Tulip in the Desert

Letter From My Country

2012-01-24T14:38:00.000-08:00

My Dear Son,

They say that a mother’s heart never stops loving its children, they speak of mothers who used to be children themselves and who have only some children, but no one thought of a mother that has been a mother since she was born, a mother who can never be anything else and who has millions and millions of children, a mother who is as ancient as the oldest parts of history, a mother whose children never stopped to impress the world and never will.

Yes, I am your mother that you haven’t chosen and I love you even when you did not, for a mother’s heart cannot host anything but love for her own children, and even when you kept convincing yourself that you hated me and I hated you back, I listened to you and swallowed the pain in my heart, and a mother’s heart is like an ocean that has no limits for swallowing pain from her children.

I saw you without you knowing, I saw you as a silent child, very unusual, very serious and very lonely. I saw how you grew up into a silent boy, always asking questions and thinking of unusual things and I knew that you won’t be just another one of my children; a mother knows the future of her children even before they see it themselves. I saw you as a brilliant child at school and I was proud of you, I saw you hiding in your room reading and writing, I kept all your secrets for a mother knows how to keep secrets. I was very happy when I saw my love in your heart, when you used to go secretly to the pyramids and spend hours alone admiring the achievements of your ancestors, and always linking all that glory to me. Nothing makes a mother happy like the gratitude of her children. I wanted to hold you when you made your love for me your first email, when you used your knowledge to tell your friends about how great my history was, about how much you love me, and how your only dream was to travel only to come back and make me a better place.

And you travelled, my dear son, but suddenly something changed in you, you started to love yourself more than you loved me, a mother’s heart can deal with anything, this is true, but from you, it was painful, and if countries could cry, you would have made me cry for years. I saw you when you had your shock after seeing how your brothers and sisters are treated in that hospital you worked in, you blamed the government and decided to do something about it, and you worked on medicines that will make sickness goes away. But something inside you changed, the world and its glory distracted you, your passion for knowledge, your ambitions and your perfectionist nature did not allow you to stay as you are, the young man living for the dream of living in a better place that he is part of making. I saw you on your way to Paris and I started to feel jealous from the way you were looking at the country from the air, I knew you will compare and you will start hating me, and nothing kills a mother like when her own children compare her to another, more beautiful and more elegant.

I saw you walking in the streets, admiring everything, wanting to kiss every place and wishing that you have thousands of eyes, I saw the way you enjoyed drinking water from the taps and calling my own river that is as eternal as the universe dirty and polluted, I saw you on the airport crying, not wanting to come back. I saw your face disgusted from my air that you breathed for years without complaining. I saw your heart tied to another place and I was jealous, yes my son mothers feel jealous but I couldn’t do anything about it. I saw you deciding to live there, spending all your money on trips, enjoying the beauty of nature and cold weather, always comparing and I always lose the comparison. I saw you writing that love letter to Europe, calling her your mother, giving her credit for anything good in you, I heard you declaring that the day you get another nationality you will celebrate burning your Egyptian one. I saw and heard and kept all the pain for me, deep inside my heart. I didn’t deny you my land even if you couldn’t stand walking on it, I didn’t deny you my water even when you called it dirty and polluted and I didn’t deny you my air even when you said it suffocated you. A mother can never deny her son anything he needs, even if he doesn’t know that he needs it.

I saw that black plant of hatred growing inside your heart, leaving no place for any love for me, I heard you declaring it everywhere and to everyone, threatening those who love me that they will be kicked out of your life, calling them blind and sick, and denying them the right of love that you got rid of. As if you wanted me to be abandoned and secluded, like an ugly weary tomb that no one even wants to burry a dead body in. I heard you when you said that you wished if you could be denied to enter my land again. You hated me my son and I was silent, I waited for a mother has nothing else to do when her children hate her.

I knew that your heart couldn’t make a difference between what I give you and what some of my children do, you were unable to separate and you held me responsible for everything bad you see, you never gave yourself a chance to think that I might not be responsible, as if you wanted to hate me, for you thought that a clear decision is better than a confused status, you were unable to host the feeling of loving me and hating what is happening on my land. And I was silent as I have always been, because I know that I will not stay as you saw me, I know my children more than you knew them and I was just waiting for them to come back to me. And they did my son, and you were not with them, you made fun of them, you said that you do want the change but you were not willing to be part of it, you said that I didn’t give you anything so why would you bother even with your emotions, but I knew that this will change.

But the change came, and you were not part of it as you wanted. It came one winter day when you were in another city far away from my land, enjoying a better weather and a cleaner air, sitting in a café with your friend and making fun of those naïve people who think that they can make a change with some demonstrations, describing them as pathetic and fishing for self appreciation when the real change needs a leader. You preferred to make it more impossible to keep me imprisoned in the image you have created for me in your mind and give yourself more fixed grounds for hating me. But the change came and came only from those young, naïve and pathetic sons and daughters of mine. For few days your mind wasn’t able to capture what happened. Until that Friday when you were enjoying the luxury of your 5 stars fancy hotel room overlooking the great sea. And when all my lands were isolated from internet and satellite, you far away had all the access. You saw my sons and daughters in the square, you saw the water thrown at them in the cold of the winter and they never retreated, you saw the gas and the gun shots, you saw the cars smashing their bodies and you saw the brave men and women dying for me, yes for me, for what you have never believed in.

I cried with you my dear son, your throbbing heart beats were shaking me like an earthquake. Your tears were more precious than the waters of my magical river. Your face pressed against the window looking at the sea that separated you from me made me young again, for the happiness I felt when I had you back was long waited for. I cried with you my dear son, I felt your turmoil when you were locked in your hotel room, unable to come back to me, I felt how scared you were that your wish had come true finally but in the wrong time, for that was the only time you really wanted to come back to me. For the first time I heard you saying “my country” for the first time you said “Egyptian” whenever you were asked about your nationality and for the first time you were proud that you belonged to me.

And now you are back my dearest son, back into my land, inside my heart and I forgive you. My happiness with your return left me no place to feel anything else. For I am a mother and I will always love and forgive you like mothers do. No matter where you go and what you do or say, I know that you will always come back to me and snuggle in my arms, for this is the only place that will give you a home.

Yours,

Masr

Without Permission

2012-01-17T04:24:00.000-08:00

The past haunts her like wind, bringing back memories that come to her door and force it open. They enter without permission, and once the door is open she can never close it again... And the wind keeps blowing.

The Unexpected Visitor

2012-01-17T04:23:00.000-08:00

And if at any time death knocks on our door, I will be the one who meets him first.(Inspired by Ancient Indian marriage rituals)

Author Unknown

2012-01-17T04:08:00.000-08:00

In your eyes I found the story of my life, written by an unknown author.

دفء الأماكن

2012-01-13T03:39:00.000-08:00

سأتدفأ بك حين يأتي الشتاء وإن لم تكن معي. سألملم الذكريات وحرارة لقاءاتنا. سأجمع صوتك وأشياءا صغيرة تركتها بداخلي دون أن تدري. سأطوف بأركان البيت لأجمع بقاياك، سجائر محترقة مازالت تحمل آثار شفتيك، شعرات سوداء تساقطت منك دون أن تشعر، أشياءا مازالت تحتضن رائحتك. سأجمع كل هذه الأشياء وأصنع منها مدفأة صغيرة لن يراها غيري. سأسترجع صوتك وسأطيل الحديثمع الجدران الصامتة التي لا تكف عن السؤال عنك.

وعندما يأتي الليل سألف وشاحك البني حول عنقي وأخرج لأسير في تلك الشوارع الهادئة التي تحبها. سأضع نظارتك التي نسيتها عندي وأنظر إلى العالم لعلي أرى الأشياء كما تراها فأصير أقرب إليك. سأطوف بعيني أجمع آثارك حتى في الظلام. سأطيل الوقوف أمام واجهات البنايات التي تحبها، سأنسج سيناريوهات للقاءاتنا القادمة وسأدون أفكارا وأشياءا سأهديها إليك. سيظنونني تائهة لا أعرف أين أنا، لكنهم لا يعرفون أنني في رحلة معك. سيتعجبون كيف لا أشعر بالبرد، وكيف لا أرتجف حين تهب الرياح، ولماذا لا تبللني الأمطار. سأذهب إلى ذلك المقهى الهادئ الذي تحبه، ستحجبني الإضاءة الخافتة عن أعينهم ونظراتهم المتسائلة عن سر وحدتي وتلك الابتسامة على وجهي . سأطلب قهوتك كما تحبها وأقربها إلى أنفي ثم أغمض عيني وأستنشق رائحتها مثلما تفعل، ستتسع ابتسامتي حين أستمع إلى أغنياتك المفضلة والتي لا يعرف أحد سر حبك لها مثلما أعرف. سأسترجع بريق عينيك حين تحدثني عن تناغم الأصوات وتداخل الإيقاعات وكل تلك الأشياء التي لم أعرفها من قبل.

وحين أعود إلى بيتي سأجد الكثير لأرويه له عن يومي وعنك وسأتبادل معه الخطط والمفاجآت التي سأعدها لك. سأشعل تلك المدفأة الصغيرة التي صنعتها وسأجلس في مقعدك، سألتف بوشاحك وألملم أطراف ثوبي حتى يغلبني النوم.

سأرحل الآن لألملم دفئك من الأماكن. فلن يدفئني غيرك حين يأتي الشتاء.

One Hundred Things That Annoy Me

2012-01-10T00:10:00.000-08:00

In Random Order:

1- Summer.

2- Liars.

3- Melted cheese, any type, shape or form.

4- Tea with sugar.

5-Noise.

6- Closed places. I'm calustrophobic.

7- Loud music.

8- Underground trains.

9- Crowded places.

10- Deserts.

11- Too much light.

12- When someone interrupts me in any way or means.

13- Surprises. Yes, even good ones. Especially birthday parties!

14- Expectations, especially from people who know me very well.

15- Dust.

16- The marks that glasses or cups leave on a table.

17- Stopped clocks or watches.

18- Any inclination no matter how tiny it is in paintinges that are hung on the wall.

19- Red color. Yes, I might have been a bull in another life.

20- The Sun.

21- Sand.

22- People with bad memory.

23- People who thinks they know-it-all.

24- Religious people who follow without thinking, even in the basics of the basics.

25- Being preached, especially when it comes to religion, maturity or wisdom.

26- Being told what to do.

27- Politics.

28- Football, especially seeing its effect on people.

29- The way religion is used to manipulate people.

30- Jokes, and anything labelled as "comedy".

31- Metal, heavy metal, country, rock and roll music.

32-Greeting on face book, just pick up the phone and dial my number and say whatever you want to say.

33- Indirect messages, hints, signals...etc. Come on, be blunt and look me in the face, say whatever you want to say.

34- Over nice people.

35- People who are friendly to me when we have just met. Yes, the colder you are the better for me.

36- Being touched by people I don't know.

37- When people I don't like try to kiss me.

38- Bad breath.

39- Cigarettes smoke.

33- Pollution, air that smells of something. Air, should be odourless.

34- Stuffy places, I love air, fresh air.

35- Stand up comedies.

36- White light at home.

37- Stick incense.

38- Beggars.

39- Seeking attention in any way.

40- Speaking in public.

41- Being the center of attention.

42- Being judged by people who have no idea about me.

43- Power, and those who love it or reach for it.

44- The smell left in your hands after eating tangerine. It makes me throw up.

45- Police officers, just seing their uniform gets on my nerves.

46- When anything I'm watching or listening to gets interrupted.

47- Public transportations.

48- When people I love and care for forget my birthday.

49- When people who love someone expect that this person has to be loved by every single human being.

50-Not admitting mistakes.

51- Artichokes.

52- Mushrooms.

53- Plastic plants or flowers.

54- Writing on walls.

55- When people send messages to others through their facebook or BBM status.

56- Spelling and grammar mistakes.

57- When people expect that their effort to do something big should be appreciated even if they end up ruining the whole thing. No, I appreciate small effort done to have a full small thing, but not the other way round.

58- When people try to break the ice with me when I'm not ready, what's wrong with ice anyway?

59-The word sorry. Yes, especially when people think that it will erase whatever they did! Actions "might" be erased by actions only, not by a 5-letters-word.

60-Insulting my intelligence.

61-Telling me "you should love this or that", I'm sorry but the two words never go together!

62- Dealing with people as Gods, even prophets made mistakes, so please....

63-Spreading information without making sure of its sources.

64- Judging girls based on how they dress up.

65- Face covered women.

66- Any single word said to under estimate women.

67- Songs that don't rhyme.

68- Too crowded computer desktops.

69- Untidy rooms or places.

70- Disorder in any way.

71- Traffic.

72- Car horns.

73- When I cancel a call and the caller keeps dialling again and again.

74- When people keep pressing the elevator button even when its light is on, as if they will get it faster!

75- When people share personal things about them with me when we just met.

76-People who beg for sympathy, I get extremely cold and cruel.

77- Expecting me to pass things up, because we are close. It doesn't work like that with me, the closer we are, the harsher I am in my reactions.

78- People who keep repeating their mistakes.

79- People who are not punctual, by the minute. And I never accept excuses.

80- Asking me why I don't like something. I just don't.

81- Body smells.

82- People getting too close to me when we are talking.

83- Having to repeat what I just said.

84- Talk shows.

85- Abdelhalim Hafez.

86- Being expected to love everyone and anyone. I'm not Jesus and I'm not planning to be.

87- Curiosity.

88- Huge places or apartments. I prefer tiny small flats.

89- Anonymous messages. Just say who you are.

90- My Car.

91- People who love to victimize themselves.

92- Emotional black mailing, just seeing it.

93- Jumping into conclusions.

94- Too optimistic people.

95- Too pessimistic people.

96- Trying to get me out of my down moods. I love them.

97- Physical violence, even the simplest forms of it.

98- Horror movies, the bloody type.

99- Parties and social gatherings.

100- Reading this list and asking me "Really, so you don't get annoyed from this or that". No, I don't. If I were, they would have been in the list :)

ردا على مقال الدكتورة لميس جابر

2011-12-25T05:01:00.000-08:00

قرأت مقالة الدكتورة لميس عدة مرات وهذا هو ردي عليها وسوف أحاول أن أرسله لها ربما أهدأ بعض الشئ مما أنا فيه:

الدكتورة لميس ، قرأت مقالك بعنوان فلتسقط حقوق الإنسان. ناهيك عن عنوان المقال المستفز والذي قد يعد تهمة يعاقب عليها القانون في بعض الدول ولكن دعينا من هذا فنحن في مصر نتكلم عن بلادنا وأهلنا وليس عن أي بلد آخر.

إسمحي لي أن أقتطع بعض الجمل من المقال وأناقشك فيها بدون كلمات رنانة ولا إلقاء تهم ولا تخوين ولا ادعاءات، فأنا شاب مصري أحب بلدي وأرجو لها الخير حتى لو كان هذا الخير يناقض أفكاري ومبادئي.

ما حدث في الأسبوع الماضي في منطقة مجلس الوزراء ومجلس الشعب والذي أسفر عن مكسب حضاري رائع وهو حرق (المجمع العلمي) الذي هو أحد الكنوز المعرفية النادرة ليس علي مستوي العالم العربي ولكن علي مستوي العالم كله

إسمحي لي بالتساؤل عن مصدر تلقيب المجمع العلمي بأنه أحد الكنوز النادرة على مستوى العالم كله. وإذا كان بهذه الأهمية لماذا لم نسمع عن وجوده قبل حرقه؟ وماذا فعلت الدولة للحفاظ على هذا الكنز في السنوات الماضية وقبل الثورة؟ كم رحلة مدرسية اصطحبت أطفالنا لرؤية هذا الكنز؟ كم زائر أجنبي قرأ عنه في الكتب الأجنبية التي يحملها السياح ليعرفوا منها كنوز مصر؟ هل قامت الدولة بأي مشروع لترميم وتحديث وتطوير و أعادة إحياء والتعريف بأهمية هذا الكنز؟ أعرف مثلا أن المتحف المصري أحد كنوزنا بالرغم من حالته الرثة! أعرف أيضا المشروع الضخم لإاعادة إحياء قصر البارون لأنه أحد التحف المعمارية. أعرف عن تجديد شارع المعز وترميم المساجد القديمة وغيرها أما المجمع العلمي فعذرا لجهلي ولكني لم أسمع عنه إلا بعد حرقه علما بأني أحد المهتمين بالأدب والفكر والتاريخ والأثار. ولكن دعينا من إلقاء كل العبء على الدولة واسمحي لي أن أسألك ماذا فعلت أنت لهذا الكنز وأنت الكاتبة الكبيرة والشهيرة بعشقها لتاريخ مصر وتناوله في أعمالك. لم أسمعك تتحدثين عنه. لم أسمع أنك طالبتي الدولة بالحفاظ عليه أو ناديت بمبادرة لاستعادة مكانة هذا الكنز وتعريف أبناء بلدي البسطاء بأن في بلادهم كنز لم يسمعوا عنه. ربما لو عرف أخوتي البسطاء بأهمية ما في بلادهم لما إحتجنا لثورة ولا لإطاحة برئيس. عذرا دكتورة لميس لا يعنينى المبنى في شيء فالكثير من آثار بلادي والتي صنعها أجدادي بأيديهم تعرض في المتاحف في أوروبا وأمريكا ولا نملك الحق في استردادها. الكثير من هذه الكنوز تمت سرقتها و الكثير أعطى على سبيلالهدايا و الأكثر علمه عند الله ولكن كل هذه الكنوز صنعها مصريون ولا قيمة لها في نظري دون صانعيها. كنوز مصر ليست في آثارها ولا مبانيها ولا حتى أهرامها فكل هذا سيفنى بشكل أو بآخر. كنوز مصر الحقيقية هي أهلها فهم وحدهم القادرين على صناعة الكنوز و بالتالي أرواحهم ودماؤهم وكرامتهم وشرفهم أغلى من أي مبنى وأية مخطوطات.

بعد هذا الانجاز الثوري حاولت الفتاة ذات العباءة المفتوحة (أم كباسين) عمل نوع من الاستعراض و(الإستربتيز) حتي تنهمر الكاميرات فوق ملابسها الداخلية ليصبح جندي الجيش المسكين هو السفاح الذي يهتك الأعراض ويسحل النساء في الشوارع..

إسمحي لي أن أسالك كم قضيت من الوقت في جمع الحقائق عن الملك فاروق قبل الشروع في كتابة المسلسل الشهير الذي أعجب الملايين؟ كم قضيت من الوقت في تقصي حقيقة الفتاة التي تتحدثين عنها بلهجة مهينة وتطاولت عليها بلفظ أخجل من استعماله أما أبي وأمي أخواتي وصديقاتي البنات؟ هل تأكدت من أنها حاولت عمل هذا الاستعراض بالفعل حتى تنهمر الكاميرات فوقها؟ هل تأكدتي أن الجندي مسكين بالفعل. لن أقوم بالدور الذي قمتي به في إصدار الأحكام وإلقاء التهم فأنا رجل أخشى الله وأدع له الحكم على ما في نوايا البشر وأنا هنا أطرح أسئلة فقط.

يا مجلسنا العسكري في أي بلاد العالم النايم والقايم والمتحضر والمتخلف يسمح لبعض الصبية مدمنين (الكوللة) وأطفال الشوارع ومحرضيهم من جماعات ابريل ومايو ويونيو بالاعتصام ونصب الخيام والرقاد أمام مدخل مجلس الوزراء ومجلس الشعب؟

أعتقد أنه لا يخفى على كاتبتنا الكبيرة أن البلاد لا تقارن بهذه الطريقة. ولكي تكون هناك مقارنة منصفة علينا السفر عبر التاريخ لعشرات السنين حتى نستعيد الأحداث وعلينا تحديد الهدف من المقارنة حتى لا ننجرف فيها بلا هدف. أود فقط أن أقول أنه نعم من حق أي شعب أن يعتصم بكل فئاته ولكل فئة ثقافتها وطريقتها. شعبنا يا سيدتي ليس بمستوى شعوب أوروبا وأمريكا. شعبنا يعاني الفقر والجهل وعدم وجود رعاية طبية وعدم الحصول على حياة آدمية. نحن نتحدث عن مصر يا دكتورة وهؤلاء الأطفال الذين يشمون الكولا والذين تتحدثين عنهم بتعالي مؤلم هم أبنائي وإخوتي الصغار ولا ذنب لهم فيما وصلوا إليه من حال يثير تعالي البعض. هل تودين المشاركة في بعض الأنشطة التي تساعد هؤلاء الأطفال حتي يصبحوا مثلي ومثلك؟ أعرف الكثير ممن يعملوا في مثل هذه المبادرات وسيسعدهم التعاون معك.

