3 sheep. I hate not having good ideas. 4 sheep. 5 sheep. 6 sheep. 7 sheep. They're pretty jumping that fence, thank God they don't lock sheep up in zoos. 8 sheep. 9 sheep. 10 sheep. 11 sheep. I can't find anything to write about. 12 sheep. 13 sheep. Ouh animal abuse is a good idea. 14 sheep. 15 sheep. Or maybe how some people like to use overcomplicated words with no real point or substance. 16 sheep. 17 sheep. That's a good idea I should remember that when morning comes. I won't forget. 18 sheep. 19 sheep. 20....

*Poof* the idea is lost for good.

Hmph. That darned sheep ran away with it.

And That Applies to Blank White Pages Too!

2009-10-15T14:45:00.000+02:00

I've gone white. I think it's more healthy. And besides I've always made it a point to reflect my inner and outer states in everything I do.

Right now I'm trying to be healthier: I always wear at least one white item rather than the mainly black clothes I'd been more fond of the past year, I work out, I keep in touch with people I want to stay in touch with, I'm making the kind of friends I'd like to make, I'm sticking to my roots, I sleep early, I wake up early and I'm not keeping myself too busy all the time.

I think that last one is the most important of them all; if I keep myself too busy most of the time...well... I'd never be able to do any of the previously mentioned things, the same way I haven't been able to for a really really long time.

So.. I've gone white.

A Nation-Wide Lack of Demand... for Economists?!

2009-09-27T11:08:00.000+02:00

As I go round that last roundabout my mind is racing. Quite furiously too. I park quite randomly, violently pull the hand break, get out of the car, slam the door shut and stomp up the stairs. Apartment door effectively slammed, I barge in on the woman carrying her child putting him to bed and that’s when the disbelieving wrathful rant begins.

Really, even though she saw it coming, my sister could not have possibly done anything to prevent this. Neither could have my 3 month old nephew. Even with all his attempts at distracting cute smiles and gurgles. The rant had already started on the way home in my mind and it needed to get out into the world.

I had just come out of my 3rd job interview and even though that’s not a big number (…more like the tiniest number of interviews I’ve heard of recently) I was starting to become quite frustrated with the state of the labor market. No wrong ideas please; there are plenty of jobs available and plenty of firms and companies recruiting and hiring, unlike what most of my graduating class expected, but my frustration is a symptom of another quite unexpected disease. My frustration stems from the fact that there seems to be quite limited room for poor ickle aspiring economists such as myself in this supposedly booming economy.
Now thus far I have not been able to delve into studying the matter deeper and I may as well end up terribly mistaken, but I cannot help this ugly impression right this instant…

I think accidentally ending up interviewing for one more marketing and sales job when I at first had the distinct impression that the office I was interviewing at was actually involved with coordinating between private and public sectors for the sake of the greater good of Egyptian welfare and the Egyptian economy did that for me. Hmph. Let’s just say that’s just 5% of the rant my mother and sister and friends and family and anyone on the street who is showed the tiniest interest had to bear.

With all those marketing and sales jobs out running about looking for someone to get them done I began to wonder what in heaven and hell are all those people selling and more importantly: to whom?! Everybody seems to be selling something to someone, and I really cannot help the disbelieving resentful facial expression I’ve been wearing around. Because honest to God, I thought before looking for people to sell and market –sometimes- non-existent (and quite “developed country” like) products to quite delusional buyers*, this market would be looking for qualified and willing people to help develop the effing non-existent structure the economy is supposed to be operating with.
Has this attempting-to-be-“free market” been like this for a while? Or did I have higher expectations than supposed?

I guess part of the problem will always lie in the fact that public institutions and offices will always say that they’re looking to recruit fresh blood that would bring in new ideas and help get out of that ridiculous rut resulting from the stupid bureaucratic details, but in reality do nothing about it.
I don’t blame them a 100% (“them” being the highly qualified personnel working the public sector). I only blame them for the part where they don’t try to put themselves out there and start respectable organized recruitment campaigns. They don’t even check their HR emails for heaven’s sake. How else can a fresh graduate with high hopes and ambitions get her resume in to the director in charge? I bet we all know the answer to that one don’t we?

But let’s not be unfair, there are those public institutions that successfully surpassed all the unmistakable faults of the public sector and evolve into the perfect “private-structured public institution”; the Egyptian Competition Authority (ECA) being one. At least I’d secretly like to believe that, and please, even if I’m wrong this time do not correct me.

There are of course different things that economists can do that would not require them to completely stray off their intended course: may it be financial analysis, working the securities and investment field, research and academics (I willingly count marketing research as one of those fields, because it admittedly does require a certain amount of economic background) or conducting highly economic feasibility studies for private sector projects.

All the same, do those few sectors and the few opportunities they offer and provide suffice? Can they possibly absorb the almost 2,500 economists graduating economists per year? Can they help encourage high aspirations for fresh graduates and supply them with sufficiently challenging environments that are needed in order to ensure that the ranks of “crème de la crème” students remain as such and not be drowned with the routinic down slope of the working life? Have I been successful in concealing my overflowing disappointment?

