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"People are burning themselves to change their presidents, and we would burn ourselves to keep our president"

I was never a person who enjoyed political conversations, and I was never someone who understood anything about politics, until one day I turned eighteen and lived in a country that was too involved in politics (Lebanon) and I faced an important amount of hatred against my country (Syria) . That’s when I first started enjoying any knowledge evolving around politics and history.

I started reading more and searching with the pain of the injustice, injustice because I believed no one can ever hate my country, why would anyone hate such a beautiful place, where people are friendly and sweet, simple and warm-hearted?

Since ever Syria was the place where people co-lived peacefully no matter their differences, religions, social beliefs. The diversity which coexists with the mutual respect that survived the ups and downs of the political world impresses me, and impresses anyone who ever lived in Syria.

Today the feeling of injustice found its way back to my heart.

 why?

-          Because it’s painful to hear lies all over the medias , and its even more painful when you see that the lies are spreading fast, and you are most certain that it’s all lies, because they are saying the internet was shut down in Syria to repress the people, while us (the people) are online reading about it and wondering wtf?

-          Because it’s shitty when you hear in the news that people are revolting and are all over the streets meanwhile you are actually in a café in the same streets sipping your coffee peacefully.

-          And the list can go on forever!

We are not any country, we are not to be manipulated, we are not this fragile! We (Syrians) are not a toy in the hands of spoiled foreign babies, we love our president , we love our government for it’s giving us the safest and most trustworthy land anyone would love to be a part of! We are never going to be impressed by any outside media attack! We are not repressed nor threatened ! and most importantly we are ONE! And no one can divide us !

So today I am going to kiss my feeling of injustice goodbye! For the cheap medias and the bullies are not ones to get to me or anyone in my country anymore!

Twelvy

Twelvy was a young girl!

Twelvy only learned to count till twelve!

Twelvy had twelve scars…

Twelvy stopped counting them at the twelfth

she only learned to count till twelve

Twelvy grew out of her twelve year old self

Twelvy remained trapped in a number

Trapped in a Twelvy twister of pain

Tomorrow!

The purpose of anything we do in life is not necessarily the result that comes up ! intentions are motivational and expectations can let us down by disappointment.

People always say and advise you to live your day as if you are dying tomorrow! So let me picture you going through your day like there is no tomorrow ! Saying all the things you have never had the courage to say, and doing everything you have been holding away from people out of fear/embarrassment…etc.

Making your biggest dramatic scenes and gestures, putting yourself in the most embarrassing situations without a slight single worry or care because….well, tomorrow is not coming!

And if I may continue my imagination, As soon as you finish all your heroic accomplishments and to your biggest Surprise , it’s tomorrow all of a sudden!!! Tomorrow actually came!

DUH! Tomorrow always comes, eventually! WITH or WITHOUT you ! even if you simply get hit by a bus on your way to buy cigarettes (or any other thing you had to buy) and you drop dead . Tomorrow will come.

More ironically…Tomorrow is your funeral!

 So live today  as if tomorrow was your funeral, think of all the people you would want to be there , all the things you want to be remembered for…and have a nice day….

متاهاتي

 

لم يعد في نفسي سوى متاهاتي ..

وتشابكت المتاهات

عقدت بتشابكها لساني …

وضاعت كل الكلمات

ضجيج الصمت يضنيني…

وصدى ذكريات فوق كل الأصوات

غيبوبتي ألمٌ شتت كل ما فيَ من حواس

وصرير الأنتظار أسكت كل الأحاسيس وجردها من الأحساس

ارتفع فوقها كدواء كاذب يخدرني بانتظار الداء

ويرميني جثة هامدة نائمة وأعينها يقظة

أأرحل من هنا فأرتاح؟ أم أن ألمي سيرحل معي أينما ذهبت؟

أأستسلم للنوم فأنسى؟ أم أن ذاكرتي ستزورني متنكرة بصورة الحلم؟

هل أخبأ وجهي من الوجوه اللأخرى فأضيع في زحام الأنسان؟

وجوه عديدة تبتسم لي فهل أردَ الأبتسام؟ وجوه غريبة تزدحم في رأسي…

وجه يبكي شعرته مألوفا” شدني اليه وقابلت دموعه بالابتسام

انها فتاة لا تعرفني وأشعر أني اعرفها …

انها تبتعد…لم أعد أراها…ضاعت في متاهاتي…

ايعقل ان لا أراها مجدداً

لقد اختفت…

كيف اختفت وكنت اراها كل يوم في مراَتي؟

Vicious Circles

          It’s this time of year when you look at all the empty pages of your diary (the same ones your promised yourself to fill with all sorts of wonderful things) and think to yourself “another year bites the dust” . But what the hell are years anyway? and why are we forced to perceive or lifetime in the shape of vicious circles that automatically reset themselves every 300 and something days?

well  i say fuck it! I will start visualising my lifetime as a linear continuity/infinity with no closure, no check points, no reset times,  no judgement days, no regrets, and no empty resolutions! The same goes for days/weeks/months. So it gets darker at night and brighter in the morning! So what? get over it already! There ain’t no such thing as “tomorrow is a different day” it’s the same line, the same continuity and it doesn’t need no full stops, no exclamation marks, and no pauses.