وكل هذا ومازال المجلس يخشي منظمات حقوق الإنسان وإذا كان لا يعلم فهذه المنظمات هي السلاح الذري الجديد المصمم خصيصاً للناس اللي زينا يا سادة التاريخ لن يسامح الضعفاء.. ولتذهب حقوق الإنسان إلي الجحيم.

لم أرى في الأحداث الماضية أن المجلس يخشى حقوق الأنسان وإلا ما كان حدث كل ما حدث. وبالفعل التاريخ لن يسامح الضعفاء ولهذا نهض أبناء مصر وبناتها للثورة المطالبة بإسقاط الظلم ومات منهم الكثيرون وسالت الدماء وفقدنا الأرواح والأعين والأطراف. لا يا دكتورة لسنا ضعفاء ولن نتوقف عن المطالبة بالعدل فمصر كنوزها هي نحن وأجيال ستأتي من بعدنا. الوطن يا سيدتي هوالبلد والأهل فالأوطان لا تصنع نفسها والحضارة لا تولد بنظرية التوالد التلقائي ونحن في أول خطوات الحرية كطفل يحبو محاولا أن يتعلم المشي. سيسقط كثيرا وسيخطئ كثيرا. سيقع ويبكي ويسخط ويسب الزمان والدنيا. ولكنه سيصل إلى ما يريد فالشعوب تمرض وتخطئ وتضعف ولكنها أبدا لا تموت. لن تموت كنوز مصر فنحن كنوزها.

Absence

2011-12-20T23:13:00.000-08:00

December rain showering the empty streets

Cold winter wind blowing from the north

Everybody is screaming at me "go home"

But I can't

It's colder inside

Cause you're not there...

حصل خير

2011-12-18T00:59:00.000-08:00

زمان وأنا صغير في المدرسة كانت أقسى عقوبة ممكن أي ولد ياخدها انه يمد إيده على بنت مهما حصل. وكان دايما اللي بيمد إيده على بنت بياخد رفد نهائي وما كناش بنشوفه تاني.كنا لما بنقف الطابور كان بيبقى في طابور للبنات وطابور للأولاد ولازم كل الأولاد يستنوا لما البنات يطلعوا وبعدين إحنا نطلع. في الفصل كنا لازم نقعد ولد جنب بنت وبكدة نقدر نتعلم التعامل مع البنات بذوق. يعنى مثلا لو بنت جت متأخر لازم الولد اللي جنبها يقوم يقف أول ماتيجي. لما كان جرس الفسحة أو المرواح بيضرب كنا لازم نستنى لما البنات تنزل وبعدين ننزل. في المدرسة البنات دول كانوا حاجة غالية وليها معاملة خاصة جدا. زمان برضه وأنا صغير أهلي علموني أحترم إخواتي البنات اللي أكبر مني لحد التقديس ومهما عملوا في ما كانش مسموحلي أغلط فيهم أو حتى أعلي صوتي عليهم عشان هما إخواتي الكبار وعشان هما بنات. كنت لما بشوف خناقة في الشارع بين راجل وست بلاقي الست ممكن تكون بتضرب الراجل وهو مش بيرد عليها حتى بكلمة وبعد الخناقة ما تخلص الناس كلها بتحترم إنه ما مدش إيده على ست. من حوالي عشر سنين أو أكتر كنت ماشي في الشارع مش فاكر فين بس أعتقد إنه كان شارع عباس العقاد أو الميرغني وفجأة في عربية وقفت بسرعة وكان فيها ولاد شباب كتير وكان في دوشة وزعيق وفجأة باب العربية اتفتح واترمت منه بنت متبهدلة. طبعا أكيد فهمنا إيه اللي حصل أو اللي كان بيحصل بس الغريب إن ناس كتير اتلمت وحاولت تساعد البنت دي. أنا فاكر واحدة ست فضلت توضبلها شعرها وتمسح وشها وتعدل هدومها وكان في رجالة كتير حواليها اللي جايبلها مية واللي بيحاول يقومها واللي بيسألها ساكنة فين. مش فاكر كلام إتقال من الناس اللي واقفين ساكتين بيتفرجوا وأنا منهم طبعا غير لا حول ولا قوة إلا بالله. وكبرت... كبرت يا مصر وشفت كتير بنات وستات أجدع من ميت ألف راجل. كبرت وأنا مؤمن إن الستات دول حاجة كبيرة قوي وغالية قوي مش غالية يعني تستخبى بنقاب أو حجاب ومش بانها تقعد في البيت عشان تصون نفسها لا... طبعا لا... تنزل وتروح وتيجي وتشتغل وتسافر زيها زيي وزي أي راجل بس الأهم من كدة ان فضل جوايا نفس الاحساس ان البنات والستات ما يتلمسوش. تخيلوا بني آدم زيي ممكن يحس بإيه لما يشوف اللي بيحصل للبنات على إيد الجيش؟ وممكن يعمل إيه لما يلاقي الناس بتقول يستاهلوا وإيه اللي منزلهم مش عارف أقول إيه... جوايا غضب بس مش عارف من مين ومش عارف أطلعه على مين. على الجيش وكلابه اللي نهشت في اخواتي الولاد والبنات؟ في حكومة إمتداد مقزز لنظام كرهني في بلدي وخلاني أحلم باليوم اللي أتخلص فيه من كوني مصري وكأن النظام مات واللي بيحكمنا دلوقتي جثته المتحللة؟ على الناس اللي بتهاجم من غير ماتفهم وعمالة توزع إتهامات؟ على ناس بتتكلم بإسم أديان وهما أبعد ما يكونوا عنها؟ ده القرآن الكريم حذرنا من اننا نصدق أخبار من غير ما نتأكد إنها صح (يَا أَيُّهَا الَّذِينَ آمَنُوا إِن جَاءكُمْ فَاسِقٌ بِنَبَأٍ فَتَبَيَّنُوا أَن تُصِيبُوا قَوْماً بِجَهَالَةٍ فَتُصْبِحُوا عَلَى مَا فَعَلْتُمْ نَادِمِينَ [الحجرات : 6] وفي العهد القديم في سفر أيوب النبي لما الناس راحت تعزيه وفضلوا يلوموا فيه ويوعظوه إن ربنا عمل فيه كدة عشان هو إنسان سيء. طب والمسيح وقصته الشهيرة مع المرأة الخاطئة. مش عارف... مش عارف أقول إيه لناس فجأة غضبانة على مباني عمرها ما سمعت عنها ولا عن اللي فيها ولو كانت سمعت ما فكرتش تزورها ولا حتى تقول للناس عليها أكتر ما زعلانة على اللي ماتوا وفقدوا أرواحهم... عارفين يعني إيه إنسان يموت؟ يعني إيه أم تفقد أبنها؟ عارفين يعني إيه كرامة؟ أنا مش مصدق إننا محتاجين نفكر إنسان بحرمة الدم والروح والنفس. حاسس إني بقرا رواية من أدب العبث، وكأن كافكا وبيكيت و يونسكو قاعدين بيعملوا برين ستورم وبيرمولنا أفكار. أما بالنسبة للناس اللي ما اتهزتش من اللي حصل لإخواتي البنات اللي اتضربوا واتسحلوا واتعروا من جنودنا البواسل واللي بيلوموهم عشان نزلوا وبيقولوا فين أهلهم وفين اخواتهم وابهاتهم واللي بيقولوا مايتلموا في بيوتهم فدول ما أقدرش أصلا أوجه لهم أي كلام عشان للأسف ناس كتير مابتحسش بالجرح غير لما يبقى في جسمها أو جسم أقرب الناس ليها لكن طول ما هو بعيد عنها.... حصل خير...

Only Time

2011-09-22T10:20:00.000-07:00

Whenever he hurts her she waits silently for time to heal her wounds. His presence only makes the pain worse.

Long Distance

2011-09-07T10:30:00.000-07:00

Suddenly her phone, something she is known for ignoring, became her inseperable companion. Its screen became her most admired scene for it brings him to her. And even those chatting programs that she has long regarded as a silly manifestation of time-wasting technology became her speciality, for they carry their conversations. Her facebook that she rarely checked became a window on his life that she spends most of her day looking through. Now she is very grateful for cell phones technology for soothing the burns that his absence left in her heart.

Fear

2011-09-07T06:14:00.000-07:00

Mice, bats, dogs, cats, snakes, rats, insects, reptiles and even the dark. Nothing of those frightens her like them. Her biggest fear is one thing; people she doesn't know.

Silence

2011-09-07T04:53:00.000-07:00

When he hurts her she doesn't show it and she gives him the excuse of not knowing that she was hurt. She prefers to share part of the responsibility by hiding her pain deep inside. Like a mother protecting her sleeping child from the faintest sounds, she protects their love with her own silence.

Unfinished Paintings

2011-09-06T01:45:00.000-07:00

She tends to see people as paintings. She believes in the ideal of a stagnant beauty hidden in every human being. And whenever she sees a fault in anyone she deals like an artist would do with an unfinished painting; she adds her own colors and brush strokes to make the painting complete… beautifully complete.

After some time and motored by her self confidence and strong belief that human beings are good natured by essence, she lives to believe that her completed paintings are in fact original ones. She forgets her own additions and erases the time and effort she spent completing the paintings from her memory. But life has never been kind enough to keep dreamy people in a state of endless dormancy, walking on an earth paved with velvet paths and scented with rose water. Every now and then life would snatch the brush from her hands, throw the palette filled with her favorite colors and wash away all her touches.

Only then she is forced to see the original painting, the real one that she hasn’t touched, washed from her addition and striking her weary eyes with its real colors. Only then she decides to give up painting and walk on the earth we are all walking on. But she is a painter by nature, and even if she doesn’t find brushes and colors, she would go around grasping a flock of her hair and carrying her own blood and sweat looking for unfinished paintings to paint them complete.

Slash

2011-08-21T12:10:00.000-07:00

Like in a very long sentence, she puts a slash whenever someone leaves her life. She ended up having more slashes than words.

Train

2011-08-20T12:03:00.000-07:00

Her life is like a train journey. People enter and spend some time, they stay for a while, talk, laugh, cry, share moments and feelings. They leave their remains, their smells, their foot prints. But they always leave, for no one stays forever in a train.

After The End

2011-08-16T10:29:00.000-07:00

Years after it ended, all she could say about their relationship is that it made him ready for happiness and made her ready for loneliness.

A Thousand Eyes

2011-08-06T12:45:00.000-07:00

Whenever I go to a beautiful place that makes me happy and whenever I see something that I love, I wish I had many pairs of eyes to give to the people that I love and make see what I see and feel the happiness. How many eyes do I need?

Cropped

2011-07-30T15:14:00.000-07:00

She only looked her best in the photos he was with her in. Now whenever she uses any of these photos she crops-off the part he is in. Why don't hearts have a cropping option?

Uncried

2011-07-30T12:24:00.000-07:00

Two glasses half full, left alone on a messy table. Condensed water drops rolling down the outer cold glass surface, like tears... Uncried.

A Nice Smile

2011-07-30T02:18:00.000-07:00

She is famous for her nice smile. Her cheerful face hardly displays anything else even in the moments of stress or sadness. That famous smile became an inseparable feature of how she looks like. Everyone who sees her comments on how lovely and cheerful her smile is. Till that summer day, when she met that guy and went for a drink.

***

Him: can I ask you a question?

Her: Sure.

Him: What is the reason behind all this sadness?

Her: What sadness?

Him: That sadness you are trying hard to keep it inside.

Her: You know what's funny, you're the first one to link me with sadness.

Him: I know. I heard about your smile even before we met.

Her: And you still think that a person like me with this famous smile can have any sadness?

Him: I'm certain you do.

Her: May I ask why are you that certain?

Him: Clothes.

Her: Excuse me!

Him: You know, clothes can really change the way you look, completely.

Her: True.

Him: You can look young, old, beautiful, fat, cheerful, perfect... Practically, clothes can really make you look anything you want.

Her: Make up too, and hair style.

Him: Smart people can really look good all the time by careful selection of what to wear.

Her: Yes.

Him: People usually go for the looks, which comes from what you're wearing. But only a clothing expert will know the difference between people who are good looking and people who look good because of what they wear.

Her: And you think you're an expert in smiling, don't you?

Him: Not at all. But I'm an expert in sadness.

What Love Does

2011-05-24T01:53:00.000-07:00

Isn’t this what Love does?

It strips off all the joys of life

When the lover is away

But when he is near

Every breath is scented with lilies

Every place is the Garden of Eden

And every word is a the Psalms of David

For this is what Love does

When you behold your beloved

You own the universe

And when you hear his voice

Your heart surrenders to the call of love

For this is what Love does

I behold thee my Love

And the moon meets the sun in your presence

I see spring and winter in your face

I see the rivers of Babylon

And the mountains of Zagros covered in green

I see the snows of the North

And the deserts of Arabia

For this is what Love does

I hold thy hands my Love

And I feel the softness of tulips

With the velvet touch of rose petals

And the caress of running waters

For this is what Love does

I hold thee in my arms

And I feel like an exiled man

Returning to his home land

I smell the scents of narcissus

And your presence drowns me

Like the floods of the Nile

I close my eyes, yet I can see

For this is what Love does

I look in thy eyes my Love

And I see the birds of Paradise

And the dove that landed

On the shoulder of Jesus

For this is what Love does

I kiss thy lips my love

And I taste the sweetness of honey

Flavored with cinnamon and pomegranate

I feel eternal and ancient

Like the Pyramids of Egypt

And I see the whole world

Colored in Saffron

For this is what Love does

I hold thee my Love

And I own the universe

I hear thy voice my love

And my heart surrenders to the call of Love

For this is what Love does

لا تتنحى

2011-04-17T06:34:00.000-07:00

هو: بحبك بمنتهى التناحة هي: وأنا مش عايزاك تتنحى

Six Packs

2011-04-15T05:16:00.000-07:00

He keeps going to the gym, trying to have a perfect body for her. He never asked her if she liked well built bodies!

To All The Women of The World

2011-03-09T02:33:00.000-08:00

With your intellect and power

With your soul, as beautiful as a flower

With your passion and creativity

With your intelligence and sensitivity

With your famous criticism

With your wonderful feminism

With your strength and dedication

With your admirable complication

With your vision that is always deep

With your ability to laugh and ability to weep

With your engulfing care and endless affection

With your amazing sense of direction

With your guiding intuition

With your revolutions and submission

A woman, a lady, a daughter, a mother

A boss, a colleague, a sister, a lover

With all the wonderful things in you

You make life beautiful to go through

Happy Women’s Day

من دفتر الثورة

2011-02-17T16:47:00.000-08:00

دخان يا أمي

دخان يملأ شارعنا

يخنقنا خنقا

يملؤنا حنقا

يمنعنا أن نمضي

وتغيم الرؤية يا أمي

فلا أرى غير وجهك

والعينان

أصوات تملأ شارعنا

تربكنا وتصم الآذان

فتيات تصرخ

ورجال تهتف

وصغار تبكي

وامرأة تتلو القرآن

لا أسمع شيئا يا أمي

تتلاشى أصوات الصخب

يتلاشى صوت الأذان

تجذبني قبضة يد

أعرفها

يد صديقي يونان

يقول إنهض

إنهض إنهض يا عثمان

لن تسقط فأنا معك

ومعنا عبد الرحمن

وسنمضي رغم قنابلهم

ورصاص يطلقه جبان

علينا أن نمضي

وسنمضي حتى الميدان

وهناك سنصرخ وسنهتف

وهناك يكون البركان

سينام الظالم ملء عيونه

وكأنه مَلَك الزمان

وسيصحو من نوم هادئ

ليواجه أنباء الفيضان

وسيسأل من نحن؟ وماذا نريد؟

وجئنا من أي مكان؟

وسيسمع تحاليل الخبراء

وتقارير الوزراء

وما نقلته وكالات الأنباء

سيقولون له لا تقلق

أنت في أمان

سيقولون شباب ضائع

منحل يتحرش بالنسوان

غوغاء تخرب وتدمر

وتريد هلاك الأوطان

عملاء مأجورون

خونة مارقون

ومن ورائهم الإخوان

وعناصر جاءت من كل مكان

من حزب الله الحاقد

ومن الخليج الجاحد

من الهند وباكستان

وربما من بلد آخر

يقال إسمه كزخستان

تقبض دولارا أو يورو

تأكل وجبات ساخنة

وتعرقل سير الميدان

لا تقلق أبدا

سنقضي عليهم... الآن

لن يصل إلينا الأعداء

لا تقلق نحن في أمان

فالشرطة معك

والشعب معك

ومعك الجيش والأركان

تحميك وزارات الدولة

يحميك الدستور والبرلمان

سنلقنهم درسا لن ينسوه

سيعودوا من حيث أتوا

سنحارب إرهابا زرعوه

وسنحمي رمزا أهانوه

وسيبقى الولد وأبوه

ولن تشمت فينا إيران

هيا أنهض هيا يا أخي

فلدينا موعد

سنقابل هند وإيمان

حبيبتك وحبيبتي

تنتظران الشجعان

ستفرح هند حين ترانا

وستفرح أيضا إيمان

وستحمل إيمان المصحف

وستحمل هند الصلبان

وسننسى من منا المسلم

ومن المسيحي

وستقرأ معي تسابيحي

وسأقرأ معك القرآن

هيا إنهض هيا

يا رجل يا بطل

هيا إنهض معنا وبنا

لن تسقطك رصاصة

لن تسقطك قنابل

صنعها أمريكان

تتلاشى القبضة يا أمي

يبتعد الصوت

أين يونان؟

وحتى رائحة الدخان

أتحرر من سجن الجسد

أتحرر منه إلى الأبد

ما أثقل جسم الإنسان

وهناك بعيدا يا أمي

ضوء يجذبني فأنجذب

صوت يدعوني فأستجب

أقترب وأقترب

وأرى بستان

لا تبكي أبدا يا أمي

لم أجري منهم لم أهرب

سقطت كما سقط الشجعان

حرموني أن أحيا معكِ

حرموكي مني يا أمي

ما أقسى هذا الحرمان

لا تبكي أبدا يا أمي

إدعي لمن هم في الميدان

لا تنسيهم يا أمي

فالبشر سريعي النسيان

ثورتنا بدأت يا أمي

ولدت في كانون

وستنطق في شباط

وستكبر في نيسان

ستعود بلادي كما كانت

بلد أمن وأمان

وحنانكِ أنتِ يا أمي

سيكون لبلدي وليس لي

فهي أولى بالحنان

بالله بالله لا تبكي

فأنا من قلبي فرحان

قولي لهند أن تتزوج

وأن تنجب عثمان

وتقص عليه قصتنا

قصة شهداء الطغيان

وستبقى مصر يا أمي

أحلى الأوطان

Live from Iran/Yalda Night.

2010-12-26T06:56:00.000-08:00

"Every day I see you is a Norooz and every night I don’t see you is the Yalda”

Iran, the land of history and civilization that enlightened the world for thousands of years. The land of ancient mythology and religions that are still surviving till this day in spite of the heavily religious government and the religious fanaticism of a large stratum of the society. A land of beauty and splendors that always keep me amazed whenever I visit this country. A land of great history that is well kept and preserved in the daily life of the people, in their names and faces, in their celebrations and culture and in their beliefs. A mighty nation with deep attachments to their roots and history in strong pride and admirable love for their land that outlived its invaders and that forced the world to respect it.