I recognize that not all the graduates from my school and the other private schools offering majors in economics are looking specifically to work within the specified fields of economics; some of them don’t care what they do as long as they do something, anything. Others don’t mind drifting into the banking sector, or the advertising, marketing and sales sector I have come to despise… but that’s their conscious choice to wander off from the field they’ve supposedly been preparing themselves for for 4 years.

It’s not my choice… and may I be damned I shall not give up. And no nation-wide lack of demand for economists shall come in my way.

At least I hope so.

* I understand that marketing and sales could involve material physical products as well and I have no problem with that, but the fast growing market for abstract products and services is becoming quite the problematic issue. At time the fact that products could be abstract helps in completely wrecking the concept. That is in the likes of “convincing CEOs to sponsor attempts at creating conferences and events in different and multiple areas of economic interest with the façade of the economy’s greater good but in truth just hoping to inflate both our egos and our bank accounts”.

They Lied! Mosaic Is Much More Than Just Pretty Art.

2009-09-05T03:27:00.000+02:00

We’ve all been told stories growing up, whether they were bed time stories, stories of princes and princesses relayed as cartoon, stories of suspenseful and quite lame vampire fiction as teenagers, or the more drama-filled stories we read as adults. The one thing in common between each tale we are told of is this: they all have just one story in its folds. One hero, one heroine, one happily ever after or one tragic ending. Those protagonists had a story told about their lives. One story.

That’s exactly where the story tellers lied. And that is one heck of a lie; it is so immaculately weaved to the extent that we get systemized to it since the youngest age possible and then we can hardly see the problem with it when we grow up… until it hits you straight in the face of course.
Taking the lead from those nice fairy tales we admired so much as kids, we all tend to think of our life as just one big, really long story that we might be able to tell our grandchildren when we’re 75 and slightly senile. Fiction is one thing but in reality this cannot be farther from the truth. We might be able to tell those little brats things, but we won’t tell them just one story; we’ll tell them stories.

So how did I come to realize this very obvious yet quite elusive grand charade that I and most of the people I know are living? Well… It did more than just hit me in the face; it tripped me over. But then its light and breezy consequences lift me up right away.
I’ve spent almost the entirety of the past 21 years searching for my story: looking for the perfect prince, the perfect kingdom and yearning for the perfect ending (and of course timidly fearing that fate holds an ugly one for me instead). At some point I was quite sure I found it and that this was IT!
….
Okay… I lie; at multiple points of my life I was quite sure that it was it! And every time it slipped away the sadness set in instead and so did the disappointment. I always felt entirely thwarted whenever something ended and I reprimanded myself for being so deluded as to think that “it was it”, because it so obviously wasn’t! Every time I promise myself I’ll be wiser next time and more careful, and that I’ll judge the situation with a more mature perspective, only because I cannot afford anymore bad aims. Time was running out and I needed my story. I needed it when I could still call myself young… those were always the nicest stories.

It was not until the few days before my birthday that it hit me. Seeing as I was turning 21 during the holy month, my thoughts were less fixated on the big party that would not exist and more on what the past 21 years meant. The more I thought about it the clearer it became: I’ve done everything, I’ve been everything, and I’ve been through every kind of story line known to Cairo. I failed miserably at finding something that I feel I had missed out on so far!

I have so many stories to tell about the things I’ve been through to the extent I am sure I could easily write an entire series of books and still won’t run out of tales. And through simple math, I recognized that I’ll still have more stories to tell as the years go by. That could only mean one thing: I should not be looking for “my story”; I have plenty already and there is more yet to come. It’s all about accepting the idea that this so called “one big story” –that is actually none other than “life”- is actually compromised of small miniature plots and subplots that may, or may not, have their own little consequences on the future ones. The trick is to treat past stories -whether comedies or tragedies- as compost to be used to feed and nourish future ones.

The implications of this realization -to me at least- are “Major. Huge!” as my mom said the night I turned legal. Now that I have finally caught that lie red-handed and now that I fully understand the “mosaic theory” of life, I quiver with anticipation at the prospect of the next story... or the one I’m already inadvertently in the middle of.

Robert Fisk: "Cockroaches" Is what the Israelis call the Palestinians

2009-07-31T01:31:00.000+03:00

No matter how many times he had declared his escalating dislike for Egypt or for the Arab's midieval and ignorant perceptions, I still have to admit Robert Fisk is one of the few political literature geniuses of our time.

His most recent publication "The Age of the Warrior", which is a compilation of most of his recent coulmns in the Independant, is not only a satisfying read in terms of its rightfully biased political analysis, but it has also proven to be highly entertaining in terms of writing style and linguistic construction. Although only a handful of pages through the book, I have long decided that his approach to both analysis and language are ones to learn from and emulate. Ever since the preface really -where Fisk deliberately and systematically clarified the origins of the name of the book- I had decided that Fisk should be a role model. And I has also decided that my writing and perception should be upgraded with the assistance of those columns that make The Age of the Warrior. That decision ultimately lead to one of the most surprising and personal decisions I had taken in my career thus far; to continue writing seriously and eventually take that up as a profession.