Not because i am a hypocrite and not because i am “OH, so cool!” but because i am simply and completely sick and tired of guilt checking up on me every now and then. Forcing me to look back as if i am continuously failing and underplaying my life!

……..as i am listening to Lene Marlin’s song “Where I am Headed” , and singing along :

 ” I pass by don’t dare to stop
When there’s someone I see
There’s no one here but me
I’m fooled by something inside my head
If I lay down now
I might seem kinda dead
Just keep on wasting time”

وشششش

وششششششش مثل تشويش الراديو كلما أردت أن أكتب سطراَ جديداَ في مدونة وعدت نفسي أن أجعلها شيّقة.

 يوقظني من الوشششش صوت فيروز الذي لا أحبه (عذراً من جميع محبي فيروز) وقد بدأت تغني ليس بطلب مني بل بحكم تسلسلها على البلاي ليست التي حلفت يميناً أن تحوي كل ما وجد من أغاني وأصوات.  وأجدني لا أقوى على إيقاف الأغنية  فيحاول الوشششش أن يعود لأذني لكن وبشجاعة مفاجئة تتصدى له فيروزاً وتلغيه وتسحقه بل وتصفعه وتربح هي متعة السيطرة على شريط أفكاري المزدحم.

أراقب وأسمح وأستسلم , ممتع هو الاستسلام لمعركة بين الوشششش و بين (قديش كان في ناس) . تخيلوا أنو فيروز بأيام الصحو ما حدا نطرا؟

طيب وفرضاً أنو هي ما حدا نطرا مع أنو أكيد هي بتحب تبالغ يعني عم تعمل شوية دراما لأنو لو ما عم تبالغ كانت على الأقل صرلا إنهيار عصبي ما كانت (عينا عالحلا والحلا عالطرقات) كانت تقوقعت وشعرت بالوحدة وما كانت حتى قويت أنو تغني غنية ما حدا رح يسمعا بما أنو أصلاً ما حدا عم ينطرا بالأساس.

لن ندخل الاَن في تفاصيل حياة فيروز اليومية (اللي أتوقع انها صباحية)ولا رح نحقق في مصداقية مشاعرها التي فرضتها علينا منذ الصغر. المهم هلأ انها قضت على الوشششش وقالتلي أنو ما فيا شي إذا أنا كتبت باللغة العامية طالما الست فيروز بجلالة قدرا عم ترندح بالعامية ومع عدد لا بأس به من الأخطاء اللغوية الممتعة لأي شخص متلي يخاف من أن يغلطله بشي فتحة أو ضمة.

ما بعرف إلى أي مدى منتأثر بحنين لصوت على قدما يمكن يزعجنا على قد ما بنفس الوقت بيسرقنا من الوشششش وبحسسنا أنو الماضي والحاضر شيء واحد لا يتجزأ وأنو العمر والسنين والأيام هي وهم وحيلة لتنظمنا ولتاخد منا  اَخر ما تبقى لنا من انسانيتنا التي مهما كبرنا وتطورنا وفهمنا وعرفنا لن تسمح لنا بنسيانها ولن تفسح لنا مجالاً كي نعيش كالإنسان الاَلي مجردين من الشعور والعاطفة.

خلاصة الكلام : لا تكرهوا فيروزاً علها خيرٌ لكم وياما ورا كره فيروز ذكريات كرهنا فيروز كرمالا بغض النظر عن ما ان كانت فيروز صادقة وحبابة أو منافقة وشريرة.

 

In Search Of Humanity

                          It all started when I first saw what I like to call “the lonely lady” , The lonely lady is a gravestone on a deserted village road in northern Syria. In spite of the many cemeteries in the area, this gravestone is completely isolated, it caught my attention and haunted my sympathy for quite a long while.  Thus why I decided to dedicate the first blog entry of my blog in an attempt to immortalize this stranger  , who once was breathing and walking just like the rest of us humans.

Death is not the opposite of life, it’s not a symmetrically inverted picture of our existence. Dramatizing death and seeing it from a poetic angle doesn’t only mean discussing it, but accepting to insert it as a continuity in our existence logic.

The Dead is like music, like echoes of fountains that once existed and left their sonar presence on stones and places. The dead , is a continuity , it’s unique , irreducible to numbers and it exists. This dramatic dimension in perceiving death brings along a valorization of places, architecture and graves.

 The grave is a place  marked by human existence, marked by life, the cemetery must be concieved as the city of the ancestral dead, and the limitation of human life in the cycle of nature. The constructed grave then is the foundation of architecture, at the same time it’s a sign of the limits of individual life as well as human continuity through time , as us, the descendants, visit the cemetery to contemplate our own mortality.

I am aware of the gloominess of this very first post, but again, I am happy because  “the lonely lady”  has been somehow honored.