In Iran being a Muslim does not mean you have to give away your ancient Persian identity for an Arabic one. You do not have to speak Arabic to be a Muslim and you do not have to forget thousands of years of a glorious history and convince yourself that you are an Arab to be as close as possible to the prophet and his followers. The Iranians were smart enough to capture Islam from the Arabs while keeping their own Persian identity. Persian language and culture with its habits and celebrations are integral parts of the Persian identity that the Iranians insist on keeping and saving from any wave that wants to deny them their great history and civilizations for many reasons. Among the many ancient Persian festivals and celebrations, the Yalda is one of the most important.

Long ago before the creation of man, the earth was in total darkness. For thousands of years the earth was an endless mass of dead land with no life until the birth of light. On Yalda night, Mithra, the sun God was born and with his birth came light, life, goodness and strength. Plants started to grow all over the earth, living organisms started to keep the earth busy with its endless cycles of life and regeneration. The earth was now ready to receive man, the most wonderful of all creatures.

Yalda is celebrated on the longest night of the year, its specific date varies each year but usually lies between 20-22 of December, it also coincides with the last day of the ninth month of the Iranian Calendar that is called Azar. Yalda is the night of the first day of the tenth month, Dey. Nowadays Yalda night is a big gathering for family and friends, lots of foods and drinks are prepared to celebrate this very special night that symbolizes life and strength for the next year. Red is the theme of the night and it symbolizes the crimson color of dawn, the color of life and the birth of light. Red colored foods and drinks are always consumes in plenty mainly Pomegranate, Watermelon and Red Wine(usually homemade).

Nuts and fruits are also there to give strength for the next year. People gather in houses, eat and drink happily and stay awake till dawn. The poetry of Hafez Shirazy, the great Persian poet (1325-1389) is of extreme significance where after midnight, people gather in groups, read the poetry and make wishes for the next year. It is the official celebration for winter, the last season of the Iranian year that starts with spring, another great festival called Norooz, or “new day”. Yalda is of extreme significance and importance in Persian culture. The great Persian poet Saadi said "The true morning will not come, until the Yalda Night is gone".

I was very lucky to be in Iran during the Yalda night which was on Tuesday December 21st. I was invited by Maryam, a beautiful friend of mine who took me to a Yalda party in one of her friend’s house. You can easily detect that modern life, a desperately religious government and many years of endless attempts to change the Persian identity of the Iranian people did not manage to affect their love for life and their deep attachment to their roots.

Arriving at the house I was surprised to find myself surrounded by gorgeous women dressed in amazing night gowns and in perfect beauty that they are forced to cover behind long sleeved blouses and semi-veiling scarves imposed on them by laws of the Islamic republic, to which they do not have the luxury to choose or reject. Rejection is the natural reaction to strict rules that do not respect human identity and while they are forced to cover themselves in the streets, they do the exact opposite in houses and gatherings ending up in extravagant parties, enclosed in houses and surviving in a sort of underground world.

My sociophobia and fear of unknown people melted away in no time with the extreme generosity of the hosting party, I found myself talking nonstop for hours, delving into discussions about literature, art, history, religion, politics and human nature. Many people were fascinated by this Egyptian man in their party who is in love with their country and ancient history to the point of sharing with them a very intimate and special ancient celebration. I met a lot of nice people who were exceptionally interested in Egypt wishing they can get a chance to visit the amazing land of great civilization and history equal to their own. The deep fascination with Egypt and its history was running in parallel with deep detest to the Arabs and their invasion, many discussions were throwing a huge blame on the Arabic invasion of Iran that tried desperately to change their identity but they refused, kicked the Arabs away with their language and culture, kept the Islam and remained Persians. Bringing back the splendors of the ancient times and reviving their own native language.

Iranian foods with delicious taste were all over the place, pomegranates that I have never seen in my life, big, red, juicy, full of taste and very delicious. Watermelons were served in a very decorative way, nuts and fruits with all kinds of appetizers. With their appreciation of life, love for celebrations and deep appreciation of beauty, the Iranians know how to make any time I spend with them remarkably unforgettable. I couldn't help but notice the similarity between Yalda night and Christmas eve, with the family gatherings, gifts shared, special foods served and of course the red color.

It was a night to remember and a day to be added to my history of happy days and wonderful times I spent in this country that I deeply love and that does nothing but overwhelming me with loving me back.

One, two, three

2010-11-23T05:16:00.000-08:00

When she met him for the first time in a wedding, he caught her eyes. When she met him for the second time in a party, she started having questions. And when she met him for the third time in a funeral, she knew she had to get him out of her mind.

Sanity

2010-11-23T05:12:00.000-08:00

He: Are you seeing anyone?

She: no, not at all.

He: Why?

She: Trying to keep my sanity as long as possible.

He: Then don't make me your boyfriend.

She: Why not?

He: To keep your sanity.

She: And who said I want it.

He: You just did!

She: I need it only if I'm on my own, but with you I don't need it.

From Rimbaud

2010-11-04T06:13:00.000-07:00

He would say,'How funny it will all seem, when I'm not here anymore, when you no longer feel my arms around your shoulders, nor my heart beneath you, nor this mouth on your eyes, because I will have to go away someday, far away...' And in an instant I could feel myself with him gone, dizzy with fear, sinking down into the most horrible blackness: into death.

Revelation

2010-10-03T06:03:00.000-07:00

On her Sixtieth birthday and after forty years of marriage, two sons and a daughter, she realized that she has been a mother but she has never really been a wife. She has been a human being but she has nver really been a woman. She has been living but she has never really had a life...

Of The Human Heart!

2010-09-06T03:47:00.001-07:00

In his great play, A Street Car Named Desire, Tennesee Wiliams questions the human heart and how straight it is by saying "What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it's curved like a road through mountains"

I look in myself, I look around me, I hear stories, I come across people and I read books... All I can get out is that the human heart is nothing but complicated. Either it is your own experience or someone you know, a story shared by your friend or written in a gossip magazine, a plot of a movie, play or novel or even what we read and study in psychology text books, the human heart still is totally different than what they all say!

Doctors say that the human heart is a pump that distributes blood to all the organs, but the human heart is not an organ, and not merely a blood manager, it is a living organism that in turn controls the whole human being. And in doing so, it doesn't follow rules or logic, it doesn't usually work for the benefit of the person and in many cases it actually works against him. It is our manager! Without rules, without logic, without anything we can measure or regulate, we just surrender to that tyrant inside us and most of the times we are happy with this slavery.

An old wise saying says "Who would give a law to lovers? Love is unto itself a higher law" And obviously the heart follows its own law. A friend of mine is drawn irresistibly to a person when every sense says that they cannot be together, another is telling me she is deeply attracted to a person she doesn't even like, I know people who can't get over a person that hurt them beyond human tolerance and I saw how cruel people can be with the ones they loved the most. I saw how love can end a life and can start one, can build and destroy and can humiliate and honor.

Tell me about rules, let's talk logic forever, let's blame this and mock that, when you fall in love, when the heart really takes over, nothing else is heard...or seen.

في حب مصر وعاصمتها الساحرة

2010-09-04T10:26:00.000-07:00

قاهرة أنت كما سماك القدماء

تقهرين أهلك لا الغرباء

جثة تتحلل تفيض قبحا

وتحيطني بأبغض الأشياء

أمقتك مقتا لا يعرفه البشر

أكرهك كره النار للماء

وحين أرحل عنك لن أنظر خلفي

فليس ينظر خلفه الا من يريد البقاء

Stolen Painting, Stolen Life!

2010-08-23T02:33:00.000-07:00

The only van Gogh in Cairo is stolen!!! As simple as the 6-letter-word "stolen".

Cut from its frame by a knife, under the eyes of lazy staff, inefficient security system of non-functioning alarms, switched-off cameras and an invalid minister with pathetic declarations; just another small part of a highly retarded system in one of the lousiest governemnets of one of the most corrupted regions of the world!

It's not just a great work of European art of which very little is found in Egypt, it carries a part of my life in it.

I won't vent out my anger here and curse the fact that I am still living in this country, I stopped doing this long ago. I'm seeing in this story something more than the scandalous incident.

The painting is gone but the frame is still there, the same young boy who had this unplanned, hurricane-like and life-turning encounter is gone, but his frame is still there. The path that was taken on that day is still there, and will always be there, with or without the painting. the painting was stolen, but no one can steal a life. And even if lives can be stolen, memories cannot!

Confusion (2)

2010-08-23T00:21:00.000-07:00

Nothing gets on her nerves like his presence. But she misses him when he's not around!

Confusion!

2010-08-17T00:05:00.000-07:00

After realizing that she was choosing a man who doesn't love her back over a man who does, she really doesn't know if "love" exists...

A Letter from A Woman in Love!

2010-08-02T03:08:00.000-07:00

In reply to Mermaid's post:
My Love,

I also saw some white hairs in your hair few days ago and I thought the same. I only had one question on my mind; why do I love you that much, where does all this love come from? Why do I always love you more?

Yes, my love we are growing old together, growing closer, and each time I think I've reached the end of my capacity for loving you I just discover another horizon, another territory that I haven't stepped in yet, and I just fly like a butterfly attracted by your light and I vanish into your existence, and I love you more...

It seems that it will never end and I will never stop loving you. Yes, they say that it dies by time, that the passion disappears with the repeated existence and that time makes the love fades away like the early morning mist fades away with the powerful sun rays, but no, it doesn't, and I keep wondering why? An unsolved riddle that logic and previous experience stand so small against, and I love you more...

I watch you reading the newspaper, with a frown on your face and rays of concentration radiating from your eyes. I come from behind you and bury my face in your coarse hair. You turn around and look at me, telling you a piece of news with a furious face and angry tone, newspapers always make you angry and you never stop reading them! I try to participate but you don't even give me the chance, you get back to your reading and I feel stupid, but I love you more...

You get out of the shower wrapped in a towel, dripping all the way to the bedroom, I dry the drops of water wishing I can keep them with me, they have been on your body and fell on the floor, they should have fallen into my heart, into my soul, watering that mysterious tree that I don't even know where it exists, I just know it is there, and I love you more...

You leave the bathroom drowned in water, the basin is full of your hairs and the shaving foam, your clothes thrown carelessly on the floor, I clean everything wondering why is it difficult for you to allow some more water in the basin to wash away the hairs, and why you never put the clothes in the laundry basket. I pick them up and hold them close to my face inhaling that peculiar smell left by your body on them, I'm glad you didn't put them in the basket, I love your smell and I love you more...

I wake up at night and you're not beside me, I know you will be working on your laptop and I am jealous. I go to you and my sleepy face, my undone hair, my needy look and the semi transparent night dress works perfectly, I know how to drive you crazy and take you from the deepest absorption, and I love you more...

And when there is a football match you are someone else, you sit on the floor very close to the TV. You neither recognize me, your phone, the loud noise of the AC or the door bell. I keep waiting for the goal to have your squeezing hug, you're strong, you squeeze me and kiss me passionately as if I were the player who got the goal, and I love you more...

And in the supermarket, you grow impatient, and you insist on coming with me, you get angry when I pass by the same shelf many times, you keep telling me "honey it is just Yogurt, they are all the same don't believe TV ads, yogurt is just yogurt", you get mad when I spend time reading the labels, and making sure of the expiry date "I can't believe you, it's Metro, they will never sell expired products!", I love your self confidence and extreme trust in yourself and your choices, and I love you more...

We drive in the traffic, you get nervous, you're tense, you keep teaching people what to do and not to do, you try to be gentle with women and pedestrians, women's driving gets on your nerves but you hold your curses, you know I won't like that, and I love you more...

We go to this restaurant and the waiter doesn't take his eyes off me, even when you're ordering he looks at me, you get mad, you're rude to him and after he leaves you tell me in a harsh tone "Could you please not talk to him and tell me when you want something, I will order it for you, I will knock him down if he looks at you again" I smile, and I love you more...

I love you for your jealousy, for your arrogance, for your criticism and your protection, for making me feel silly and naive and for making me strong and proud, for driving me crazy with your stubbornness and your chaos, for your fights with me and the way we make it up, for your angry look that scares me and your smile that lights my world, for making fun of my cooking and admiring my plans, for the look of desire in your eyes and your naughty comments in my ears, for loving me, for being mine. And for being yourself, I love you more...

Now I know, I know that the riddle and the answer is you...

Yours

M

The Pearls Are Just A Mile Away!

2010-07-08T03:57:00.000-07:00

"it was someone who knew me well. Well, but not just knew me; it’s someone who truly cared! Someone who went the extra mile to make me happy, who actually gave it some thought and exerted effort to get me this gift..."

Quoted from Mermaid, my dearest friend, describing an anonymous birthday gift from me.

This is the best thing that touched me positively in months, after a considerable time of depression and feeling really down for all kinds of reasons, making one of the dearest persons to my heart, a real woman that I admire and look up to and cherish our friendship so much, making her that happy was itself a blessing :)

Happy Birthday my dearest Mermaid, the precious pearl-like tears that I made you shed mean the world to me (pearls were believed to be the tears of Mermaids in the ancient legend),and your beautiful heart that saw some happiness from my "simple" gesture deserves much more.

May we always stay that close and may I always be a source of your happiness :)

Tribute to Saramago

2010-06-22T05:07:00.000-07:00

A young boy was spending his summer vacation at his grandfather’s house far away from the capital. Suddenly his grandfather fell sick and had to be transferred to the hospital, but before he was taken he did something very strange:

"He went into the yard of his house, where there were a few trees, fig trees, olive trees. And he went one by one, embracing the trees and crying, saying good-bye to them because he knew he would not return. To see this, to live this, if that doesn't mark you for the rest of your life, you have no feeling."

But it did mark the young Jose Saramago for the rest of his life, made him a writer, a political activist and the finest Portuguese writer of his generation.

Jose Saramago (1922-2010) was born in Azinagha, a small village in Portugal and although he was a clever pupil his parents were not able to afford his education and he had to work as a car mechanic at the age of 12, a period that made him close to the laboring community and shaped his political inclination towards communism, he joined the Portuguese Communist Party in 1969 and gave away his religious believes to be an atheist.

Noticing his intellectual talent, he worked as a journalist and translator and started wring and publishing novels in 1947, but his recognition did not come until the year 1982 when his novel Memorial Del Convento won the PEN club award Portuguese and started to attract attention to his style. The novel is a love story set in one of the major tourist attraction in Portugal, the Convent of Mafra, where the two lovers interact with each other and with famous historical figures.

In 1991, he published a very controversial novel titled O Evangelho Segundo Jesus Cristo or The Gospel according to Jesus Christ, in which he portrays Jesus Christ as a human being with flaws, passions, and doubts, including a love affair with Mary Magdalene. The book gained public success and was immediately translated to many languages while provoking the rage of the Roman Catholic Church that accused Saramago of having anti-religion views.

Magical Realism became the most prevailing theme in Saramago’s works, in addition to his characteristic language, very long sentences (sometimes more than one page long) and surrealistic plots which continued in his novels like The Stone Raft, where the Iberian Peninsula breaks off Europe and sails on its own across the Atlantic, Death At Intervals, which tells the story of a village where no one dies, and Blindness which tells the story of a story where a mysterious blinding disease strikes its people.

In 1998 Saramgo won the Nobel prize in Literature for his body of works, he was genuinely shocked announcing that:”I was not born for all this glory”

Saramago was an avid critic of the European Union and the state of Israel. In 2002 he visited Ramallah, where he compared the Palestinians to the Holocaust victims, a statement that resulted in him being condemned by many intellectuals and he was accused of Anti-Semitism. In one of his newspaper articles he wrote:

"Intoxicated mentally by the messianic dream of a Greater Israel which will finally achieve the expansionist dreams of the most radical Zionism; contaminated by the monstrous and rooted 'certitude' that in this catastrophic and absurd world there exists a people chosen by God and that, consequently, all the actions of an obsessive, psychological and pathologically exclusivist racism are justified; educated and trained in the idea that any suffering that has been inflicted, or is being inflicted, or will be inflicted on everyone else, especially the Palestinians, will always be inferior to that which they themselves suffered in the Holocaust, the Jews endlessly scratch their own wound to keep it bleeding, to make it incurable, and they show it to the world as if it were a banner."

On another occasion he pointed out that:

"The Jews are unworthy of any more sympathy for their sufferings during the second World War. Living under the shadows of the Holocaust and expecting to be forgiven for anything they do on behalf of what they have suffered seems abusive to me. They didn’t learn anything from the suffering of their parents and grandparents”

Yesterday in Lisbon, Saramago’s funeral took place; he died last Friday and 20,000 people participated in his funeral but with the absence of the right-winged Portuguese president who was vacationing very close to the capital. Many of Saramago’s works are banned in Portugal.

أم خالد

2010-06-14T05:17:00.000-07:00

خالد...انت هنا يا حبيبي... انت ما متش... لا... انت لسة عايش... أنا أكيد بحلم... أيوة انت لسة عايش وهتدخل علي كمان شوية... وهتيجي... وهشوفك تاني... هبوسك واحضنك وأسمع صوتك وأشوف وشك... وشك؟ يابني... يا حبيبي... ازاي عملوا فيك كدة؟ ازاي جالهم قلب؟ ازاي ما صعبتش عليهم؟ عملتلهم ايه؟ ليه موتوك؟ ليه؟ طب... كانوا عملوا أي حاجة تانية وسابوك ما هما قادرين على كل حاجة. ازاي جالهم قلب؟ ما عندهمش ولاد؟ ما عندهمش اخوات؟ ما عندهمش قلب؟ ازاي جالهم قلب يمدوا ايدهم عليك؟ دمك وهو في ايديهم ما هزهمش؟ وصوتك وانت بتصرخ ما وقفهمش؟ و وشك... وشك اللي زي القمر ازاي عملوا فيه كدة؟ هيناموا بالليل ازاي؟ هياكلوا ويشربوا ازاي؟هيعيشوا ازاي؟ طب كانوا سابوك تعيش كانوا عملوا أي حاجة وسابوك تعيش يحرموني منك ليه؟ يا حبيبي يا ترى حسيت بايه؟ ندهت علي؟ ندهت على أمك؟ أكيد ندهت علي زي ما كنت بتنده علي لما الموجة تيجي عليك وانت صغير... أكيد ندهت علي وما لقتنيش... ما لقتش حد. يا ريتني كنت معاك... يا ريتني كنت بدالك... ياريتني أنا اللي اتضربت واتقتلت بس انت لا... يا ريتني كنت معاك... كنت حوشتهم عنك... كنت ما خلتهمش يلمسوا شعرة منك...كنت موتهم بايدي قبل ما يلمسوك. يا رب.. ليه أنا؟ ليه ابني أنا؟ ما الدنيا مليانة والبلد مليانة اشمعنى أنا؟ اشمعنى ابني أنا؟ وليه ولادهم يعيشوا وأنا ابني يموت؟ يا رب دة ظلم وانت مش ظالم... انت مش ظالم صح؟ طب لما انت مش ظالم سايبهم ليه؟ وسبتهم يعملوا كدة ليه؟ طب فهمني وأنا هسكت... والله هسكت ومش هتكلم ولا هعترض... بس فهمني ايه اللي بيحصل. طب رجعهولي تاني... والنبي رجعهولي تاني... مش انت قادر على كل شيء؟ طب رجعهولي وخدني بعد كدة بس أشوفه تاني.. أخده في حضني تاني... احضنه ولو خمس دقايق... طب دقيقة واحدة... دقيقة واحدة والله ...أشوفه بس... أشوف وشه قبل اللي عملوه. والله ماكنت اعرف انه هيحصله كل دة... والله لو كنت أعرف ما كنتش سيبته ثانية واحدة... ما كنتش أعرف انك هتسيبهم يعملوا فيه كدة... أنا ياما دعيتلك تحفظهولي وتباركلي فيه ماسمعتش ليه؟ سبتهم ليه؟ سبتهم يعملوا فيه كدة ليه؟ ما منعتهمش ليه؟ وسايبهم يقولوا عليه كدة ليه؟ وكله ظلم وانت عارف انه ظلم. أنا مش عارفة أعمل ايه... أكره مين؟ أكره البلد اللي سايبة ولادها تتبهدل؟ ولا أكره الناس اللي ما حدش منهم حاش عنه؟ ولا أكره الزمن اللي الناس بتتقتل فيه في الشوارع في عز الضهر؟ ولا أكره نفسي عشان ما كنتش معاه؟ أروح فين؟ أمشي ازاي في الشارع اللي اتقتل فيه؟ أخطي ازاي على دمه؟ أدوس ازاي علي التراب اللي اداس فيه؟ أنا مش عايزة أعيش... خدني زي ما خدته يا اما تجيبلي حقي من اللي قتلوه... وريني فيهم وفي ولادهم اللي عملوه في ابني. يا رب... انت فين؟ انت فين بقى؟؟؟

Oscar Wilde And The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name!