Ever since I got over my ambition to become a spy when I was 9 (thanks to Harriet the Spy and the Woman who Disappeared), I wanted nothing else than to become an author and a writer. Writing since that very young age was one of the few cures to my wounded soul or my overly excited heart... it grew through time of course, rather than simply keeping a silly little diary, I had ventured upon more serious attempts at writing fictional stories with characters. Only when I failed to please my own taste did I decide to write only one page short stories. And after that failed to pass my editing and re-editing and re-editing, I began to write about the simpler things in my life; the ones I know I would like someday to remember and to be remembered by when my grandchildren come across them.

But I think the day for self-authored notes about oneself has passed, and I think the day has come to discover a new dimension to my capabilities as an editorialist or a columnist.

Still, as wonderful as all those conclusions and decisions may be, I remember that haste only leads to impatience. And impatience eventually leads to quitting. And quitting ultimately leads to self pity and wallowing. So, there is absolutely no reason to jump in with both feet just yet; one toe is quite enough.

I'll know when I can take myself and my new perception to writing and analysing seriously; it is when I can find the links between literature and current events and most definitely it is when I can come up with ingenious metaphors such as the ones Fisk uses in his book... you know... something that would match the greatness of Fisk when he says: "...Israelis leaders have variously beastialised their enemies as 'serpents' and 'cockroaches'. Pardon? What on earth does that mean?"

I need to send this man a thank you postcard for making this wonderfully outrageous point!

Harry Potter Lessons: What Was, What Is and What Will Be

2009-06-06T02:04:00.000+03:00

I started reading Harry Potter again. Yes, from the very beginning.
Flipping that book open and seeing my mother’s note on the first page was in the true sense of the word overwhelming. I felt like I was being pulled back in time to that moment when I first saw it; when she first got it for me.
It’s something to walk down memory lane in your head. It’s something else to start really wandering about it.

I don’t really know what made me pick that book out from my bookshelf that’s literally filled with tens of books I have not yet read. Maybe it is the fact that I’ve been stumbling along relics that belong to the same day and age as that book; things and people that belong in the past… more specifically: that belong back in 1999.
10 years ago. That number is utterly stupefying. I never thought I’d actually live that long. I didn’t even know back then that 2009 was even possible! And yet here I am, 20 years old, alive and well. I remember how the future was unknown; how I didn’t even know where I’d be in the next 3 years and who would be my friends. I remember I took it one day at a time, because –let’s be realistic- I wasn’t going anywhere. I most probably would be in the same school, around the same people, with the same friends. Why would anything change? There was no reason and no seen catalyst for change, there were no complications. Honestly, I liked it better that way.

Now, 10 years later, I’m in the same position, however with a different outlook. I do not know where I will be in 3 months, let alone 2 years. And there is one thing I can take for granted: nothing is predictable; literally everything can change. Everything.
That’s why they call that age of 10 the age of innocence. So little worries, so little surprises. Most of the time it all goes as planned, because more or less, our parents plan it for us, and they always make sure it goes through. It’s sweet to watch that old film that is my past and smile at how at how small, innocent and simple I was and at how I knew nothing and -most of all- at how I now know all the things I wanted to know back then. It’s sweet… except it has a slight bitter taste to it; it hurts just a little bit to be so bluntly faced with how much I’ve grown up.
Yet no matter how bitter it may be, it gives me faith in the future and in destiny. See, at that time, 10 years ago, I had no knowledge of the Prisoner of Azkaban, the Goblet of Fire, the Order of the Phoenix, the half blood prince or the Deathly Hollows. I would’ve died to know; it was so exciting and so intense with every book that came out and every new note my mother wrote me. It consumed 8 years of my life thinking, contemplating and building theories about what is going to happen at the end. Now here I am, knowing it all and so confidently rereading it all.

So I guess the lesson learnt from rereading Harry Potter is that even though I may feel intimidated and ignorant of what is going to be, at some point in the future, I will be confident and knowledgeable of all that was. Doesn’t mean my curiosity is satisfied though… it never is. But I think I can afford to be a little patient, because I will be there for the ending after all and no matter what it is won’t I?

A crazy Mathematician you say?

2009-04-02T22:27:00.000+02:00

"People who are crazy, do not wonder about being crazy... therefore you are not, in fact, crazy"

There are two reasons this line got to me:

It's quoted from a movie about a crazy mathematician.
I sort of got one last assurance that I am, in fact, not crazy.

I discovered after watching that particular movie, that movies revolving around crazy mathematicians and their life's work actually fascinate me. And digging a little deeper into that feeling that overwhelmed me while watching it, I began bit by bit to find out why.
I have always been intrigued by the fact that genius -yet crazy- people who end up being the central characters of a movie are mostly and usually mathematicians. The more important reason behind my fascination, is their frantic passion for work, research and study; the way it is portrayed in a movie has always fueled my own ambition and zeal, that I had never succeeded in even beginning to take advantage of or apply in real life.

The main thing that always held me back from applying my potential for constant work that might lead to age-defying miraculous breakthroughs? Fear.
Fear of failure. Fear of impatience. Fear of loss. Fear of realization that even if applied, it might turn out to be a string of inadequacies and washed up thoughts.

I have always been convinced that I am in deed not the smart person some people (mostly or entirely my parents) like to tell me I am. I know that this is why I do not even try to experiment with my capabilities or potential. Because most of the time I just tend to come out as... let's just say... the antonym of the word "winner"... not matter how hard I try to rid myself of that result and that label.
I have to admit though, most of the time, it had been a self-granted label. I have never allowed any person the chance to name me as such; no one would be allowed to insult me in that way. Only I am allowed to label myself as that. Only then would it not be a humiliation. I jump to the opportunity whenever its scent presents itself; just to make sure no one sees it first.

The problem then occurs when I return to a state of soberness. When my system and veins are rid of all the intoxication that fills them. All the fear. That is when I begin to doubt my being; my sanity.
Which human being would be sane yet not begin to try to test out their full potential? Which human being would be sane yet back out of the competition just because there may be a 1 in a 100 chance they fail?

I think -contrary to what the voices try to say- millions. Even zillions.

I believe that more people than I think get scared everyday of facing something that they may very well be capable of doing, just because they are not strong enough to face themselves and their minds if they fail.

And let me just add a note to that thought: that no matter what it actually is they (we) do not face, it is a competition.
May it be becoming a parent, or studying for a test, or applying for a position, even if it is about facing a fear of closed spaces. It remains a competition. Human beings by nature (yes let's all face it) are competitive beings. No matter what we do, we compare ourselves to those around us. No matter what they do, we compare ourselves to them. We wonder if we are the best, or if there is someone out there that is going to do it better. And in some cases, we may never know.

I have been there, I have done that. And I shall never know.
With all the fear I have bottled up in my lungs and gut; with all the failed attempts to try, I have once reached a state of soberness for long enough that I got myself into one of the toughest challenges to face me in my life thus far (one grander than this blog about which I had once written: "I probably should not be pre-judging this newly-found trial arena before I even begin my attempts, but something tells me it won't not really work and the purpose would yet again be unfulfilled" and which I almost abandoned and let go of, if not for one spell of soberness).

How I came out of that challenge after its time had elapsed is a controversial topic. It, however, taught me one thing and brought out one question.
It taught me that no matter how much we try to deny its effect: Karma is a bitch. And it will get you every time, there is no place to hide and no where to go.

It also made me wonder the extent of instability and craziness that has overcome my constantly functioning mind. One day I'm up and letting go of all the problems and social dilemmas my life is facing, and the next day I'm six feet under because of them. Some things, some issues, as minor and insignificant as they are eat at me and feed on my insides. Deprive me of sleep and make me wonder at what my darkness calls "my incompetence" and what my sunshine calls "my modest triumphs".
So... am I? Am I crazy?

Well... since I started wondering if I am... I guess I'm not.

Recommended Movie: Proof

Recommended Song: Dream Catch Me- Newton Faulkner

Black Book Snippets

2008-09-27T02:44:00.000+02:00

And I "wept for the end of innocence, the darkness of man's heart, and the fall through the air of the true, wise friend".*

I should have read this enamoring book whilst yet on the journeys that have taught me much and little at the same time. The comprehension that has been set on my mind, after four fragmented and hesitant days of reading and lack of such comprehension, has truly clarified the importance of such compilation of metaphoric thoughts. A compilation in the form of a book of life and of reference.

We weep for the end of innocence from the moment our eyes behold the light of every day and throughout every moment from then. And certainly we have wept the darkness of man's heart over and over during the fleeting minutes we felt a shared sorrow. At that moment the room became whole.

I am inhabited with the rooted conviction that these thoughts are not only mine, and that in fact a "we" is more appropriate than an "I". As simpleton-like I could sound, and as exhausted and over-credited it is, my conviction flows unobstructed. For once I do not dignify the judgments of "simplicity".

Further than that, as human and emotional as those words sound and look, they also connect to a more real moral that the author has dared divulge: "The shape of society must depend on the ethical nature of the individual and not on any political system however apparently logical or respectable"*.

Such a powerful and daring moral behind a story. Just a story.

Ironically enough, I am interrupted by the infamous debates that might very well determine the future of a country that believes in the logical and respectable system. And this moral rings even further truth in the light of that timely interruption.

I wonder if they have ever read that book carefully, maybe then they would have been more aware of their assured utterances.

I also wonder at the perfect opportunity that this moral and quotation could have offered us, but unfortunately had gravely missed us. This moral becomes most appropriate to the reflections we pondered and searched for some time.

As needed as this moral was at that time, it has been far more needed by this faithful reader, thinker and believer.

Finally, the summation of a brief learning expedition found crossing my path in the midst of heart wrenching times. Finally dawn has been cast upon my mind through the dust and fog, for I had lost the entire purpose and all the conclusions that had come to me as spontaneous as life itself. I had lost it all on one flight "home".

But again the interpretations of this witted comment are as endless as its implications and consequences. It is a study in itself. A study of human behavior and of its attachments and efforts.

Its importance comes in the strings that attach it to the lost innocence of man and his dark heart. Has the digression and distraction from the fact that society comes down to the individual lead us to the lost innocence? As we forget, and as we put our faiths in abstract ideas with -admittedly- little foundation, we stray from the most simple and obvious idea. Society is the individual. The individual defines Society.

Before their arrival, it was Eden. After mankind, the shattering of civilization, the death of wisdom, and the proliferation of sadistic acts of murder seem to take over this once observed heaven. A degradation from civility to savageness; to the times man had thought he had escaped long ago.