2010-06-08T08:33:00.000-07:00
The glorious nineteenth century was about to say a smooth farewell to the world, but on the spring of the year 1895 in England, the high class society was on fire, the cultured society was biting its nails in anticipation and the secret underground societies were forced to get back into their dark hidden places. On April 26th 1895, an Irish man who belonged to the high class and the cultured society was being prosecuted for committing one of the most obnoxious crimes in England… at that age. Although the man had one of the most renowned lawyers defending his case at that time, Sir Edward George Clarke, when the judge asked a question referring to something mentioned in one of the man’s letters and was augmenting the charge against him, he asked to answer the question himself. Let’s see how this part of the trial went: Judge: In your letter you mentioned the love that dare not speak its name. What is “the love that dare not speak its name”? Man: "The love that dare not speak its name" in this century is such a great affection of an elder for a younger man as there was between David and Jonathan, such as Plato made the very basis of his philosophy, and such as you find in the work of Michelangelo and the sonnets of Shakespeare. It is that deep spiritual affection that is as pure as it is perfect. It dictates and pervades great works of art, like those of Shakespeare and Michelangelo, and those two letters of mine, such as they are. It is in this century misunderstood, so much misunderstood that it may be described as "the love that dare not speak its name," and on that account of it I am placed where I am now. It is beautiful, it is fine, it is the noblest form of affection. There is nothing unnatural about it. It is intellectual, and it repeatedly exists between an older and a younger man, when the older man has intellect, and the younger man has all the joy, hope and glamour of life before him. That it should be so, the world does not understand. The world mocks at it, and sometimes puts one in the pillory for it." The eloquent speech and the biblical, historical and artistic references he used did not help to clear his charge and a month later, Oscar Wilde (1854-1900), one of the great authors in the history of English literature and the author of great plays that mock the British aristocracy like An Ideal Husband and The Importance of Being Earnest, in addition to one brilliant novel that is considered a masterpiece of English literature, The Picture of Dorian Gray, was sentenced for two years of imprisonment with hard labor for the charge of gross indecency. His secret love affair with Lord Alfred Douglas (1870-1945) that was discovered, exposed and submitted to court by Lord Douglas’ father was the cause of his imprisonment for homosexuality. At that time, Wilde was married and had two sons. While in prison, Wilde wrote a letter in 50 000 words for his lover describing his suffering in the prison, reflecting on his own life and what lead him from the luxury of the aristocracy to the darkness and loneliness of a shameful imprisonment. He starts his very long letter with the following words: Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons. We can only record its moods, and chronicle their return. With us time itself does not progress. It revolves. It seems to circle round one centre of pain…For us there is only one season, the season of sorrow. The very sun and moon seem taken from us. Outside, the day may be blue and gold, but the light that creeps down through the thickly-muffled glass of the small iron-barred window beneath which one sits is grey and niggard. It is always twilight in one's cell, as it is always twilight in one's heart. And in the sphere of thought, no less than in the sphere of time, motion is no more. The thing that you personally have long ago forgotten, or can easily forget, is happening to me now, and will happen to me again tomorrow. Remember this, and you will be able to understand a little of why I am writing, and in this manner writing. . . . He then starts to blame himself in a very touchy piece where he says: I must say to myself that I ruined myself, and that nobody great or small can be ruined except by his own hand. I am quite ready to say so. I am trying to say so, though they may not think it at the present moment. This pitiless indictment I bring without pity against myself. Terrible as was what the world did to me, what I did to myself was far more terrible still… I used to live entirely for pleasure. I shunned suffering and sorrow of every kind. I hated both. I resolved to ignore them as far as possible: to treat them, that is to say, as modes of imperfection. They were not part of my scheme of life. They had no place in my philosophy. He ends his letter by facing the fact that he is to be banished from society for ever. Society, as we have constituted it, will have no place for me, has none to offer; but Nature, whose sweet rains fall on unjust and just alike, will have clefts in the rocks where I may hide, and secret valleys in whose silence I may weep undisturbed. She will hang the night with stars so that I may walk abroad in the darkness without stumbling, and send the wind over my footprints so that none may track me to my hurt: she will cleanse me in great waters, and with bitter herbs make me whole. Wilde was not allowed to send the letter but he took it with him and after his release in 1897, he submitted it to publishing under the title De Profundis (Latin for “From the Depth”) After his release, he had a religious awakening and he asked for the membership of a catholic community but was refused, something that devastated what remained sane in him and he decided to live incognito and in a chosen exile in France where he stopped writing and only produced a poem titled The Ballad of Reading Goal (the prison where he was kept) which was published under a pseudonym, among its very memorable lines: Some love too little, some too long, Some sell, and others buy; Some do the deed with many tears, And some without a sigh: For each man kills the thing he loves, Yet each man does not die. Wilde died of meningitis* in 1900 after being united with his lover against the wish of friends, families and community. On the epitaph of his grave in Pere La Chaise cemetery in Paris, the following lines from his last poem are written: And alien tears will fill for him Pity's long-broken urn, For his mourners will be outcast men, And outcasts always mourn. The following are very useful links about Wilde and the full texts of both works mentioned above. http://www.online-literature.com/wilde/ http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/921 http://www.emotionalliteracyeducation.com/classic_books_online/rgaol10.htm *Meningitis is an inflammation of the membranes surrounding the brain and spinal cord, it is caused by many factors like some kind of bacteria, overuse of some drugs and migraine, but sometimes it occurs without a specific reason.

Another Spring!

2010-04-16T12:45:00.000-07:00

من أين؟

2010-04-13T05:07:00.001-07:00
لا تنتقد خجلي الشـديد .. فإنني بسيطة جــدا … وأنت خبير .. يا سيد الكلمات .. هبني فرصة حتى يذاكر دروســه العصفور .. خذني بكل بساطتي ..وطفولتي أنا لم أزل أصبـــو ..وأنت كبيــــر . أنا لا أفرّق بين أنفى أو فمي في حين أنت على النساء قدير .. من أين تأتى بالفصاحة كلهـــا.. وأنا .. يموت على فمي التعبيــر أنا في الهوى لا حول لي أو قوة إن المحبّ بطبعـــه مكســــور . إني نسيت جميع ما علمتني في الحب فاغفر لي وأنت غفور يا واضع التاريخ .. تحت ســريره يا أيها المتشاوف المغـــرور . يا هادئ الأعصاب ..أنك ثابت وأنا ..على ذاتي أدور ..أدور .. الأرض تحتي دائما محروقة والأرض تحتك مخمل وحرير .. فرق كبير بيننا يا سيدي فأنا محافظـــة .. وأنت جســـور وأنا مقيّدة .. وأنت تطيـــــر .. وأنا محــجّبة .. وأنت بصيــــر .. وأنا .. أنا .. مجهـــولة جدا .. وأنت شهير .. فرق كبير بيننا .. يا سيدي فأنا الحضارة والطغاة ذكور .. من شعر سعاد الصباح وغناء نجاة

من قصة لم تكتمل

2010-04-08T01:21:00.000-07:00
و لتبقى دوما في قلبي... محفورا بداخلي كما حفر أجدادنا المصريون تاريخهم العظيم على جدران المعابد القديمة... شامخا كأهرام مصر تتحدى الزمن... صامدا كنيلها الخالد تنثر الحياة في جنبات نفسي كما ينثر الحياة في أرضها... تضيء كوني كشمسها الساطعة... تجرفني كرياحها الحاملة عبق الاف السنين فأنسى من أنا... تبتلعني كصحرائها الشاسعة ولا أجد نفسي الا معك يا صحرائي وواحتي... وبين ذراعيك تتحدد معالمي وأرى خارطتي وأعرف طريقي... ولتبقى دوما أجمل الناس... يا كل الناس...

Another Beautiful Face

2010-03-07T06:22:00.000-08:00
For him, she is just another beautiful face that will need some more time to be in his bed. For her, he was the world...

Pain

2010-03-07T06:20:00.000-08:00
He always complains that she keeps her troubles to herself. He never understands that sometimes talking about the pain hurts more than the wound itself...

Perfume

2010-01-11T01:17:00.000-08:00
His wife couldn't understand why he got mad when she washed his blue scarf. It was the only thing that carried the perfume she used to wear before they got married.

Unsaid!

2010-01-09T06:33:00.000-08:00
Only one word from her could have made him cancel all his plans and stay. Only one word from him could have made her say the word he had been waiting for.

The Answer

2010-01-09T06:29:00.000-08:00
He asked her "Are you really happy with me?" She looked in his eyes and said "Yes... yes I am" It was the first time she ever gave him a clear answer.

The First Night

2010-01-09T06:27:00.000-08:00
She asked him "Do you remember our first night together?" Genuinely shocked, he asked her "It's the first time I hear you talk openly about our intimate rela..." She ignored his comment and interrupted him saying "It was the only time you carried me!"

Absurd!

2009-12-28T12:46:00.000-08:00
He said "So it is really Egypt! They are building the Goddamn wall!". She said "I can't believe she's finally getting a new home". It was their 37th anniversary.

Postponed!

2009-12-28T12:28:00.001-08:00
They have been sitting silently for an hour, starring at their empty cups. Suddenly he said "I don't think I can live without yo..". She didn't wait for him to finish the word, she said "Neither can I!".

I do!

2009-12-28T12:15:00.000-08:00
He looked at her with his deep green eyes. Rays of piercing light radiated from his eyes into her. She looked down feeling the hot flush of blood on her face. He didn't say a word and he didn't ask her any question. Without saying a word she stole a quick look at him that said "I do".

Unforgiven!

2009-12-28T06:31:00.000-08:00
She could have forgiven him for the slap, only if he ran to her and took her in his arms when she fell on the floor.

A Hug!

2009-12-28T05:06:00.000-08:00
He was lying beside her in their bed, asleep, deeply asleep. She moved closer to him and placed his silent arm around her body. She only enjoys his hug when he is asleep.

A Story Without A Start!

2009-12-16T10:29:00.000-08:00
She saw his number on her mobile screen in the middle of a hectic work day; it has been almost two months since they have last met. Close friends they keep calling themselves in their personal conversations, online chats and in front of common friends and everyone. The major differences in their characters and in the way they view things can make them nothing but rivals, but his fiery nature that only her smooth understanding and high tolerance for the other could sooth made them close in a way, nothing more than friends, or so she thought until she got his call.
***
- Her: Finally you are in Cairo, man I pity your family, are you ever gonna settle down a bit?

- Him: No never, you know me better than anyone, put me in one place more than two weeks and you will lose me forever.

- Her: My God, it’s not even getting better by age, is it?

- Him: Nope, never. So tell me, what have you been up to?

- Her: Nothing much, work, work and work, it has been stressful lately

- Him: Yeah, as if it has been better before, have you ever been free since you started this business?

- Her: Actually no, you are right, but at least I’m around, a phone call away, unlike those who spend most of their time in airports.

- Him: Ok someone is talking about me, well, I’m in Cairo this week and probably the week after, what are you doing on Tuesday after work of course?

- Her: Nothing, I don’t think I’ve got anything after work .

- Him: What about dinner?

- Her: Sounds great.

- Him: Ok, so we talk again on Tuesday to confirm time and place.

- Her: Perfcet! At last we’ll get a chance to talk, it has been so long I miss talking to you, I need the energy you induce in me with your flamboyant stories.

- Him: Yes, and I need to tell you some news.

- Her: Tell me, another promotion?

- Him: No, actually I’m dating.

- Her: Really!

- Him: Yes, I think it’s serious, anyway I have to go, will tell you all about it when we meet. Take care

- Her: Bye
***

“A lump in your throat
A cold hand squeezing your heart
Something you’ve never thought
Why are you torn apart?
Yes, you care about him the most
But you will never go for the dart
The happiness he has always brought
Can make your life a work of art
But in his life you cannot get caught
You know you’ll never be his part
Wasn’t this what you’ve been taught?
If you can’t end it then don’t start ”
***
Monday evening. An unsent message saved in the drafts folder of her mobile phone:
““I know it sounds crazy but...I think I feel jealous! I don’t have any reason or explanation for this, I know you see me as boring, naïve and depressing, and I know we didn’t promise each other anything but I can’t help it, I just can’t” ”
***
Tuesday morning. A message from her:
““I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it today, A friend of mine is getting married in 10 days and needs me for some errands, I’ll be busy till the wedding, sorry dear. Take care and good luck with your date” ”

El Masriyeen.... Rag3een!

2009-11-09T01:13:00.000-08:00
Do you remember songs like "Mashya El Sanyoora", "Ya Mama Setto", "Mate7seboosh ya Banat" and "3'anno Lel7ayah" that we used to listen to when we were children, with their funny lyrics, cheerful music and the amount of energy and life they used to inject in us whenever we listened to them? They all belong to El Masriyeen band that was filling the radio and TV with their music and lovely songs in the Eighties, lead by the composer Hany Shenouda and many members as musicians and singers with lovely voice. Yesterday I had the chance to attend their first come back concert in Cairo that was held in Wekalet El Ghoury in old Cairo. Listening to their songs I suddenly went back to when I was 5 or 6, and recalled how I loved their songs and used to knew them by heart and laugh my heart out with their funny clips. Now, 25 years later I was surprised to see myself still remembering the lyrics by heart, singing with the music without missing a word and getting back that same old feeling of pure, absolute, unconditional and untouched happiness that only children could feel. The performance was great, the whole band members are so down to earth and I felt as if I knew them already for so long, they were not just singers and musicians doing their job, they were friends, family, relatives. It was obvious that they all have a magical harmony with each other, and whenever Hany Shenouda speaks it is of the simplest, sincere and sweet words, I simply loved the man and his work. He was still on his very same old place on the keyboard, sending passionate looks of love and support to every single member on the band, giving full credit to all of them that I felt he is more of a loving father than a band leader. I couldn't help but going to him after the concert, and over a sincere hug and pair of kisses I thanked him for bringing me back those wonderful feelings that I thought were gone for good and for showing me that happiness can still come in something as simple as a song that is carfeuly written, composed and performed with lots of passion and talent. The band now has three very talented young singers, Fady, Afaf and Ayman who are just sweet and lovely, I couldn't take my eyes off their lovely faces that were hosting unremovable sweet smiles even after the concert ended. After a very long clapping session and a friendly chat with Hany and some of his lovely team, I went back home driving my car in the streets of Cairo and suddenly things seemed better, I didn't mind the dirty buildings, the ugly streets, the chaotic traffic or the people's attitude, for my heart was elsewhere and my ear could hear nothing but the happy music and lovely voices. That was exactly how I felt when I watched "Mamma mia" the musical that kept me happy for days and that I kept it in my list of antidepressants and happiness-enducing things :) Now El Masriyeen band will give their next concert in El Sakia on Wednesday Nov 18th, so I strongly rcommend that you go and get back some of that wonderful time that we all lost for growing up and living in this crazy life.

My English Book....Soon!

2009-09-29T06:34:00.000-07:00

Our Great History!

2009-09-10T03:39:00.000-07:00
Do you agree with me that a great history of thousands of years that is not preserved, not supported by a matching present and signs for a bright future is simply useless and talking about it is pathetic? To me, it is like a very old ugly dirty woman who is bragging about how she was Miss Universe years and years ago. Egyptians were the most intelligent people, they marvelled the world with their achievements and they taught humanity almost everything from buidling to agriculture to ethics and religions ... Yes, twe were great. Did you notice the past tense in the above phrase? Sad isn't it? And depressing, at least to me! I am personally against building the ".....est" things to claim your position in civilization, Dubai for example is always building the tallest, the biggest...etc and although I don't like Dubai and with all the horrors of Cairo and the hate and grudge I carry for it, I would still live there than spend a week in dubai, but you know what, every time I go there I get more and more impressed. yes they do not have history or past, they did not build pyramids or kept the bodies of their deads till now, but they are booming, the city is very clean and organised, life there is very easy, Dubai airpport is the best I have ever seen, even airports in Europe do not match it, it takes you literally 3 minutes to finish all the procedures, everywhere you are greeted, helped, welcomed and you feel you are like a very welcome and loved guest....well, I am proud of them. And let our 7000 years of civilization bring us clean air, drinkable water and sewage free fruits and vegetables, let it bring us safety while walking in the street and let us bring it the feeling of belonging that was lost long ago, let it bring us the basics of life that we cannot find in our own country although we find them given to everyone wherever we go.

Nostalgia Europea!

2009-08-16T00:49:00.000-07:00

Dear Europe,

I've been with you for two weeks, two full weeks, walking in your streets, breathing your air, drinking your water, filling my eyes with all your beauty that never ceases to amaze me and filling my soul with the life I have there that never ceases to make me feel alive. Yes, my dear Europe, I only feel alive with you, alone, without a familiar face, speaking your languages and living in places far away from home and from my beloved family and friends, but still the love that you give me makes me feel fulfilled and happy, a kind of happiness that no one else could give me.

When I first saw you, it was Paris, and it was the time I realized that I belong to you, the week I spent there showed me what happiness really is, what basics of life I miss and I didn't know that I missed unless I had them with you. I could breath a clean fresh air that I never have where I come from, I drank clean water from the tap, something I stopped doing since I was a young boy because the water coming from the taps where I live is not clean and cannot be drunk by humans, I found there a beautiful river, very clean that I could see under the water, accessible that I can walk by it and bend to get some of its water. I found old buildings that carry history of centuries and still look elegant, clean and extremely beautiful. I found greenery wherever I went as if it is a part of the daily life, while I rarely see a tree where I come from. I saw people who have beauty as part of their life, they care for it and would do anything to keep it, people who respect each other and do not care what the others look like, wear or say, I found peace and calmness, I found all what I never thought I needed until I went there. On my way back, in the airport I was crying, I felt as if I was parting from the only happiness I ever had, and I promised you to come back.

Then I lived in Germany for three months, which I see now as the best days of my life. Living there I became sure that my love to you is strong, deeply rooted in me and will stay as long as I live. I came to you with a sore heart and you treated me, and what else can be the best treatment for a wounded heart than being with you. There, I worked, lived, went to places, met people, made friends and with every day there, your love was growing inside me, like a tree that will not be uprooted unless my life ends. And when I went back to where I came from, I had this severe depression, this longing to you and to the days I lived with you, for the first time I was nostalgic to a place that I do not belong to. But don't I belong to you? Is home where you live, where you carry a document stating your nationality that you never relate to, just a dumb word that does not induce any feeling in your heart? Isn't home supposed to be where you feel home, where you feel happy and where you feel that you want to spend the rest of your life there?

Only then I decided that any vacation will be with you, only you, and since then I have been saving all the money that I can to spend it with you, for only with you I feel that money is made to be spent. Who said that money does not buy happiness, the money that I spend to pay for my trips to you give me happiness that is incomparable to anything I have ever felt.