Those who learn the secret? ...They die grusome deaths by the hands of their own societies.

I try; I struggle against the urge of reflection on our own societies, and "their" societies.

Yet, I do not fight the questions: Who becomes Jack Merridew the savage hunter barely recognizable since his birth on their isle? Who becomes Ralph; the believer in civilization; he who defies the temptations to the darkness of the hearts... he who mourns the loss of the true wise friend with the broken specs?

I fear the unknown answers.

I do not fear, however, the realizations nor the true colors that come to life basked in the sun's glories.

... I finally recognize the subjects of my adoration. Tell me about my life, read it out line by line, and I shall tell you more about my treasure hunt.

*The extracts used for quotation are from "Lord of the Flies" by "William Golding", which coincidentally becomes yet another recommended reading.

The Great Path to Nowhere

2008-09-20T02:09:00.000+02:00

I think it's healthy to have a billion thoughts running through one's head. I think it's brilliant to know that none of them make sense.
I think that's how you know you're a genius.

Those who said that in the midst of a defining mess one finds one's greatest defining path, obviously knew more of their share of the world than they should.

That however does not mean that I do not have a serious correction to this statement. One in that case may truly find the "great path", but it should be made clear that the path is actually located in a completely different dimension than the one that is actually a mess.

One's life is nothing but a combination of dimensions; some intertwined, some not. Some intersected, some completely separate. I can only see it as a really complicated solid geometry diagram: planes X, Y, Z and L scattered around the paper, teasing me while I try to make sense of it all.

There is a personal life, there is a public life, and there is the life in between. The life that they see, that they barely sense, that they sometimes accidentally crash into. To each dimension its layers, its own routes... it stops making sense after a while... doesn't it?

No matter how long I try to think about it, it still confuses me. I still cannot get to the bottom of it, and I still cannot decide what to decide. My mind is never organized nor systematized enough to do that. I lost the highly required "since, therefore" process with freshman year.

What I do know is that when I realized the mess that is one of my layers, the others instantaneously cleared themselves out ahead of me. They formed the paths that call out in their highest and brightest notes.

But, it's never as easy as it seems, the trick is to find the way to those paths; to find the key to escape the closed box that is in a state of total destruction and travel all the way to the cleared out road that is waiting for those specific pair of feet.

All that effort and all that determination that are needed need to be mustered. They need to be engraved in the memory for good. It happens often that as one walks the road to their end, they lose focus and the original plan. The shiny distractions by the sidelines are too difficult to overcome as they become torturous temptresses that continuously haunt the soul.

No matter the clutter, no matter the disarray I should always keep in mind the ends that have always been mine, and the inspirations that have always reignited the fire beneath the skin.

I think this is such a mess; it becomes the perfect embodiment of my being. As dizzy as a daisy in a London storm.

And in response one more of my trusted friends says "Life is full of nonsense anyways. Who says everything should make sense"

Such Great Heights

2008-09-09T01:08:00.000+02:00

Is it okay to feel sadder about other people's memories than one's own because one wants to belong "there" more than one wants to do so "here"?

An uncompromisable friend 4 time-hours away unknowingly gave me one of the most valuable moments of clarity I have encountered as of yet.

Old Shoes saved for a road that never was... and never will be..

I look at it the same way I used to look at those Picasso paintings in the museums in France. I slant my head to the right and then to the left. Then I just gaze at it.
I know where it fits in my own life. Perfectly. But from one angle, it looks like an incomplete sentence. From another it looks like a perfectly fine one because the whole point is about realizing reality. A third angle shows me affection towards things that will never be, but if only they could be. Upside down it may look like a cow eating strawberries.

I begin to wonder how different people from everywhere would interpret it. How would it fit in their own lives. In the middle of my interrupted sleep I can almost hear the unuttered whispers of those who are going through their own transitions and their own moments of angst. Maybe they're going through their boxes-filled-with-treasure.

Ironically enough, at the same time I think about those kids that are -again- 4 hours away having to say their goodbyes. The ones that are moving on with their lives. Or at least still trying to.

Recommended Music: Drop In the Ocean- Michelle Branch
Life In Technicolor- ColdPlay

Curiosity Killed the Cat 9 Times... And the 10th Did It In

2008-09-08T20:33:00.001+02:00

I am the person who can not survive without elaboration.

Take away all elaborate descriptive analyses of life and I suffocate... and maybe die... just like a little gold fish... you know... the pretty ones that have a 3 second memory span?

Ever since I was a little girl, this has been my game and this has been my mind boggle.

I remember when my mother used to tuck me into bed at 8pm every evening. And I'd ask her to tell me something. Anything. So she just thinks of something random and that is when my favorite game was to begin.

I would ask her "why?" Just like that. No matter what it was she was saying. So being the good extremely patient and easily entertained mother that she is, she'd try to give a sensible response that would be comprehended by a 5 year old... as if that would satisfy. Another "why?" follows the first response, and then a third "why?" follows the one before. Needless to say, it goes on and on until she decides enough is enough and that mommies cannot explain everything in one night.