Paris, Chartres, London, Berlin, Cologne, Bonn, Dusseldorf, Brussels, Amsterdam, Munich, Zurich, Zermatt, Madrid, Barcelona, Granada, Cordoba, Seville, Salzburg, Vienna, Venice, Verona, Prague, Karlovy Vary... Every one of your beautiful cities has given me its best and greeted me with its beautiful greenery. Each city soothed my heart with its beauty, fed my soul with its well-kept history and art and showed me its best, its very best. Like a mother proud of your children, wanting them to always be perfect and present them to the whole world in pride and glory, you presented your cities to me and I loved them all, every one of them has engraved its place in my heart and left a mark in my soul. And now, my dear Europe, I wouldn't be exaggerating when I say that you are my mother, the mother of my soul. You love me and care for me like a mother, whenever I come to you you give me the happiness that I never found anywhere else, you sooth my pains and comfort me. The smile you put on my face vanishes as soon as I leave you. The feeling of relief and belonging only comes to me when I am with you. Your rain cleanses my soul, your rivers tell me what beauty is, your green mountains showed me my home and the snow that covers you in winter made my eyes see a clearer picture of who I am. Yes, for my soul you are the only mother.

I am a product of you, my dear Europe, your painters, authors, poets, philosophers, composers and historical figures all enlightened me and made me what I am, every one of them, every single work that one of your children has made was a lesson to me, a journey of knowledge, I grew up with them, I walked their footsteps and I learned from them all, Your history was my best teacher and your literature was where I learned to feel and write, your paintings have taught me to appreciate art and beauty and your music is one of the things that keep me alive where I live away from you. I wouldn't have been the man I am now without you, without your children. Without your love.

I have parted from you my dear mother, but I will come again, with a smiling cheerful face that is rarely seen where I live, with a loving heart open to you and to your gifts that you generously offer me, with eyes that will never get enough of your beauty because they only see beauty in you. I will come to you and hug your trees, kiss your buildings, pray in your cathedrals, and dream of the day I get united with you for the end of my life...

Of failure in getting out of my shell/ A horrible experience with Omar & Salma

2009-06-04T04:37:00.000-07:00
Ok, this might be offending to some people, especially those who like "comedy" and Negm el geel "Tamer Hosny" so if you're one of those, please stop reading now and delete this mail from your list, I am not intending to take back anything mentioned here. Based on a very stressful mood I am in due to work load, work problems, Exams, summer and others, and based on a strong recommendation from my boss -who is one of my very close friends- to "get out of my shell, my comfort zone, have more acceptance for others, develop some tolerance, get close to our consumers and what they watch and read, get down from my ivory tower and live on earth even if I don't like many things surrounding me" bla bla bla... and based on a request from two dear colleagues to go out with them and "totally plan the outing, we trust it will be good" I decided to go for a movie "Omar and Salma" after a nice dinner. While shocked from my choice, my colleagues agreed happily that finally Meto will fight his deppression and go do something cheerful. So we went.... What a horrible movie, what a waste of time and money, not mention, my nerves.... my poor nerves that are already eroded on daily bases from many things. I went home after the movie cursing everything and everyone related to it even the usher who took us to our seats! Yes when I'm angry I go extreme. Now why do I call the movie horrible, here are some of the things that annoyed me more than you can ever imagine: - The whole movie is lacking quality in every single aspect, the script appears like a group of friends were having a cool "2a3da" and they decided "matyalla ne3mel film tahyees keda" and they really did it. No story, no script, no built dialogues, no anything!!! - The movie is full of useless sexual connotations with almost every single character that appeared, a son and his father, a 4 years old girl and her parents. It is very obvious that they have nothing to do with the script (assuming there is one asslan) but they are just there to make people "laugh". - The film tackles the issue of the transformation that the after-marriage life of a young couple is subjected to. Don't expect to see anything as serious as the previous sentence, even betrayal, divorce, bringing up kids and child abuse are tackled in a very superficial and childish way! - If I start to mention the number of ethics and values that have been deformed in the movie I need a book, but here are example, the way the married couple deal with each other (two gangsters), the way the children talk to their parents, the way the son talks to his father, the teacher and the way he is portrayed, the neighbors, the caretaker of the building, every single character that appeared in the movie is literally deformed! Finally, I went home, running as much as possible from the cinema and the audience who were laughing their hearts out, cursing every single person i ran into till I went home, wondering what will be the effect of such film on the extremely young children who were in the cinema, I wanted to ask one of the mothers or the fathers "What do you think this film will do to your son or daughter?" but for sure I excluded the idea, if a parent is careless enough to take their child to such movie, for sure any "reasonable" conversation is useless. I cannot blame the filmmakers, they have the "noble" cause of making people "laugh", aren't we experts of making fun of our problems and laughing at ourselves, "ommal nemawet nafsena ya3ny?" I blame the audience- including myself- for going to such movies, wasting time, money and a whole generation of kids. After all, "He who has no audience will never sing again" Finally, I reached the conclusion that this will be the last time in trying to get out of my shell and giving things that I do not like a second chance. I'd rather stay as I am, liking what I like and hating what I hate. And I have to run now to have a big fight with my boss where I will make him regret advising me of "challenging my own staus quo", I love, I adore, I worship my status quo!!!

A farewell to Spring!

2009-05-31T03:30:00.000-07:00

My Spring!

2009-04-21T23:34:00.001-07:00
And if I can't find the colours of spring outside... I bring them in

Of being "Open Minded"!

2009-04-05T03:41:00.000-07:00
A very good friend of mine -actually one of the very few people in my whole life that I can talk freely to knowing that I will never get judged or misunderstood- mentioned that "open minded" has become abused lately and turned to be very vague as it is "sticked" to all kinds of people and actions without really having a solid base upon which it is applied. She also questioned: "What is open-mindedness? Which adjectives fall under its definition? and then... how are they implemented. ..? Or is it just one of those linguistic fashions?" This made me think for a while and then I reached the conclusion that, like any adjective, "open minded" differs according to who says it and who she/he gives it to. So for example such an adjective can be given to a man who does not mind sharing the house work with his wife, a mother who accepts that her daughter goes out with group of friends from both sexes and stays out late, to a man who does not mind that his wife or girlfriend dresses in an exotic way, and it can reach the extreme of giving it to people who do not believe in God or any religion. And of course we have to put in mind the three things that govern our society and become the base of judgement which are religion, traditions and social pressure. Accordingly, a person who breaks some of these rules can be easily called open minded by another person. And again it all depends on who gives the title and to whom. So I think it is like any other adjective, very subjective, you cannot find a single definition or even a group of things that if present in a certain person this person deserves the title, it's like most of the adjectives we use. What is beautiful? What is good life? Who is a happy person? And the list can go for as long as we want. And although some adjectives can be measured like intelligence for example, still the means of measurement differ according to who measures and why is he measuring? I think if you want to minimize your annoyment, whenever you hear this adjective (or any other) being given to someone, just ask the giver of the adjective two questions: 1- What do you mean by open minded? 2- Why do you think X is open minded? It will help you understand the one who gave the adjective, which is really more important than understanding the one who was given it. And believe me you will be shocked how people use words to describe things.

The Windmills of Your Mind

2009-03-23T01:56:00.000-07:00
Like a circle in a spiral Like a wheel within a wheel Never ending or beginning On an ever-spinning reel Like a snowball down a mountain Or a carnival balloon Like a carousel that's turning Running rings around the moon Like a clock whose hands are sweeping Past the minutes of its face And the world is like an apple Whirling silently in space Like the circles that you find In the windmills of your mind Like a tunnel that you follow To a tunnel of its own Down a hollow to a cavern Where the sun has never shone Like a door that keeps revolving In a half-forgotten dream Or the ripples from a pebble Someone tosses in a stream Like a clock whose hands are sweeping Past the minutes of its face And the world is like an apple Whirling silently in space Like the circles that you find In the windmills of your mind Keys that jingle in your pocket Words that jangle in your head Why did summer go so quickly? Was it something that you said? Lovers walk along a shore And leave their footprints in the sand Is the sound of distant drumming Just the fingers of your hand? Pictures hanging in a hallway And the fragment of a song Half-remembered names and faces But to whom do they belong? When you knew that it was over You were suddenly aware That the autumn leaves were turning To the colour of her hair Like a circle in a spiral Like a wheel within a wheel Never ending or beginning On an ever-spinning reel As the images unwind Like the circles that you find In the windmills of your mind A song by Noel Harrison from the movie "The Thomas Crown Affair" 1968, that won the Academy Award for Best Original Song in the same year

To Look Life in the Face

2009-03-18T06:09:00.000-07:00
"To look life in the face... always... to look life in the face... and to know it for what it is... at last... to know it...to love it for what it is... and then... to put it away..." Virginia Woolf

Life in Venice/The Departure

2009-03-17T03:06:00.000-07:00
For the first time he woke up without feeling that thrilling happiness that he has been feeling for the last week. Seven days… seven mornings… he used to wake up very early every day, greeted by the cold air that caresses his face as soon as it gets from under the pillow. Whenever he spends a winter night in Europe, he switches off the heating system and he leaves the windows open, he wants to have "cold" as the first thing to feel and the clean smell of fresh air as the first thing to breath as soon as he wakes up. He ran to the window, the city was still asleep and covered in fog, like a beautiful woman in a French painting from the Nineteenth century, lying elegantly on a love seat, dressed in a transparent veil of white silk that shows its beauty rather than hides it. He breathed the fresh air, carrying the cold of five degrees and the characteristic smell of freshness and cleanliness that he has been absorbing the last week, something he never finds where he comes from. He kept filling his lungs with the air, he wished he can keep the breath inside, he wished he had bigger lungs or his whole body becomes a lung to keep this fresh air inside. What a cruel life, he thought to himself, that makes you see clean air as a dream, even the act of breathing, the most natural and spontaneous right of all living things, is something he cannot enjoy where he lives. A long shower did not help to wash away the layers of sadness that were covering him the more the time flew. His lips that were smiling inevitably for a whole week could not smile now. He had no appetite for breakfast, although during the last seven days he used to eat with an enormous appetite that he gained 3 kilos in only one week. He had packed the night before; he did not want to lose any minute of his last hours in that lovely place. He did the bed and left the room as clean and organized as he once stepped in it a week ago, he knew it's a big hotel where they have a staff whose only job is to do rooms, but he just could not leave anything behind him that does not match with beauty. This room has seen him in happiness for whole week, it deserves to be left as beautiful as it should be, and everything in this city has to carry the word beautiful, strongly and proudly. He dragged his suitcase to leave it in the reception, he was greeted by the beautiful lovely lady that he befriended from the moment he entered for check in. His sadness was obvious and when she told him that she hoped he enjoyed his stay in their hotel, he had a problem speaking, with a gulp in his throat, he said that he enjoyed every minute…that he regretted sleeping for this was a waste of time. And when she apologized because the weather was not good, he interrupted her telling her that it could have never been better, what could be better than a cold cloudy week with showers of rains and blasts of cold air, and all of this contained in a city where the past comes back to life, beautiful and charming, genuine and absorbing. He told her it was his favorite weather, for he comes from a desert, where rain is a rare visitor that visits him few minutes every year, where summer is the most triumphant of the four seasons and where an annoying egotist sun is powerful enough not to allow a single morning to be there without its own presence. He had two hours to spend in the city before his departure, only two hours…how little is that when we are happy. What can be better than walking in a city where walking, the normal and trivial of all acts, can be an enjoyment, where all the streets are cobbled and very clean, the way he likes streets, where all the buildings he comes across are old and clean, the way he likes buildings, where he is surrounded by clean and fresh air that smells of nothing and when it dares carry a smell it is either the smell of the sea, coffee, freshly bakery, frankincense or plants. He kept walking, without his camera, his only companion that did not leave his hand the last week, his final walk was dedicated to his eyes only. He did not take his i-pod as well, who needs music in such walk? He wanted all his senses to absorb as much as possible of this city, even its silence, for he treasures silence as much as he treasures beauty and cleanliness. He wanted to kiss the buildings, to hug them; he wished he could be transformed instantly into a giant, big enough to embrace the whole city with its buildings, canals, islands, bridges. Yes he loves dead things as his closest friend once said, but she did not know that he never saw them as dead, for every building was alive telling him a story, its own story where happiness mingles with grief, creating life the way the wind shapes the sand dunes of the desert where he comes from… Why does everything has to end, why are we lacking the ability to freeze time, to stop life when it should be stopped and where can his life be stopped except in that place? His boat was there, taking him back to the city with its real life, soon he will see cars again, hear their noises and smell the air polluted by their exhaust, soon he will be in an airport, one of the places he hates the most, and soon he will be back to where he came from… The boat was there, he looked back wishing to run away and hide in the city forever, but he did not, he boarded the boat and it started moving triumphantly. The beautiful coast of "Fondamenta Nuova" was getting gradually invisible to his eyes. His vision was blurred, not from the fog that was still covering the city, not from the rain drops that fell on his eye lashes, but from the tears coming from the heart of a man destined to see beauty only where he does not live and feels nostalgic to where he does not belong…

Life in Venice/ La Traviata

2009-03-12T07:34:00.000-07:00
The nineteenth century witnessed a great upheaval of all kinds of art and literature in Europe. It was a century of creativity and thinking, producing works that marked a milestone in the history of humanity. In this time and specifically in France, there lived a famous writer whose father was another famous writer, both father and son gave the French literature masterpieces that cannot be forgotten, both had flamboyant lives that were considered scandalous at that age and both had exactly the same name "Alexander Dumas" The father (1802-1870) wrote The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo and was involved with Hashish and other drugs as he was a prominent founder of the "Hashashins club" with other famous writers like the great poet Baudelaire. The son on the other hand was famous for his scandalous affair with Marie Duplessis, a famous courtesan (high class prostitute). This life long relationship inspired Dumas to write his masterpiece La Dame aux camélias, or The Lady of the Camellias, that was first published as a novel in 1848 and then he adapted it for the stage in 1852. The great Italian composer attended the play and got immediately inspired by the story that he made it into the famous opera La Traviata or The Fallen One which premiered in Venice in 1853. ******************** It was my last day in Venice, I dedicated the last evening to this multi level masterpiece, For La Traviata is a masterpiece of music and plot. The show was given in the Scuola Grande San Giovanni Evangelista, one of the many old schools in Venice. Like all the buildings in this enchanted city, the Scuola kept its original architecture, with the magnificently huge Roman facade, the show room that is literally covered by huge paintings all over the walls and the ceilings, and the carved statues in the walls and the ones scattered in every corner. It was a perfect place to see a world famous classical opera as great as La Traviata. Although the original story takes place in nineteenth century France, the opera was adapted to be set in Eighteenth century Italy. We see Violetta, the beautiful courtesan, throwing a party in her home, we get to know the noble Alfredo, a shy gentleman who has been madly but silently in love with Violetta, but he cannot hide his feelings any longer, he confesses his love for her but she rejects him telling him that she was not made to love or be loved by any man, she asks him to forget her and find another woman. But something about Alfredo and his feelings touched her and in a very romantic scene she gives him a red rose and asks him to return it when it has wilted, a symbol of not only the short life of his love for her but of her own life as well. Alone, Violetta cannot remove Alfredo and his voice from her mind, she keeps talking to herself and wondering if he is the man she has always been waiting for. Torn between her attraction to him and the impossibility of being with him, for she is a courtesan and he is a descendant of a noble family. But love wins; Violetta and Alfredo eventually escape and live together in Violetta's country house, enjoying the stolen happiness that they cannot have lawfully. After sometime Alfredo accidentally discovers that Violetta is selling her properties to finance the luxurious life they are both living and he goes back to Paris to claim some money. Waiting desperately for his return, Violetta is visited by the Baron, Alfredo's father who commands her to break her scandalous relationship with his son. Violetta refuses, the Baron offers her money and social protection but Violetta is deeply hurt, she cries while trying to make the father understand that she is not after his money and that she has already been selling her possessing to finance their love, she begs him to allow her some days of happiness in her short life that will end soon. The Baron is deeply touched by the true feelings of Violetta, he begs her to leave his son because their relationship is destroying the family and already preventing his daughter from getting married. Violetta agrees to sacrifice her love for the good of Alfredo and his family. The Baron gives her a fatherly kiss and calls her the noblest of all women. Violetta with unbearable remorse writes a farewell letter to Alfredo while singing of her eternal and unconditional love to him. She gives the letter to her maid to send it to Alfredo who gets devastated when he reads it. Then Violetta is seen in a party, for apparently she has gone back to her life, Alfredo is also there winning a huge sum of money from gambling, he makes a scene and throws the money at Violetta as a payment for her "services", Violetta is deeply humiliated and she faints. In the final scene we see Violtta in her death bed reading a letter from Alfredo's father who heard of her illness and felt so guilty from what he lead her too, he has already confessed to Alfredo the whole story, Alfredo enters and the two lovers sing together their final love song just before Violetta dies in his arms. ************************* Was it the beautiful music of Verdi playing live? Was it the amazing performance and singing of the actors? Was it the breathtaking setting of the ancient place? Was it the extremely beautiful and sad plot with all the emotions it triggered and all the values it resuscitated in my heart and mind? Was it the extremely attractive Soprano who was playing Violetta and exchanging eye contact with me (or so I imagined… hoped actually)? Was it the whole week of being immersed in pure beauty as if the world has forgotten me for whole week in a paradise like place? I wasn't able to identify the real reason for feeling as if I were flying, as if I suddenly left this world and went into a magical journey where everything around you is beautiful in an unearthly way… A dream, a dream that you can touch and live when you are fully wake! How can I explain this? How can a withering plant almost dying in a cracking dry soil explain its feelings when it gets some water carrying the secret of life? How can a weary bird explains how it feels when it finally lands on a solid ground after days and days of flying over the sea? If what I just mentioned got you closer to how it all felt then I have succeeded. I was the last one to leave the place, I didn't want to and it was one of those moments when I wished I could freeze time, I just needed nothing else. It was my last night in Venice, the place that has been treating me well for a whole week, and ended up with this gift. I had my last walk in the empty city, bathing in a sea of serenity, surrounded by the dim light of the street lanterns and a cold breeze of fresh and clean air carrying the smell of the sea and the freshness of winter rain, feeling a strange familiarity with every corner, with every building. Venice loves me, I could feel it, strange and crazy as it might sound but I felt it loved me. With every step I was taking I didn't feel like a foreigner, a tourist who is spending some days of vacation and leaving the next day back to his home, or the place that is supposed to be home… To be continued…

Life in Venice/ The Colours of Murano

2009-03-10T14:50:00.000-07:00
Murano is not just a type of glass, it is considered the most expensive and authentic glass, named after the island where glassmakers reside, adopting ancient methods of blowing and colouring that is living from the thirteenth century till this moment, inherited across families and turning this small island into one of the most frequently visited places in Europe. Not very far from the Venetian coast lies this small island like a beautifully drawn painting, and what is a painting without colors? Venice has always been famous for colored glass that was once called Venetian glass, then in the thirteenth century and due to the fact that most of the houses were made of wood, having those furnaces used for manufacturing the glass made the island at a risk of fire, so the government issued an order that all the glass manufacturers should move to the small island of Murano. Now Murano is a brand, world famous, expensive, luxurious that offers you a wide variety of beautiful products ranging from necklaces, vases, glasses, antiques, chandeliers and all kinds of shapes that can or cannot be made from glass. The island is really small, peaceful, clean, beautiful and elegant, a chip of the old block as they say, for Venice and beauty seem to be eternal companions. As soon as I stepped from the boat, a magnificent composition of blue glass placed in the main street greeted me with a warm welcome in spite of the cold weather. It took me some time to be able to identify exactly what that object was, a collection of narrow hollow tubes of different shades of blue, arranged around several axes and ending up in this conglomerate of gracefully bent tubes, a work of brilliant art, beautiful beyond explanation. I wandered in the empty streets, stopping at each shop, wondering how a human hand can be able of working with such care and producing such beauty from something as fragile and brittle as glass. I decided to enter one of the furnaces and see the process live. Most of the shops refused that, and even refused to allow me to take some photos of their products. Only a young beautiful lady invited me in and took me to the furnace where her father was working. He asked me what do I want, I asked him for a vase, a blue vase. And in front of my eyes, a miracle was happening… I watched the old man working with a speed that my eyes could not follow, I was told that he has to finish in 5 minutes other wise the glass will cool and solidify and cannot be shaped. In less than three minutes, the vase was there, not a plain one, but full of shapes, curves, very unsymmetrical and amazingly beautiful. I was speechless… Was I impressed by the whole atmosphere and how an ugly hot gloomy place like a furnace can be a home for such beauty? Was I impressed by the old man and his super natural speed? Was I impressed by the vase he made in no time, without a previous design, all spontaneous!!! I wanted to stay more and absorb the beauty of the shapes and colors. The lady was nice enough to allow me to take some photos. How did people live without cameras? I toured the island several times, stopping at other shapes placed casually in the streets. A combination of long thin segmented glass shapes that reminded me of sugar cane plantations, but they were colored in red, a graceful shape of curved pieces colored in bright red, orange and yellow, a similar figure with shades of blue and many other breath taking shapes scattered here and there that words cannot explain, I will let the photos show you everything, for some places no words can be able to explain their beauty… I went back to my hotel, with a beautiful vase for my mother, a load of photos in my camera and a lifetime experience that will keep me alive for some time. To be continued…

Life in Venice/ La Gondola

2009-03-09T06:44:00.000-07:00
Walking into the narrow streets of Venice and getting close to its marvelous old building is a totally different experience than seeing it from the water, sailing on the famous gondola and watching as the scene changes slowly like a film, like a tray of pictures from a fairy tale book. It was slightly before sunset, the cloudy sky was having that faint orange tint that indicates the approach of sunset in the clear skies of Europe, and of all the European cities that I have visited, clean, organized, civilized as beautiful as they all were, Venice stands alone as a unique individual, around which time had stopped. Even the gondola, that small boat, the only means of transportation in Venice and a very romantic symbol is unique in many ways. The old Gondolier who invited me aboard his gondola or "Deborah" as he calls her, told me many interesting facts about this magical boat.First of all, it is handmade by the assembly of 280 different pieces that come from 8 types of wood. It operates by a single rowing movement and it has an elongated shape that is approximately 10 meters long, the final edges are turned gracefully upwards emphasizing the ancient fairy tale shape. Some years ago the government in Venice issued an order that all gondolas have to be in a specific shape and all coloured in black with beautiful delicate golden decoration. The government also has ordered that all gondoliers should wear a uniform, black trousers and black-stripped white T-shirt. Yes, some governments care about the beauty of their cities and I am certain that a government for a city like Venice should have beauty on top of its Agenda… Let me tell you this, watching a gondola standing in the still water of the canal, swinging gracefully and slowly on the water surface can be nothing but beautiful, I saw it as a princess in an elegant black dress and gold ornaments, waving to her people, inviting in the same time. I boarded the gondola with old "Massimo" the sweet gondolier, listening to his sad and touching story about his gondola and why he calls her "Debora" after his wife who passed away 10 years ago, and after whom he never thought of marrying or even touching another woman, he dedicated his life to take lovers and tour Venice with them, taking them across all the beauties and ending the romantic tour under the bridge of sighs where they kiss and turn their love eternal. When he knew I'm single he was surprised and he asked me I should not waste a single moment in my life without being in love because it is the best thing you can ever do… to be in love. When he asked me where I am from and I told him Egypt, he surprised me with many things he knows about Egypt, he even called me "habibi"! and when the trip ended he refused to take the agreed price and made me a huge discount just for the fact that I am an Egyptian single man who is brave enough to visit Venice alone and loving it non the less. Sometimes being Egyptian ends up in something good…Sometimes… To be continued…

Life in Venice/ The Accademia

2009-03-08T10:42:00.000-07:00
The Accademia as it is commonly called or L'Accademia di Belle Arti di Venezia as it is properly called in Italian is one of the world's most renowned art galleries that hosts one of the finest collections of Italian paintings dated to the pre-1800s. It was founded originally as a school for fine arts; painting, sculpture and architecture. It is a huge building located on the Grand Canal, the main canal crossing Venice and it was originally three separate buildings that were combined and turned into this magnificently huge art gallery in the eighteenth century. Among the great work of arts that the Accademia hosts, the most famous of all is Da Vinci's "Vetruvian Man" (attached) which is a masterpiece of art and science and contains many secrets of geometry. Entering the huge gate after a warm welcome by a typical Roman façade, I kept moving smoothly from one room to another, trying to absorb the immense paintings with all their details, starting with very early Christian art and ending with beautiful sceneries. After some time, I just had some difficulty trying to lift my lower jaw placing it back in its proper place. It was inevitable…I was wondering how can a single artist, a man, just another human being, how can he be able to work on such huge paintings and I mean huge, with all the details, the facial expressions, the background and its full assembly of things… It was just unbelievable…I am talking about Bellini, one of the great Italian painters, a Venetian who needs a post of his own (which will come later on among other Venetians, promise), a painter who was fascinated by the Virgin and Jesus, capturing the most emotionally intense moments in their lives with beauty that words cannot describe… Many questions were left unanswered in my poor mind that has been subjected to a brutal culture shock as soon as I landed in this magnificent city which is a work of art itself. I tried to pick one of the huge paintings randomly and I tried to imagine the painter standing in front of a plain wall. Did he have the whole scene in mind before starting or he just made it up as soon as he hit the wall with his brush? Where did he start with his brush? Which color did he use? How did he manage to complete such a huge work? How did he manage to take breaks and come back to work on the very same part? After some time, I was exhausted… drained, I just couldn't stay more in that place, I was really saturated from the huge works and this beauty that my eyes could not capture more and my heart had no place for more awe… I went out, breathing the cold air with its characteristic freshness… Just across the channel I was invited to a Gondola by a very cheerful old man who insisted that he will take me to a tour in Venice as seeing it from the water is different than seeing it from the land, I couldn't agree more… To be continued…

Life in Venice/The Bridge of Sighs

2009-03-05T00:00:00.000-08:00
If you are in love and you want to make this love last forever, take your beloved and fly immediately to Venice. As soon as you land there, wait for sunset and go take a gondola with your beloved and ask the Gondolier to take you to the Ponte dei Sospiri, or The Bridge of Sighs, make sure you kiss right under the bridge before the sun sinks into the horizon… Now you can feel safe, for your love will last forever… Venice is a city for lovers, no wonder that it is in Venice and under one of its most famous bridges where you can make your love eternal, or so says the legend. This magical Bridge was built in the year 1600 to connect the local prison to the interrogating rooms in the Doge's palace. It is from this bridge that the convicts sentenced to imprisonment will see the last view of the beautiful city from a narrow stone window. When Lord Byron, the great English poet visited Venice in the 19th century, he watched the bridge and he imagined that the convicts would see Venice for the last time and sigh mourning their lost freedom, and since then it has been called the bridge of sighs or Ponte dei Sospiri in Italian. Walking around the magnificent Doge's palace, a real example of Baroque architecture with all its grotesque and exaggerated decorations, adorned with famous colossal Roman statues and roaming across its huge rooms, with their walls and ceilings crowded with Baroque paintings you suddenly enter a plain hall which is devoid of any decorations, and who would decorate the room where convicts are interrogated, judged and sentenced. Then you enter the stone bridge, you will see it is totally closed, more like a tunnel and you can only see the outer world from very narrow small window and then it leads you into the prison and its cold scary cells. The contrast between the exaggerated decorations that characterizes the Baroque palace and the plain ugly emptiness of the stone walled prison attracts all kinds of feelings, and being claustrophobic by nature, I was literally running to get out of this horrible place, to breathe some fresh air and see the sky again. It is true that we do not know the value of things until they are gone, just being able to walk in the streets, inhaling the air and seeing the sky is a blessing… To be continued...

Life in Venice/Basilica di San Marco

2009-03-04T06:49:00.000-08:00
Walking across the narrow streets of Venice, you will know that you are approaching San Marco square, the biggest and most important in Venice, when you find yourself overwhelmed by the smell of Frankincense*, a typical smell of catholic churches. Then the Basilica of san Marco greets you with its huge domes, grotesque architecture that characterizes Byzantine churches. But the Basilica of San Marco is not like any other Byzantine Church and its magic does not only lie in its architecture… Before you enter the church and across the flocks of pigeons that fill the square, you will find in front of the main gates of the church three thin and very tall pillars each one ending with a golden lion, and where do these pillars come from? Alexandria, our own Alexandria! Ok for those who do not know San Marco or Saint Mark the Evangelist as we know him, here is s little bit of info that I believe every single Egyptian should know, for Christianity, I believe, is not just another religion whose believers are fellow Egyptians, Christianity is an integral part of our history that we hardly know anything about, although our Egypt has played a major role in Christianity that cannot be ignored. And although I'm not the best one to talk about that, I will try to give you some basic info about Saint Marc and his relationship with Alexandria and Venice… Saint Mark is one of the four Evangelists (the four writers of the Gospels, the other three are Mathew, Luke and John), and although he was not one of the twelve Apostles (the followers and companions of Jesus) he was called apostolic because he was a follower of Saint Peter, one of the Apostles and the pillar of the Roman Catholic Christianity. Saint Mark was born to a devoted Christian mother who was a member of the earliest believers of Jesus. He is believed to be one of the men who poured water during the marriage at Cana, when Jesus turned this water to wine. It is also believed that he hosted the apostles in his house after Jesus' death and into this very house Jesus visited his companions after his resurrection. Later on, Saint Mark left Jerusalem and went to Egypt, specifically Alexandria, to carry on his holly task and spread the word of Jesus into its lands. A job that would cost him his life, as he was resented by the Egyptians who have been worshipping their traditional Gods for thousands of years and would not give them away that easily. In the year 68 AD Saint Mark faced his martyrdom bravely when he was tied to several horses and dragged through the streets of Alexandria, a common and very famous killing method for heretics at that time. His remains were buried there for almost 8 centuries. During that time, Alexandria being the harbor of Saint Marc, became a centre of Christianity and it was there that Christianity spread to the whole of Egypt which was under the Roman reign that is famous for its fierce torture of the Christians, and it was also in Egypt that monasteries originated as a means of escape and keeping one's religion from the fierce and un-human attacks of the Romans who saw Christians as traitors, having their absolute faith in an unseen God rather than the Emperor and the Roman estate. In the year 828, two devoted Christian merchants from Venice, seeing how Egypt was being transformed into a Muslim country after the Arabic conquest, they stole the remains of Saint Mark and hid them under layers of pork, knowing that Muslims do not touch it, and that was the best way of smuggling the relics of Saint Mark safely to Italy. When they reached Venice, they were met with a ceremony and the Doge (Italian word for Duke) of Venice ordered that a huge cathedral would be built for the honor of San Marco as he came to be called in Italian. ************************ Venice is not like any other city in the world, and since everything it hosts is different, its main cathedral is also different from any other church you can visit. Before entering the cathedral, you can easily tell that it was built across an extremely prolonged periods of time, it is very obvious from the building style and the decorating fashions that work has been on and off in the cathedral through ages. Each of the three gates has a style of its own, and while going in, each single corner can be taken off its settings and serve as a work of art that does not match the rest of the church. And unlike any other church I have visited in Europe, where your neck aches after some time from carrying your inevitably up-lifted head, amazed by the fine details, the integration of colours, the huge walls carrying the domes and their decorations, the coloured glass allowing the shimmering day light to enter gracefully adding a delicate spiritual atmosphere, combined with the characteristic smell of Frankincense, the serene calmness that characterizes Catholic cathedrals and the sad faces of the virgin carrying her only son, sometimes as a beautiful baby and sometimes as a dead body of a crucified man, his hands and feet still bleeding from the huge nails that fixed him on his cross. In the basilica of San Marco (Basilica is an ancient Greek word for royal, now given to Big churches where religious ceremonies take place) you have to look down, because unlike other cathedrals where the floor is a layer of plain marble, this Cathedral has a full exhibition of mosaic and intricate colored pieces in its floor that every inch is a masterpiece of its own. But again, you can easily tell that it has been built across ages, for every square carries a different style, and in spite of the amazing details and the magical combination of colors, the whole scene can sometimes be annoying. I attended the Sunday mass which was of course in Italian so I didn't get a single word, but I wasn't there to understand the preaching priest, nor was I there to ask questions, I was there because there is something magical about churches and specifically Catholic churches and their masses that enchants me and attracts me like a spell, that I cannot visit any city in Europe without visiting its cathedral and attending the mass. I spent another hour in the cathedral absorbing the beauty of its art, the huge marble figures, the beautiful paintings, the breath taking tiny pieces of mosaic combining together in an unearthly harmonious way that tells you how a human hand can work wonders, how a human heart can create beauty from dead things, how human eyes can absorb what they see and how a human mind can capture all this and wonder about his very own nature and how he can be capable of miracles. I left the church overwhelmed by its art, and in my mind I was hearing one word that makes sense behind all what I saw inside, inspiration… To be continued * Frankincense is the resin taken from the trees of Boswellia serrata, also known as Olibanum or locally known as Liban Dakar, a historic incense with deep roots in Christianity as it was one of the gifts given to baby Jesus by the three wise men.

Life in Venice/Dawn

2009-03-03T00:12:00.000-08:00
The only thing that annoys me in Venice is the people. Being sociophobic by nature and a loner who worships solitude this should be very much expected. But I have to admit that things get somehow different in Europe , either the people there are too civilized to annoy anyone, or I am more consumed with the beauty that I don't even see the people or feel annoyed by their presence. But people in Venice make you feel as if you opened an old fairy tale book, and across the breathtaking pictures of the city you find that some child has drawn those matchstick human figures with colored pencils… How annoying! In an attempt to see the city without people and based on a good friend's advice that the dawn over the Grand Canal is a scene not to be missed, I followed the advice and woke up very early to see what Venice is having for me. I left the hotel around 4 am. Getting out of the warm hotel, I was struck by two things; the terribly cold weather and the fog… It was cold, really cold, and although I was well equipped –or so I thought- with my thick coat, ice cap and gloves, the cold air was powerful enough to penetrate right to the bones… But who cares, I love winter, I miss it in Cairo which offers me all what I dislike, so some cold winter would be a treat in itself, so off I went. Being totally immersed in the sea, fog was literally covering the whole city, I couldn't see a meter away, and again that was a treat, how many times does it get foggy in Cairo's winter? Walking in the fog and having the objects appearing very slowly under the dark sky and the dim light of the street lanterns, combined by the cold air, the empty streets and the complete silence, I thought I must be feeling scared or at least afraid. But no, nothing related to fear was there, I was happy, smiling, inhaling the cold wet air and wishing my lungs could expand 10 times to absorb as much of the clean air as possible. Air that smells of nothing, like we used to study at school in science lessons that air and water are colorless and odorless. It was air as air should be, clean, cold, wet and fresh... I kept walking randomly across the empty streets, my breath sending this warm white vapours into the air, childish as it sounds but again this is something I really love and miss. The streets were empty, now I can see city as it should be seen. Not a single person out there, the beautiful ancient buildings standing mightily in a foggy scene barely illuminated by the street lamps and sinking in the bluish light of dawn… Why are words so insufficient when I need them to tell you what I saw, how it looked like and how it made me feel? As if I suddenly became a part of one of Monet's paintings, where everything is portrayed behind the veil of fog and the buildings silhouette all around you. The sky was dark and with the very slow fading of the fog, it started to acquire a deep dark translucent blue color that lightened very slowly. I sat on one of the docks watching the beautiful surroundings and wishing that time would stop. I would keep on walking every now and then, staying as close as possible to the water and going over every single bridge to have a high view of the sleeping city. It was Sunday, no people were expected to be seen at this time of the day and for the next couple of hours as well, and that in itself was more tempting to absorb as much as possible of the authentic fairy tale look of this legendary place. A very shy sun was trying to prove its presence from behind the cloudy sky and the foggy air, its helpless trials only ended in a very faint yellowish circle that kept showing weakly but persistently, it was a typical winter morning. Why does time fly when we want it to stop? The enchanting church bells rang filling the air with their deep harmonious echoing sounds, waking me up from this dreamlike walk and bringing me back to earth, but gently... very gently. It was 8 am, time for the Sunday mass in the Basilica of San Marco. I walked towards the cathedral that I have seen the day before and decided that my week in Venice would never have a better start. To be continued...

Life in Venice/The Landing

2009-03-02T12:33:00.000-08:00
Why would anyone write a full post about Landing in a city? But Venice is not like any other city and landing in Venice is not like any landing! In my trips I always leave the airport and either take a taxi or the underground to my destination, but leaving an aeroplane and jumping on a boat was something I have never experienced before. The airport Marco Polo is 40 minutes away from the city and the only way to get there is by boat… I have always associated Europe with old beautiful buildings, huge cathedrals, clean streets, greenery and clean air but never with the sea…. Even when I went to Barcelona that is a Mediterranean port, I did not feel that what I saw there was a sea, it was rather some watery space that has no waves nor does it give the characteristic smell of the sea that we I am used to. But Venice is something else, for all those things that I associate with Europe were combined with the sea, deep, blue, vast and with this characteristic smell that I love. Venice is built totally inside the sea, the city itself is an archipelago (a group of small islands connected together) of 118 islands, connected by about 150 narrow canals and about 400 bridges that serve as roads. The buildings are literally immersed in the water and many of them have their staircases going down into the canals, so that you can only reach them by boats. The only means of transportation is boats (this will be in a separate post)and walking… can you imagine how clean, clear and calm the atmosphere could be? The buildings are very short, not a single building is higher than three stories including a ground floor, a middle one and a roof. The only high buildings that you can see are the church towers. But venetian Churches will need a post of their own. The streets are extremely narrow and the buildings –accordingly- are very close to each other. All through the city you will never see a "modern" building, actually the word modern does not exist apart from the way people are dressed. So with no cars nor any traces of them, narrow cobbled streets, historical buildings and ancient architecture, classical music playing everywhere, even in the boat stations…what else do you need to feel as if you had a magical journey into the past? As if suddenly you jumped into a fairy tale and all you can do is look around in amazement wondering how the word beautiful would really underestimate what you see? Walking in Venice is an experience that I cannot describe. But what amazed me and kept me thinking till now is something that I cannot really find a logical explanation for… those who know me well know how I have bad memory with streets, I really need to visit a place at least ten times (and here I literally mean ten times, not just metaphorically) to be able to visit it again without a map. Now as soon as the boat dropped me in the small port "Fondamenta Nove" and I was told that my hotel is 10 minutes away, I sank into that feeling of "Ok… this is trouble". The narrow streets and the similarity of the buildings should –logically- conspire to make things worse! But…and to my extreme amazement, I didn't have to look at my map even once, and before your mind jumps into conclusions, there were no signs leading to my hotel, I just walked and walked and with a strange sense of direction I found myself at the hotel door. And for the next days I have been roaming the city, visiting all kinds of places and going back to my hotel several times a day without needing a single look at my map…Now I really cannot find an explanation of this, nor do I care to find one, who can speak about logic in a city as enchanting and legendary as Venice ? So that was just about landing in Venice , what about being there? This will come slowly, as a nice walk by the canals and into the friendly streets of legendary Venice , so follow me

Of Life in Venice

2009-03-02T12:31:00.000-08:00
Have you ever been to a place and felt as if the REW button of your life has been pressed for hours, for everything around you suddenly turned old, ancient, full of all the magic of the past.... This is exactly how I felt when I landed in Venice, and landing in venice is different from any landing anywhere on earth (check my next post) I am writing to you now from a city where the word "beautiful" underestimates what you see, a city where the sea embraces you wherever you go, where you hear classical music around every corner, where food is nothing but an enjoyment, and walking is an endless pleasure, where every single building is a work of genius art, a city where there are nomeans of transportations except boats... Venice... La Belissima, that legendary place where Shylok the jew chased the good Antonio to cut a pound of flesh out of his body in Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice, where the unhappy wife Anna stole some weeks of life and spent some happy days with her lover Vronsky in Tolstoy's Anna Carenina, where professor Aschenbach came for a summer holiday and ended up with a disastrous experience in Thomas Mann's Death in Venice... Venice, a legendary icon with 34 museums, the home city of Vivaldi, Marco Polo, Bellini,Albinoni and many great artists of all time... Follow me in this legendary journey in one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen in my whole life To be continued...