I think when I was that age -and as far as my memory allows me- I was only curious about things that are much more complicated and sophisticated than the minds of kids with 8pm bedtimes. Things like God, and life and death. Things like wars, and military tanks and guns and things like "why don't they get the most powerful boxers or wrestlers from their countries and have a match and whoever wins then wins the war instead of killing all those people?"

Honestly... I just did not understand the stupid illogical logic that older crazy people were following. It's just stupid... wasting all those lives when it can just be settled by a simple wrestling match.

To this day I feel sorry for my mother who had to find quick satisfactory responses to even quicker and more difficult questions.

But then came the times when I can no longer ask someone that deliberate why.

To certain secrets of the world I have reached my own conclusion that has thus far kept me relatively patient. The only conclusion that has ever satisfied me was that human kind will -might- find out about God's great plan and all the secrets that come with it on Judgement Day. What Stonehenge is all about; whether the Loch Ness existed; what really happened with the Prophets; who the evil Pharaoh that chased Moses really was and whether I'm his descendant; and whether the Bermuda Triangle is really cosmically-odd or not, there is still a chance we will find out. Even if not. I calm my self with that.

All the same, by now, my habits and games have finally caught up with me. I cannot stop questioning and it seems it will never stop. I cannot stop asking others and I cannot stop feeling ashamed with every question I ask. The lameness and the misunderstandings that get to me each time. And every time I promise it would be the last time. But my curiosity towards my life does not stop. My need and urge to reach a target and to stay still there also do not stop. No matter how many times I convince myself that they have and that I have reached the epitome of all places to be, they do not stop.

I constantly feel the need to attain my own access key to others' minds and their thoughts. The reasons behind their thinking and their justifications are left unheard while there are those who ache to hear them. Because if they do they would finally find themselves or find what they are not. And I only find that when one is left unchallenged that that habit of constantly searching for elaborations gets one into "one heck of a mess".

....

The words feel familiar and the road feels even more so. My curiosity gets to me one more time; I interrupt this messy attempt to being relevant to the public and to finding salvation from my own twisted thinking in publishing it. I get up to open a dusty and worn-out black book. I find the exact words, phrases and sentences sketched out. I reach out for another, and it is the same.

For once... I finally see it.

I run around in circles for years on end with no absolution.

The first time I am awakened to the cruelty of the fruitless, targetless and lost hunt I have been on for the past 2 years, is the time I can no longer hide from it.

Frankly My Dear, I Don't Give a Damn

2008-09-02T22:21:00.000+02:00

Theme of the week... Or should I say Ferocious-Battle-Between-Even-More-Categorized-Concepts-Inorder-To-Decide-Which-Fits-My-Current-Status of the week?

I have come to realize that this entire blog is inspired by friends and the things they say to me that wake something up inside. Realizations that come crashing down on my head during all too normal and random conversations seem to have a greater effect than the speaker realizes, and I guess that only points to something in my own person rather than in theirs. I noticed that the way I look into often overlooked details and the way I analyze them and their effect on my life sometimes takes a greater portion of my waking moments than is normal to human beings.

Whether that is a good thing or not is debatable. By a lot of concerned people too I may add...

After the dust has begun to settle on the mess that was my life, I have begun to experience visits by an ugly and awkward three way tango; one that is indefinitely stumbling through its steps around my head in more way and form than just one.
The thing is, other than the fact that this entire past month has been nothing but one big agonizing pay check to fate in return for the extraordinary July and first 3 Augustan-days, it has also been a month of blasts from the pasts and quiet nights at home doing nothing but looking for "sharp clarities" and "certain truths". No worries though; It was not all gone to waste, but it did bring up some peculiar thoughts. I am beginning to doubt the supposed inarguable idea that I have gotten over particular tunes from the past, and as they pop up again left and right I begin to also find new definitions to their status in my life;

Let Go: v. to be aware of an issue that may become an obstacle in one’s path and to choose to drop the entire matter without giving it second thoughts to be gone with the wind. (Tara! Tara! … my apologies but I just can’t help it)

Move On: v. to be aware of such previously mentioned issue and acknowledge and accept its existence in one’s life and attempt to maneuver around it until it is brought up again.

Get Over: v. goes beyond moving on to indicate the person’s full recovery from the issue and the total removal of said obstacle from one’s life entirely, thus making its recurrent comeback a far shot and a rarity.

Call my crazy but I think this makes sense (why do I find myself saying this quite often? Have I ever said something that does not make sense? Doubtful..). And what is beginning to make more sense than ever is the fact that I have not gotten over anything at all; I've actually moved on from it all... And in fact I am actually welcoming every thing's return and all the sneaky visits I have been getting. Actually, maybe getting over all that would have been a big bummer because then I would not have been able to revisit the memories and the happiness or pain they brought me.

One's life is one's life. A person should never try to avoid the certainties and facts that are history. It is true that history is history, but -like Rafiki the Crazy Baboon says- how then do you learn form it if you try to ignore it?

Be that shining star. With all the melodies and all the shadowy pasts lurking in the background and all the lines and etches.

I've already tried to erase those etches, bumps and rough corners that identify a huge part of who I am and I've ended up being sore and bitter at what I have lost in the process; the conviction with who I am, who I've become and who I am going to become. There are many layers to a person and many dimensions as well, if we can't love them all; each and every one of them, with all their faults and perfect imperfections, then I'm sorry to say we aren't worth two dimes of the life God has given us. And if they can't love them, then I'm sorry to say they aren't worth two dimes of your time.

The moment you start believing in what people say about you... it's over.
Be that old sentimental fool who believes in life and opportunities; who believes in the world and its hidden treasures that are waiting to be found; who believes that life is as sure as the next plum you eat and hates it all at the same time.

They're going to love me for it, or hate me for it. And Frankly my dear.. I don't give a damn.

Recommended Movies: Go indulge and have a Disney marathon.. the lessons of life embedded in those are more important than in any self-help book known to man.

Recommended Activities: A scrap book or pin up your memories on a board

It Wasn't Too Late for Crepes Either...

2008-08-24T02:01:00.000+03:00

I planned to sleep at 10.
Around 1 am I started making a dozen of my very own delicious-special-recipe crepes.

Some people are stress eaters. I, on the other hand, am a stress cooker. Yes that's true. There is such a thing... and even if there wasn't then I just invented it. But the valid question here would be: What is there to be stressed about? Everything. But nothing at all.

I lay awake, insomniac; watching bad 80's movies just to distract myself from all the things that could be upsetting me with the world. Who on this planet hasn't done this before?

It's only healthy to start pinpointing the things that stress out the soul one at a time, deal with them, and then put them up on the trophy shelf next to all the other solved puzzles. So now that I have identified the structure of the most efficient and effective process of thought for the night, the task becomes actually finding out what is stressing me out. Which is a task that cannot be called neither simple nor easy... that's also why talking to people about random things helps.

I was talking to a friend (the same friend who says I have my nice plastic moments) and I realised one thing. I realised that one of my best chances at fulfilling a dream of mine - and of my mother's - as well had slipped by swiftly and unexpectedly, even though it had been there for almost 20 years.
My great aunt; my grandmother's sister, who was the eldest of her 9 brothers and sisters and who had the entire family story saved in her memory passed away on a hot summer night.

How does this have to do with the opportunity of my life? Simple. My mother's hope of me, and my own 10 year old dream is to put my family history down on paper as solid and documented as can ever be. That history that is so rich and so intertwined with my own community's and city's and country's history is attached to everything I am and everything that I hope to at some point become.

And I feel as though those generations of stories and anecdotes crumbled and fell in those moments when I heard the news. It all just flew by too that I did not get to mourn properly or to contemplate and reflect upon all of this... I tend to go blank and reaction-less when death's stench reeks and hovers around my soul... I only realise much later.

Another very humane habit that requires some scrutiny is being "too late".

How late is "too late"?

I prefer to believe that as long as the loss of a life is not included in the story, then it isn't too late at all. There is always time to catch up. To pick up. To fix up. There is always time... Only as long as one decides that is is already late enough.

What people need to start learning - and especially yours truly - is that its unhealthy to postpone and it is even more unhealthy to give up on things.

I shouldn't have to give up on my doing something amazing because those around me think I should focus on available resources. I shouldn't have to give up on my need to feel accomplished because people tell me I need to be more grounded. I shouldn't have to give up on world peace (only with a completely and utterly made-over definition of "peace") because of the fact that it has become a ridiculed concept. I shouldn't give up on reaching the people I want to reach just because they live half way across the world. I shouldn't feel like a total waste of space and breathing air only because a boy my age on TV managed to become a swimming hero never to be forgotten.

And most definitely I shouldn't have to give up on writing my book because of the passing of the most beautiful and brightest and most colorful woman I have ever known... She would have scolded me bad for giving up; she would've told me she is unimportant, that she is just one of God's creations, and that everything I need I would find in the rest of His creations.
No one should... It just needs a bit of effort and a plenty of support. Or maybe its the other way around.

No I don't want to battle from beginning to end; I don't want to cycle, recycle revenge; I do not want to follow death and all of his friends.

One more Infinite Abyss

2008-08-17T00:48:00.000+03:00

12 days 19 hours and 30 minutes.
That’s how long ago it was.

We just stand by and wonder how fast those hours just swoosh by. It can get absolutely ridiculous. Even then, those wondering thoughts crossed us, but for completely different reasons. They were more bittersweet than the ones I think right now. Now they’re as simple as the word “sad”. And Hurt... That’s another appropriate word for it.

What hurts most is that it is beginning to not hurt as much as it did 12 days ago… or 10 days ago… or 9 days ago. Some people say that forgetting is actually a blessing and gift from God to mankind. I say it’s both a gift and a curse. A blessing because one always needs to forget the ugly things that have happened in their pasts (insert a loud “Duh” from the crowd); in parallel, it remains a curse because when that disease of forgetting falls upon us, we forget about the pain that we feel when we part from loved ones, or when we say our goodbyes. Yes, it is healthy to forget about the hurt and pain, but who said a person – and I in particular- would want to be healthy and forget about the pain that makes them happy. If that's what it's called then so be it; I'd definitely rather be "unhealthy".

Yes, pain can make me genuinely happy. That is in the specific case when it is connected to people I love that I might never meet again, or to the times that in their turn caused genuine happiness.

It is difficult for me to not wallow about certain things and experiences in my life.