One Hundred things that make me Happy!

2009-02-19T00:16:00.000-08:00
I knew that I like counting things, uselessly most of the time... After counting one hundred things about me, here are another hundred, this time they are things that make me happy... 1- A hug from my Mother 2- A journey by train in Europe 3- Adding to someone's knowledge 4- An outing with my work colleagues 5- An outing with school colleagues 6- Being in Germany 7- Being in Paris 8- Being in the vicinity of Al kaaba 9- Blueberry jam 10- Buying a gift for someone I love 11- Buying books 12- Candles 13- Chocolate 14- Classical Ballet 15- Climbing green or snow covered mountains 16- Cooking 17- Cutting birthday cakes 18- Deep uninterrupted sleep 19- Driving my car very late at night 20- Earl Grey tea 21- Finding something I thought it was lost 22- Flowers 23- Fountains 24- Freshly squeezed sour Orange juice 25- Gardens 26- Getting feedback on anything I wrote 27- Getting over a loss 28- Getting presents 29- Giving medical advice 30- Giving Salma a hug 31- Giving things to needy people 32- Going out with Salma 33- Going to Switzerland 34- Going to the opera 35- Greenery 36- Hearing the birds singing 37- Hearing the wind blowing 38- Ice cream 39- Listening to a piece of music I like 40- Listening to Catholic prayers 41- Listening to Dalida, whatever she says 42- Listening to Samira Said, whatever she says 43- Lying in my bed listening to music 44- Making someone happy 45- Making someone laugh 46- Museums 47- Organizing my room 48- Pain Perdue from Casper and Gambini's 49- Painting 50- Passing an exam with high grade 51- Pasta from Macaroni Grill 52- Pizza Alfredo with Anchovies from Maison Thomas 53- Plants 54- Playing with my nephews Aly and Hussein 55- Praying alone in my room 56- Rain 57- Reading a book I like 58- Reading certain parts from the holly Koran 59- Receiving a call from a friend asking about me when it's obvious that I'm not ok 60- Riding bicycle 61- Sailing in the Nile at sunset 62- Seeing a baby sleeping peacefully 63- Seeing a loving couple, humans or animals 64- Seeing a mother playing with her baby 65- Seeing a place I like in a movie 66- Seeing Samira Said on TV 67- Shisha Peach in Grand Café Maadi 68- Shopping for clothes 69- Snow 70- Solving a riddle 71- Startling someone concentrating 72- Staying in bed in weekends 73- Sweet corn 74- Taking a cold shower after a hot day 75- Taking a long warm scented bath 76- Taking photos 77- Talking to a close friend 78- Talking to Salma and listening to her talking about her little world 79- Thunder and lightning 80- Travelling to any place except the gulf 81- Tulips, anywhere, anytime, any format 82- Twilight 83- Visiting a friend and find something I brought him/her in his/her place 84- Visiting a gothic Cathedral 85- Waking up in the morning to find the weather is cloudy and there will be no sun 86- Walking by the sea 87- Walking in the streets of Europe 88- Watching a movie I like 89- Watching sunset 90- Watching the full moon 91- Wearing a coat on a cold winter day 92- Wearing a scarf in a windy day and having it swinging with the air 93- When a song or piece of music I like comes unexpectedly on the Radio 94- When a wish I had comes true 95- When someone asks me about the direction, and I know the right answer 96- When someone trusts me with his/her secrets 97- When something I expected happens 98- When the one I love sleeps in my arms and I'm fully alert watching 99- Winter 100- Writing a story Did I miss something???

Post Number 100/ One Hundred Things about Me!

2009-02-16T00:53:00.000-08:00
So the posts are becoming one hundred! Being fond of counting things (have you seen the movie "stranger than fiction"? something very similar)and taking such round figures as stages, I thought of this... Here are 100 things about me, you might already know most of them 1- I'm an Egyptian man 2- My real name is Mohamed 3- I have few nicknames, mainly: "Meto, Hamada, Moody" 4- I'm 30 5- My Birth date is January 7th 1979 6- I'm a Capricorn of Leo ascendant 7- I hate football 8- I love reading 9- I have 500+ books at home 10- I love classical music 11- I hate power 12- I hate politics 13- I'm not happy living in Egypt 14- I wish I can live in Europe (Paris, Munich, Brussels or Seville) 15- I love travelling 16- I have visited UK, France, Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Spain, Belgium, The Netherlands, Turkey, Iran, Syria, Algeria, Malaysia, KSA, Bahrain, Emirates. 17- I have 4 sisters 18- I have 2 nieces and 4 nephews 19- I have 3 brothers in law 20- I love blue and purple 21- I don't like red 22- I love green mountains 23- The Alps are my favorite 24- I love snow 25- I love winter 26- I hate summer 27- I don't like desert 28- I am allergic to sun 29- I have migraine 30- I studied Pharmacy 31- I speak Arabic, English, French and German 32- French is my favorite 33- I love i-pod 34- I'm anti American 35- I hate business 36- I love painting 37- I love candles 38- I love chocolate 39- Lindt is my favorite 40- I love flowers 41- Tulips are my favorite 42- I write stories in Arabic and English 43- I blush, very easily 44- I don't feel comfortable talking about sex 45- I believe in God, and I love him 46- I love Jesus 47- I celebrate Christmas 48- I love herbs 49- I'm superstitious 50- I believe in signs 51- I love children, girls specifically 52- I'm pessimistic 53- I'm bipolar 54- I take vitamin B tablets regularly 55- I drive 56- I hate driving 57- I have Hyundai Matrix, bleu-ciel 58- I care about my books than my car 59- My dream car is BMW- X3 60- I'm extremely organized 61- I never forget a face I saw 62- I love Virginia Woolf 63- I don't like to be the centre of attention 64- I hate talking in public 65- I love writing reports 66- My biggest dream is a small wooden hut over the Alps in Switzerland 67- My sister Salma is the most precious things in my life 68- I have a Nokia N-95 69- I have a Spanish guitar, a real one 70- I love blueberries 71- I have a lot of female friends 72- I love myself 73- I'm sociophobic 74- I don't make friends easily 75- I hate jokes, and those who say them 76- I hate compliments 77- I hate the underground, especially in Cairo 78- I'm claustrophobic 79- I keep grudges 80- I always carry my keys, mobile and wallet in my hands 81- I'm single 82- I was in love before 83- I love Samira Said and Dalida 84- I love Maison Thomas, the Pizzeria 85- I don't like crepe 86- I like sea food 87- I cook, whatever you think of 88- I love cleaning 89- I used to play with dolls when I was a kid 90- I love to be alone most of the time 91- I overreact, most of the time 92- I don't care what people I don't know think of me 93- I don't mind being rude when rudeness is required, even when it is not 94- I do not leave a good first impression 95- I hate when people I don't know or don't like kiss me 96- I hope I will die as soon as possible 97- I love following rules, and setting them 98- I love anything that is "ancient" and I don't like most of the things that are 'modern" 99- I hate Starbucks 100- I don't regret anything, the things I did before and proved to be wrong, were done because they seemed right when they were done. So how many of these you didn't know before?

C'est fini...C'est fini la comedie!

2009-02-11T00:52:00.000-08:00
It's over…The comedy is over! It all started as a very successful play In a theatre in the suburbs with blue décor There was no one but the two of us! We have loved each other for so long To the point of forgetting time The time that has always changed happiness into pain And it has won now, it is happy when it sees us, Each one in his own way, like strangers Having nothing in common except the daily words The décor did not change but the actors have no roles to play It is better to draw the curtains It's over… The comedy is over We never thought we will part Eternity was guaranteed We were alone in the world We had a long way to go Where nothing was forbidden… It's over...The comedy is over It has won now, it is happy when it sees us, Each one in his own way, like strangers Having nothing in common except the daily words The décor did not change but the actors have no roles to play It is better to draw the curtains It's over… The comedy is over It all started as a very successful play In a theatre in the suburbs with blue décor There was no one but the two of us! It's over…The comedy is over! - A song by Dalida-

نزيف الحجر

2009-02-08T03:42:00.000-08:00
هل من الممكن أن يقرا الإنسان كتابا واحدا يجعله يعيد النظر في شيء كان متأكدا غاية التأكد من كرهه الشديد له؟ كنت من أشد أعداء الصحراء، فحين أنطق بكلمة "صحراء" لا أجد في ذهني إلا خيالات عن الموت.. الفناء.. التيه.. العطش.. الشمس الحارقة والرمال الخانقة. وحتى حين ذهبت إلى سيوه منذ عامين جذبني جمال الواحة الكامنة كسر الحياة الأبدي في قلب الصحراء الميتة. جذبتني أشجار النخيل و تمايلها الرشيق على أنغام الرياح الصامتة، و أخذتني تلك البحيرات العذبة الصافية تتحدى قسوة الطبيعة و تنشر الحياة حولها. أما الصحراء بذاتها فلم تنل مني أي حظ من الإعجاب ولا شيء من الانبهار، حتى وقعت تحت يدي رواية "نزيف الحجر" للكاتب الليبي "إبراهيم الكوني"، والتي تدور أحداثها بالكامل في الصحراء وبالتحديد في منطقة "تسيلي" الواقعة على الحدود بين ليبيا والجزائر في أقصى الجنوب، والشهيرة بكهوفها المهولة والتي تحوي رسوما ونقوشا ترجع لما قبل التاريخ. في أسلوب أشبه بحكايات الأساطير يأخذنا" إبراهيم الكوني" في رحلة شديدة الخصوصية إلي عالم "أسوف" ذلك الشيخ المتوحد النائي بنفسه عن عالم البشر، فهو يحيى وحيدا في الصحراء، لا يأكل اللحم ولا يعاشر النساء عملا بنصيحة والده حين قال: إذا جاورت الأشرار لحقك الشر، الإنسان الذي يفضل الخير لا بد أن يهرب من الناس حتى لا يلحقه الأذى وتتسع دائرة شخوص الرواية لتشمل الحيوانات، فنعرف أن "الودَان" ليس كسائر الحيوانات يقول أبوه وكذلك أمه أن روح الودَان تجذب، تضلل،تسلب العقل،وتجرد من الإرادة،فيجد الصياد نفسه مسلوبا،منساقا،مسكونا،يتقافز على أربع ويطارده على الصخور الصماء الملساء القاسية وحين يصر أسوف أن يعرف لماذا يرفض أبوه صيد الودَان نعرف أن هناك سر أسطوري يكمن بداخل هذا الكائن المسحور: انتظر حتى هل القمر وحكى له كيف أن الودَان هو روح الجبال. كانت الصحراء الجبلية في قديم الزمان في حرب أبدية مع الصحراء الرملية. وكانت آلهة السماء تنزل إلى الأرض مع الأمطار فتفصل بين الرفيقين وتهدئ من جذوة العداوة بينهما. وما أن تغادر الآلهة ساحة المعركة و تتوقف الأمطار عن الهطول حتى تشتعل الحرب بين العدوين الخالدين. وفي يوم غضبت الآلهة في سماواتها العليا وأنزلت العقاب على المتحاربين. جمدت الجبال في "مساك صطفت" وأوقفت تقدم الرمل العنيد في "مساك ملَت". فتحايل الرمال ودخل في روح الغزلان و تحايلت الجبال من جهتها ودخلت في الودَان. ومنذ ذلك اليوم أصبح الودَان مسكونا بروح الجبال. ولكن كف الودَان والغزال عن القتال حين أرسل الله لهما عدوا آخر وهو الإنسان. والودَان لا يهرب حين يقابل صائدا من بني البشر، بل يقاوم بقوة خارقة تماثل روح الجبال الساكنة فيه، فيجتذب الصائد المحموم الى الهاوية. وحين يشارف الصياد على الموت لن ينقذه الا الودَان.. ذات الودَان الذي حاول أن يصيده. فيكون ذلك بمثابة عهد بين الودَان والإنسان.. نذر من يخونه ستعاقبه روح الجبال. أما الغزال فله قصة ترويها غزالة عجوز شهدت موت أمها لإنقاذ طفل من بني البشر ولكني أتركها لكم لتقرءوها في سطور الرواية ولتعرفوا قصة "قابيل ادم" ذلك الذي لا يشبع من اللحم ففي فمه دودة تجعله يأكل نفسه إذا لم يجد لحما يأكله. عليَ الآن أن اعترف أن هذا العمل الذي تمتزج فيه الأسطورة بالواقع ويغلف الخيال وجو الصحراء المهيب كلماته بغلالة ساحرة، جعلني أعيد النظر في الصحراء أملا في أن أرى فيها ما رآه" إبراهيم الكوني" و سطره في هذه الرواية المبدعة.

Palm Trees

2009-02-08T02:18:00.000-08:00
Like palm trees Bending gracefully in the evening breeze Your fingers… I hold them…I suddenly feel at ease With a gentle touch I see the wonders of a thousand seas My heart…they open it…they have all the keys I feel them, I see what no human sees Magical they are…they can make the fire freeze Wasn't it with his fingers that Jesus cured disease?

I'm available online!

2009-02-02T05:30:00.000-08:00
Well I mean my book "Al Rehla" is, I just discovered that my book is available for purchase online in a very interesting website that we can call the Amazon of the Middle East!! Check it out http://www.neelwafurat.com/itempage.aspx?id=egb122652-5123630&search=books

A Moment!

2009-01-27T01:18:00.000-08:00
He did not say a word… without any introductions he took her in his arms… he hugged her, with his strong arms wrapped around her tiny body. He was big, strong, warm… her head rested on his chest and she inhaled his manly smell. She could hardly grasp her breath, she could not believe that she was that close to him, snuggled in his arms like a baby who has exhausted itself all day and all it needed was a deep sleep in its mother's loving arms. She closed her eyes and wanted time to stop. She was suddenly secluded from the whole world, she felt nothing from what was happening around her, the bright lights and the loud noises disappeared. That was exactly what she wanted, no it was more, more than she had ever thought she could get, a moment in his arms. From A Moment, my new story.... Contact me for details

Attack! (3)

2009-01-26T06:20:00.000-08:00
My mind has been defeated in all its helpless attempts to prevent your presence from occupying my daily life. Now you can declare your victory…

Attack! (2)

2009-01-22T02:15:00.000-08:00
My day is continuously bombarded by memories of you when my defence systems are in a constant state of dormancy...

Attack! (1)

2009-01-21T12:38:00.000-08:00
A mighty force armed by longing for you has succeeded in entering my day and caused a lot of casualties in my proper self, in spite of the continuous resistance from my helpless mind...

Requiem....A New Story

2009-01-14T08:12:00.001-08:00
Nothing is stranger than human nature, we can be capable of loving and hurting the same person, and will do our best to try to show how we are victims, how we did what we did because it was out of our hands, because of human weakness, because we were wrong, blind and immature. And always God is mentioned as our creator who made us as we are, although God gave us a clear guide of what to do or not to do, but again, it's human nature, we take full credit of our achievements but someone else, something else has to get the blame of our failures and sins. From my new story "Requiem" Contact me for details

Here Ends 2008

2009-01-06T01:41:00.000-08:00
The year has ended, the last year in my twenties and the entrance to my thirties. Now looking back on 2008 I see great things that took place. Let me start with 2 lifetime experiences that left a mark in my life and I presume will be kept in my account of achievements. The first being the Omra, with the intense emotional experience that is not comparable to any other thing I went through and having my book published; something I'm still trying to believe and cope with. Scanning the year, January, my favorite month greeted me with a trip to Turkey, I enjoyed every minute, the company of my lovely colleagues, the snow droplets falling on my face in the freezing mornings, walking in the narrow streets of Istanbul, absorbing history from every corner, indulging in the greenery of the parks and the splendors of the ancient palaces and gathering parts of me in Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque listening to the most beautiful prayer call I have ever heard. March found me in a situation where I was "forced" to socialize at work, and surprised me with my ability to build very strong relations with people I never expected to get closer to. April saw me in Sharm El Sheikh, enjoying the idle feeling and reading a lot of books on the beaches of the red sea, then it hit me with a terrible car accident that made my car look something like a deformed coke can. May rewarded me with a nice trip to Iran, the fascinating country that I love, with its lovely beautiful people, impressing development and breath taking history that drowns me wherever I go. Then June witnessed me in the biggest bookshop in Cairo, facing a crowd of dear familiar faces, feeling embarrassed like I've never felt in my life, wishing I were somewhere else and yet expected to speak about my book and my experience as a writer who is celebrating the launch of his first book. The week after, I was in Switzerland, wandering in Zermatt and absorbing as much as I can of its snow covered mountains and green covered hills, climbing up to 4.5 Km, breathing clean air, surrounded by beauty that words cannot describe, wishing if time could stop and dreaming of a small wooden hut on the mountains. August found me in the suffocating city of Jeddah, hating it, hating my job and feeling extremely nostalgic to Cairo that I hate the most! Only seeing the Kaaba and cuddling this new-born connection to its vicinity that made up for the horrible Saudi experience. August also hit me with a personal loss, a friend that I thought close, a shocking painful loss that I managed to overcome, a proof that I am performing better in managing losses. October, oh that lovely autumn month, it saw me walking in Europe, my beloved Europe, bowing in respect to the streets of Berlin, standing in awe in front of the masterpieces of El Prado in Madrid, starring in a state of disbelief at the marvellous treasures of Alhambra in Granada and enjoying the company of my dear friends Camel and Ines, feeling overwhelmed in the great cathedral of Cordoba, finding myself in La Giralda and the beautiful streets of Sevilla and feeling dislocated in Barcelona. But this lovely tour ended with a visit in my beloved Paris, kissing its streets with my eyes, crying on my departure day and asking God to bring me back, to keep me there forever. November sent me to London, walking in its childhood-related streets and absorbing the fine art in the National Gallery. December saw me in Algeria, breathing the clean air and absorbing the green mountains overlooking the sea in Oran, one of the best business trips I ever had. And ends 2008, sending me into another stage of my life, with hopes and dreams, difficulties and challenges, pains and sorrows, gains and losses, happiness and pleasures, with huge plans to achieve and happiness to spread on people I love. Of all the wishes I have in this new year, I hope I will never be a source of pain or disappointed to anyone who loves and believes in me.

The Years

2009-01-05T00:19:00.001-08:00
He didn't die, he didn't kill himself for he is writing these lines now, but the last ten years made something else out of him, the 20 years old boy turned into a 30 years old man. And the last ten years have seen a lot of things happening in his life… He finished his studies, continued studying in another field, for he is addicted to knowledge. He read an enormous number of books and learned something from each one of them, he changed job several times till he found the most suitable one, he knew a lot of people, good and bad, he hurt people and got hurt, he got attracted to people and people got attracted to him, he fell in love again and tasted another kind of happiness mixed with pain, he knew the bitter emetic taste of betrayal, he lost his faith in love and learned from his mistakes, he knew what he wants out of his life and decided that the journey should leave an effect, he believed in himself and in others, he traveled a lot and saw the beauties of the world, he found the place where he dreams to live, he learned languages and developed new passions for things he didn't imagine would like, he made a lot of decisions and he never regretted any of them Ten years have shown him a lot, in himself, in people and in life. Ten years have taught him that he is capable of doing great achievements on many fronts, that God as much as he gives does not give everything to his people, something has to be missing, for him he knew what was missing and he learned to live with it. He grew up, he changed a lot, but whenever he looks at himself he sees the small old shy him who enjoys his own company rather than the company of others, who prefers to write than to speak, who would rather be alone than being with someone who does not like and who cannot live without art and beauty. The same him that loves flowers, winter, fine paintings, classical music and sad movies. The self discovery trip that he started ten years ago is still going on, for he decided that it will end only with his death…

Monday May 29th, 2000

2008-12-30T08:25:00.000-08:00
- Do you remember that day when I saw you by chance in ….. - Yes - It wasn't by chance, it was planned, it was my third time to come all this way trying to find you And he started telling her all what he has been hiding for a year and a half, he took her through all the days, hour by hour and minute by minute, he couldn't help it. Like a waterfall that cannot stop he went on telling her everything. She was silent, shocked and when he urged her to speak, all she said was: - But Meto, I do not deserve all this - Why do you think so? - I mean… I'm… I'm not that good of a person - Who said that I did all this because you are good - So how do you call this? - Love? - This can't be possible… for me you are nothing but a friend With that simple word she brought him down to earth in an unexpected collapse. He felt as if a cold steel hand was squeezing his heart, he couldn't think or speak. He felt as if he had just heard his sentence of death. She left announcing that this would be the last time they should meet, and he was left with an agony of pain to overcome, a broken heart to heal, a void where her love was, a longing to manage and a dark tomorrow where she will not be there. He left, walking alone in the silent night, a totally different person than the one who was almost flying on his way to meet her few hours earlier. He went home, had a last look at his sisters and decided that tomorrow shall not come if she will not be in it. A pharmacy student would think of one thing to end his life…

Tuesday June29th 1999!