My mother tells me I should stop creating my illustrious and illusionary worlds that revolve around much simpler and imperfect concepts and people. But to me those will always remain perfectly imperfect.

In the words of Charlie the Wallflower, “I feel infinite”.

When I listen to those certain tunes that make every single taste, smell, graze, ray of sunshine, drop of rain, laugh, tear, heart skip and van ride flood back into my system. And when I breathe in just one very specific breeze, and when I am reading this exact page of that particular book and I remember everything that once was and never will be again; and that is when I begin to feel that beautiful pain and that hurt again; that is when I feel infinite.

I do sincerely believe that I have the right; the absolute right -without the fear of being committed- to feel this way about the reasons behind why things have changed so drastically for me. Because they have changed as drastically. And the new thing is that the implications of those changes and their consequences, are not within my grasp of control and… honestly? I do not wish them to be.
I have made yet another conscious decision (another of my self-found central concepts). It is the same as the one I had made just 2 years before: I’ll let the events of my life flow with no control.

Yep, that’s true; I’ll let them flow from the midst of the pain, the missing, the love and the bittersweet genuine happiness, without once trying to apply my chains of control that I sometimes barely live without.

If it’s a broken part, replace it. If it’s a broken arm then brace it. If it’s a broken heart…then face it.

I sat on the roof of our little Mediterranean chalet reading the book that revolves around the wallflower. It was around my favorite time of day; after the sun leaves mid-sky and right before it sets; exactly when it’s in 3 quarters of the blue that turns into the perfect tinge of orange. It needed a picture. But I knew that bothering to go fetch the camera was not worth ruining the actual moment. So… I let it be.

Luckily enough however, my cat had to escape me as fickle as she is. And I did get the chance to grab that camera and snap the just as fickle beauty. Maybe Fate likes things to go my way too…

Suggested Music: Details in the Fabric- Jason Mraz
That Green Gentleman (Things Have Changed)- Panic at the Disco

Suggested Reading: The Perks of Being a Wallflower- Stephen Chbosky

Suggested Movie: Garden State

Another Lame attempt at Genuine Happiness...

2008-08-14T02:54:00.000+03:00

I probably should not be pre-judging this newly-found trial arena before I even begin my attempts, but something tells me it won't not really work and the purpose would yet again be unfulfilled.
Most probably those voices again...Darn them can't live with them can't live without 'em.
Oh well!

I get tired of hearing people say "Oh you looked happy!". Of course I looked happy; I was happy. What do they think I'm made of plastic or something? I can be happy, I can be genuinely happy too.. because of course those are two very very distinct concepts.

Allow me to elaborate; being happy is an everyday thing; you meet an old friend, you have a good time or a good laugh in your own hometown, you play a game of monopoly, maybe you finally find a good movie on TV.
Being genuinely happy on the other hand..that's different. You cannot be genuinely happy all the time. It just does not happen. Genuine Happiness is a once-upon-a-time kind of thing.

That was the kind of happiness I found in a country for which I supposedly harbored all kinds of resentful emotion for. In the midst of all the circumstances that cannot be duplicated no matter how hard I try, I found love, I found bittersweet sadness, I found loud silences, I found overwhelming soberness and fragmented thoughts just the way I like it. My guess is..you most probably experience that kind of genuine happiness only away from your loved ones. Only when it's quiet and you do not have to live up to expectations..
Whoops..There goes another judgement with no foundation.

Call me crazy, but I just like to assume that what applies to me should apply to the entire world. Things are just better my way. I truly believe that.

So what caused that genuine happiness? Was it Breaking the rules? Meeting the people of the earth that made my heart skip? Finding open skies allowing for unlimited opportunities?.... Being alone again..?
I won't even try to look into those now... That needs a good book, some yoga and the beach.

Instead I think of all the unfulfilled scenarios that might have been in the case I had let that side of me that knows it does things best, really take full control. The ironic thing is, some people really do think I'm plastic... at least sometimes.
A friend told me a few days back "When you're plastic, you aren't necessarily nice.. But believe it or not, plastic gets things done. If it weren't for that, we would have never been able to get all that we did done". But I know it was not in full mode. Had it been in full mode, those 138 people in that room in that hotel in DC, would have seen something they had never seen before. Ever.
All those "peoples" that intimidate me and that have me fall in love with them over and over with their amazing capabilities, would not have had the chance to tell me "Oh but you were okay too!"
But then again, that's just the kind of people we are; we don't get things done like our potential would allow. It's how we're built. It's in our genes that we do not go out further than the horizon and explore our own limits. And that is the difference between us, North Africans, and my favorite people.

Okay, here's a good question: If that happened then and I was still genuinely happy, so why am I now "unhappy" (as lame as that word actually sounds and looks) and why is that something like that may begin to bother me now?

The fact that I am back and that I am no longer surrounded with the people and environment that had been associated with that specific kind of happiness makes sense. but also that kind of happiness -as had been derived earlier- is distinct and separate from the usual and normal kind of happiness that can be found...well..anywhere! If those are the givens, what are the conclusions?
It can't be just a classic case of Sktizo can it.. is it the other kind of longing? Maybe it's my usual nostalgia...

The thing is...I sincerely believe it has gone beyond that simplistic notion this time. Far beyond.