2008-12-29T07:15:00.000-08:00
They were walking by the sea in Alexandria, watching the sunset, their bodies touching every now and then, he was on fire! They walked a lot along the coast until it got dark and the full moon shone in the clear summer sky. They talked a lot, there was always something to say, something to share. That shy silent boy who rarely opened his mouth to say something was suddenly talking non stop, taking her into his life, allowing her access to the deepest parts of him, something he never did to anyone. Only one part he kept hidden in a dark corner of his heart, that heart that was starting to see the first light of love with her. He didn't tell her that he was in love with her, that he has been doing miracles to find her again, and he did it, and he came to Alexandria only to get the chance of spending some time with her, only few hours with her were enough to keep him alive for long time. He wanted time to stop, that was the happiest day in his life, he wanted these moments of silent passion to last forever, that was the happiness he has always heard about but never felt. Something inside him was urging him to tell her that he has been born the day he saw her for the first time, that he has been to that place over and over again just to revisit that incident, that he loves her and wants nothing else from this world, that suddenly the phone became his best friend because it connects them, he had a lot to say but he couldn't. He kept it in his heart for the fear of losing her was more than he could handle, just seeing her was the best thing that could ever happen to him. They had talked before about Titanic the movie, how they both shared the fascination and had exact views about it. He was preparing her a gift. before saying goodbye to her, he gave her a card carrying photos from the movie, with his own hand he has written "Love can touch us one time and last for a lifetime and never let go till we're gone" He gave her the card looking in her beautiful dark eyes, telling her silently: "Love was when I loved you one true time I hold to in my life we'll always go on…"

Sunday January 24th, 1999!

2008-12-26T23:02:00.000-08:00
How can anyone write about 10 years of his life in one post, or a hundred, or even a thousand? If there are 365 days in a year, and with each day adding something to that young, naïve and solitary boy, then I must need 3650 posts, assuming that I will not need to write about the hours within each day. Ten years have passed since that young boy left home one day in January heading to the most beautifully artistic place in Cairo, enjoying the cold weather and every minute of solitude, running to embrace the fine works of art and dreaming of going to Europe to have the real collection in its museums. Right in front of the only Van Gogh in Egypt, an encounter that was meant to change his life forever was already taking place. It was the twenty fourth of January 1999. A one sided love that filled his days with the first happiness of its kind, happiness that is not flavored with academic success or supported by praise from family or injected by envy from colleagues, a secret happiness that only he felt and enjoyed silently. Yes, he was happy, for the first time he knew what love is, that vague story that filled 4 years of his school life earlier was nothing compared to that new feeling. The following months proved to him that he was really in love, he was being transformed, just after two meetings he was doing wonders to reunite with that mysterious person that entered his life and disappeared without a trace. 1999 was the year of self discovery, he went as far as he could, risked all what could be risked at that time to follow what he was destined for, and yes he got what he wanted, for he is a Capricorn, strong willed and determined, and even at the age of 20 he was strong enough to search for the only person that made him feel this irresistible happiness, that only person that he didn't panic when she started to talk to him, that only person that did not freak from his funny clothes, shy looks and silent nature. That person that for the first time in his life told him in a subtle and indirect way "you are normal" for she also loved art, loved being alone, loved the books he reads and the songs he relate to and the movies he watch absorbingly. That day was a rebirth, a start of a journey that is still going on!

Flooded!

2008-12-14T06:50:00.000-08:00
I'm not sure if I did the right thing by starting this series of posts. I've been crying on daily basis, whenever I see a comment I just burst into tears, and yes I am a 30 years old Egyptian man and I cry, I still cry and I hope I can always be able to cry! Flooded by all these emotions from people I know, very close people to me and from anonymous people I don't know who they are but I treasuer their comments because if they are carrying anything, they definitely are genuine, for anonymous people did not care of getting credit for telling me how they feel... And Salma, a7la 7aga fe 7ayaty, I don't know what to say, but do I need to say anything asslan??? You know it all and any words will just be silly compared to what I feel. I hope I can control these emotions and keep on writing this series. For everyone who took the time to read and comment, if I'm still alive in this place, it is because of your love. I only hope I deserve it and I ask God never to make me a source of disappointment to anyone who loves me. Ya Rabb!

Of Turning Thirty/Meto at Twenty!

2008-12-09T23:16:00.000-08:00
In the year 1999 I turned twenty. If you had the chance to see me in this year you would have seen a totally different person. Young was the word to describe my age and my face but not my looks, with my extremely old fashioned clothes and glasses that I insisted to wear only to look older and with the sad deep look that I always carried, with the kind of books I used to read and whenever I opened my mouth to say anything -something that rarely happened- you would say "What's wrong with this boy?! he looks 16 and he sounds 50!!" I was silent most of the time, engulfed in my own world, talking to myself either silently or loudly most of the time and trying to keep away from people as much as I could. I never had friends at school, my attachment to studying and to be always the first kept me closer to my teachers and books but very far from my colleagues, and actually I didn't mind that, on the contrary, I used to see my colleagues as ridiculous and silly creatures who are shallow and dumb and who spend their valuable time doing useless things. I felt superior and far batter than them so they did not deserve even to say good morning to them or replying to anything they said. My world had no people except my family, mainly my mother and 4 sisters, and of all the members of my family, my little sister Salma was my pet. I took full charge of her when she was 2 and I was 14, I became responsible for anything related to her life, school, going out, reading, everything! At that age she was the only human being I got closer to, with her cheerful and life loving self she filled my days with happiness, I saw many things through her little innocent eyes and I spent my best times with her. Till this day I never feel she is my sister, she is my daughter, a piece of me and the dearest person to my heart. This weird character went with me to university and the fact that I was studying Pharmacy with all the abuse we had to go through from long tiring sessions to being victims to all kinds of psychological complexes that the professors suffered from and got on us, this added to my silent and inward solitude and resulted in this absurd character that I had. I recall that the worst time ever was the one when I had to work in a group to perform some lab work or to do an expriment where each student is supposed to coordinate with a team to get something done. Thank God my reputation as a very clever guy helped me to gain the trust of my colleagues that I will handle everything and they will just get the results, I gained their trust and respect but not their love, but did I care? My free time which was only in the summer holidays was spent in training; I worked in pharmacies, companies, medical labs, I just wanted to make use of every minute I have to get career-related knowledge. And going out meant going out alone or with my family, rarley with school colleagues who for sure found me very boring with my silence, my deep interest in books and my hate to football and sports, my inability to share their talks about cars and such things that teenagers find engaging. At that age I was extremely religious, I used to pray in the mosque as much as possible, walking always with the holly Koran and reading it in transportation and whenever I had any free time. My biggest dream was to bomb myself in palistine to gain a lifetime residence in paradise and do something useful with my anyway ending life, and if I couldn't do this, my more earthy dream was to graduate and have a career in research, finding a magical drug that cures one of the world's most deadly diseases, getting a Noble prize in medicine, getting married as soon as I graduate and have a big family with lots of daughters (probably that was the influence of Salma) So in short, at 20 I was this weird silent guy, wearing funny clothes, attaching passionately to religion, judging people by the way they dress and their grades at school, reading difficult books mostly classical novels of Arabic, English, French and German writers and living in my own world that no one had any access to, carrying a bad experience of one sided attraction to a beautiful girl at school who I never ever had the courage to go and talk to although her sister was my sister's best friend, loving her silently and writing her tears-drawing painful love letters that never reached her and suffering but enjoying in silence and solitude. I also had some attempts in writing, with several short stories and a long story with all the sadness and misfortunes that could happen to a hundred people all happening to one poor woman that I created as a character! In 1999 I turned twenty and in that year, a new me was being created! Keep following!

Of Turning 30!

2008-12-03T00:57:00.000-08:00
Some days and I will be 30! Although I do not feel anything negative as I expected to feel or as people keep saying that I should feel old, ancient, life is going to end soon, the counter is now set to count down, I still do not feel any of such feelings. But for me the number 30 marks a stage in my life, and when I see myself 10 years ago, I see a different person, a 20 years old boy at school closed in his own world and totally accepting what life offers him. Now I'm different, many things happened in the last 10 years, many people entered my life and changed it, many people left me un removable scars and many others left me undeniable gifts. But all in all, I am a different person. In the next posts I will be sharing with you the main events that took place and the most influencing people who entered my life in the last 10 years, of course as much as possible as not everything can be shared on a web page that is open for the public. stay with me and get on board this trip, watching myself turning 30 :)

Great Museums of the World/the Jewish museum in Berlin

2008-11-06T01:05:00.000-08:00
I have to admit that I’m not a fan of modern art, but for the first time in my life I am impressed by a museum that is nothing but modern. Unlike any other museums, the Jewish museum in Berlin is not just a place where you find pieces in display along with a brief explanations of what they are. Of course there is a department covering this, it is a museum after all, so you will find many things related to Jewish history in Germany , photos and data about famous Jewish figures, holocaust victims and many of their belongings. But the most impressing parts that really affected me and kept me inspired for days were the parts where you do not “see” things in display but rather become part of an experience. So, for example, you are directed to walk along very dark passages, linking to the hiding, loss and fear that the Jews had to experience during the Nazi regime. You reach a room where it is very dark and very small, something that imitates the rooms where they placed hundreds of people to be gassed to death! Another shocking thing was a corridor where you should walk on iron tiles, shaped like human faces in agony, linking to the mass graves they were burying the bodies in.(I couldn't do that) The most impressive piece was a huge board on the wall and you can only read the writings on it when you face a mirror and look at the board in your back, the writing was designed in such a way so that while reading you are seeing yourself and other people beside you in the same time, linking to the hiding that many people went through, and it is telling you no need to hide anymore. A major work of literature building on this is the diary of Anne Frank, but this needs another post. After the emotionally stressful yet inspiring 4 hours I spent in the museum, I needed a long walk, I was thanking God for being able to walk in the streets, to see and be seen by people, to breath fresh air, to see the sky and feel the wind, to be alive.

Great Museums of the World/Deutsches Historisches Museum (Berlin)

2008-11-02T23:14:00.000-08:00
One of the most beautiful streets I have ever seen in my life is "Unter den Linden Street" in the heart of Berlin. The name of the street means "under the linden", we may be familiar with Linden tree as it is also called Tilia and in Egypt we know it as Telio (In Arabic it is called Zayzafon), a very effective herb for cough. This ancient street acquired its name from the enormous number of huge Linden trees growing on both sides, in spring you see the trees totally covered in yellow from the tiny flowers, falling on the ground and spreading a very pleasant smell in the air. But the street and its beautiful trees are not the main target of this post, I am writing this to take you with me to the building number 2 in the street, a very beautiful and ancient building whose commisioning started in 1695 under the reign of King Friedrich I of Prussia. Given this date, the building is the oldest in the street and one of the most beautiful monuments recording the baroque era in Germany. The building kept serving as a military-owned one till it became officially a museum of the army in the end of the 19th century. After suffering severe destruction during the Second World War, the building was reconstructed keeping its original form and decoration (like all the German buildings) and was officially opened as the Museum of German History in 1952 serving mainly to focus on the Mrxist-Leninist view of history, as it lay in the eastern part of Berlin, belonging thus to the communist East Germany. Now let's enter the museum and see what it has to offer us in display. For sure, a German museum would carry the extremely organised fashion of anything that is German. The museum is divided into sections, each one leading to the other, covering a certain period in history, having a special colour theme, arrows and signs everywhere to lead you to the pieces in chronological order and in each section there is a brief account of the German history along with the detailed description of the pieces. The first room covers the period 100 BC-1500 AC; Early culture and the middle ages. You will see Celtic weapons and tools, Anglo-Saxon coins, Gothic jewlery, very old versions of the bible, an ancient Atlas- like book dated to 1493. Then smoothly you move to the room covering the period from 1500-1650 giving an account of the Reformation (creating the protestantic christianity) and the thirty years war, with the famous portray of Martin Luther and a very unique metal armour. In the next room you get encountered by history of the period 1650-1789 covering the severe conflict on power between Prussia and Austria. The next room greets you with Napoleon's huge portrait in his glorious royal clothes as it covers the period 1789-1871 with the French revolution and its effect on the German empire, with the bases of democracy being established. You will also see the first steam machine dated 1847, Then you feel a huge leap in history with second room covering the period 1871-1918 as it focuses mainly on Bismarck, the famous German ruler who holds a very important place in German history creating a very powerful German Empire and also gives details of the First World War, in this room you will see in real and just in front of your eyes the first car ever invented, the Automobile dated 1898! Then the next room covers the post war period of 1918-1933, with a focus on the Weimar republic, the first real and full democratic republic in the German history, which fell apart when Hitler rose to power in 1933. This Nazi period has one of the biggest rooms, it covers the period of 1933-1945, with details of the horrors of the Nazi regime and the Second World War. Here I have to stop and express my awe, never in my life have I seen a nation as strong and courageous as the Germans, standing up, showing bravely their darkest part of history, stating clearly that it was a "dark" age for humanity, showing a full movie on the horrors of the Nazi party, killing innocent people, burning anything that stands for freedom of thinking and giving Europe and the whole world a nightmare of terrorism. Again, I was so impressed, overwhelmed by the account of history in this room, the 30 minutes movie played and all the pieces that account for this age including the German daily newspapers glorifying Hitler and his regime, the most touching of all rooms.... What a brave people they are. Back to our toor, we are now in the room covering the post war period of 1945-1949, only 4 years deserve a full department in a huge museum? Yes, they do, during this period Germany was under the Allied occupation, the country was split into two, West (ruled by UK, France and USA) and East communist one ruled by Russia. The room shows shocking photos of post war Germany, totally destroyed, not a single building in whole, famine and diseases everywhere. How can a destroyed divided country become one of the most developed, the heart of Europe in less than 50 years? Well the next and last room covering the period 1949 till modern times, giving a detailed account on the famous unification of the two countries after the breaking of the wall in 1989, and the speedy progress that the country has undertaken, becoming a world leader in economy, education, research, well we can say anything related to civilization. The last thing you see in the museum is a board saying that despite this huge progress that Germany has shown, it still has a long way to go in providing a "better" life to its citizens, paying back to the world for the terrible Nazi period and facing all the economical challenges ahead!!! I stayed for a little more than 5 hours in this building, enjoying every single minute, reacting with every single piece, adding more to my knowledge and great passion and respect to this great country and its people. A strange feeling of belonging was always accompanying me, I felt proud of the German inventions, of Bismarck, of Goethe, of the Weimar Republic, I felt ashamed of Hitler, of the war and all the innocent people burned in the holocaust. I felt proud of the strong people shocking the world by breaking the Berlin wall and unifying their separated country against the will of all the powerful countries. I felt.... well I couldn't help comparing Germany and Egypt, and then I had to run away from the place, going back to the beautiful street, switching on my i-pod to Beethoven's 5th Symphony and enjoying the rain and cold autumn of Berlin, telling myself, "enjoy ya Meto, give your mind a rest", if only I could. Are you still there? Good, keep with me for the next great museum.

HACKED!!!

2008-09-11T00:23:00.000-07:00
My Yahoo mail and facebook account have been hacked. Strange things will be coming your way from both accounts so please ignore whatever you get from me on these two accounts. Really strange!!!

Destiny

2008-08-31T02:37:00.000-07:00
I am destined, to attend the funeral of those whom I love, when they are still alive!

In the vicinity of Al Kaaba!

2008-08-06T03:35:00.000-07:00
A strange but remarkable experience, a mixture of absurd feelings I never experienced before, a smell I will never forget and a crying session I haven't had in a long time.... It All happened by the Kaaba! I can not say that I'm this despertaley religious type of person, but I am a believer, of God. I love him, I talk to him, I feel there is a connection. Sometimes I am away from him, sometimes I'm angry at him, sometimes I do not understand why he does certain things to me or to other people, sometimes "baz3al menno" and many times I go back to him and talk, and cry, and share my thoughts... Crazy?? I don't think so, God is near, and I relate more to the Christian illustration of God, a loving father, who loves his childern unconditionably, and his forgiveness and love is much more prominent than his revenge and anger. So yesterday and after three days in Saudi Arabia -which I did not enjoy at all- I finally had the chance to visit Makka and see the Kaaba. I only saw it in photos and in TV, heard all kinds of people talking about their experience in pilgrimage and praying inside the Haram, and all my questions to those people were about the Kaaba, may be it is my passion for buildings, dead objects as a friend of mine once mentioned. Anyway, I entered the holly mosque, hurriedly prayed the welcome prayer and ran to the open area where the Kaaba stands. And my God... I literally froze... And I have no idea why, the Kaaba itself is a very simple cubical building, covered in black cloth with golden decorations of verses from holly Koran. In my life I have travelled a lot, have sen lots of breathtakingly beautiful scenes and awesome buildings, so what is there in such a moderate size cube covered in black??? No idea, I just stood there gazing, frozen.. did time stop, did I lose consciousness of the surroundings? I don't know exactly but all I remember was that I suddenly came back to life and I saw myself standing on the first step of the staircase, talking loudly to myself saying one thing "this is the Kaaba" and staring in amazement unable to move. Then came a very old white bearded man patting on my shoulder and as if he gave me the strength to walk and continue what I was there for, Omra. Starting with going around the Kaaba seven times, I was talking to God, asking him for manythings, and suddenly I started to cry, and again I have no idea why, I cried like I never did in a long time, it just came, I didn't start it, I didn't try to stop it and when I did I couldn't. It was 2 O'clock after midnight, the place was not that crowded and this allowed me the chance to go to the Kaaba and feel it with my hands, solid...stone...nothing is there, but a feeling, a very strange and new feeling has been transferred to me from my hands like electricity transfers in wires, and the crying got stronger and the feelings got more intense. I hardly detached myself from the magical building and continued the Omra rituals. strange enough, when I was in the second phase of Omra, Saay, where we should walk seven times between Safa and Marwa, I was walking in such a hurry, not because it is how we should walk there but because I wanted to go back to the Kaaba! Something happened with this building, it left something inside me, it touched me, it affected me, I ran back to it, held it again with both hands this time, absorbing the smell, sinking in the feeling, wanting time to stop and wishing I can have this feeling forever. I moved back, sat for long time just staring at the Kaaba and trying to figure out what's in it. I had a strong feeling to call all the people I like and tell them my experience, but it was limited to only my parents and small sister, I called and all what I could say among my tears was "I'm at the Kaaba, I don't want to leave it" Am I getting pagan or what? a thought that just crossed my mind while sitting there and starring endlessly at the absorbing scene, but no, deep inside I knew I'm not, it is God that I believe in....But believe me there is something magical in this place, you can feel it and it will be useless to try to describe it, words are not made to describe such things, they are felt, only felt....