Nope, Can't Shut Up About It After All

I thought I could, I really did. I had promised myself this was going to be a battle I will refuse to take part in. But I’ve had it! I feel provoked! And damn it, I should be!

Stop trying to deny me every little pleasure I have left in this godforsaken country. Stop trying to deprive me from one of the few - and I mean few when I say it - things I still get to enjoy in the grimmest of the so called green nations.

Do you remember how I kept silent when you tore down the beautiful old buildings in my neighborhood and built your ugly centers instead? Do you remember the way I kept my mouth shut when you sealed the bad meat file as if nothing had ever happened? Can you recall the way I didn’t utter a word the day you decided to just forget about the civil marriage file?

I didn’t choose the above cases randomly. Those happen to be three of the many, many cases which were, in my opinion, used by our devious government to distract a predisposed people from much more important and relevant issues that were eating our country up, and still are.

Those subjects were magnified in the public’s eye for a given period before they lost their value. I love my memory of the few months during which you all religiously wore your seat-belts while dodging a ticket instead of an accident, just love it. I still quite enjoy myself and snicker a bit every time you pass a roadblock and buckle up 2 feet away from it, only to free yourselves again just 2 other feet ahead of the checkpoint. Sensational for a nation; hypocrites roaming the streets and pretending they want a European lifestyle, pretending their aim is to bring this country forward, claiming they are sick with the situation as it is. Shame on people who wouldn’t dare as much as flick their cigarette’s ashes from the car’s window in any other country while they take some sort of pride throwing whole garbage bags out of their houses’ windows in Lebanon. I pity my motherland when I know for a fact that only the poor and the weak will be suffering from nicotine withdrawal symptoms while the rich and the powerful will terrorize any policeman who would think of attempting to get his ticket book out in order to write them up for smoking their luscious cigarettes. Isn’t it just merely funny when you think about it?

You know I am 100% right when I predict that almost every individual involved in the matter will be on the take from bar and restaurant owners to let them run their places smoothly. You know I am more than correct when I expect a huge economical shudder due to this hasty decision. You know for a fact that while you and I might comply because we can’t afford 90$ tickets over cigarettes, Abou Koko and Abou Ahmad will simply beat down any, yes any person who might try to ask them to take their smoking outside. Funny, super funny!

I am writing all of this down tonight not only to express my dismay over the smoking ban effective as of September the 3^rd, but also to pour my blame over a nation that is relentless when it comes to disappointing me on every possible level.

For everyone who is so ecstatic about the smoking ban on health basis, I urge you to read up on lung cancer’s relation to cigarettes. Although the two may be connected, smoking isn’t the direct or the sole cause for the sickness, and in case you aren’t aware of it yet, toxins you inhale from running cars and from highly health conservative electricity plants are much more harmful to your lungs than your friends’ smoking.

For the people who were quick to judge this ban as a “civilized” move, I would like to point out that no move, no matter how highly symbolic and effective it may be to you, can be described as such in a country that forces its gay community to undergo shameful tests under claims of “protective and preventative measurements”. May you also kindly note that, once again, this is yet another deceitful move taken by our dear government to distract us from issues that truly matter.

And to those of you whose adrenaline just notably rose up on the mention of the gay tests as not being of major importance, please do not get me wrong; this is actually a subject that advocates my cause. And you do have a right to wonder what my cause really is after all the jabbering that I just made you read through. For those who are still reading, my cause goes as follows:

No matter who you are, no matter where you are, you are entitled to act however you wish to act, the right to be however you wish to be, the right to do whatever it is you wish to do in any manner you see fit, all as long as you are not stepping on anybody’s toes while at it.

Are you a non smoker who is sick of having to inhale every “uncivilized” person’s smoke in this place? Why not call for a movement that satisfies both parties by creating smoking and non smoking corners in every place? That is a lot more refined than judging and labeling people who dare differ in their habits as uncivilized.

Actually, come to think of it, it is going to be a lot more uncivilized and coarse, harsh even, to send all those smokers to sweat under the burning summer sun (which could be a factor in causing skin cancer for all I know – since smoking can be a factor in causing lung cancer), or to freeze under the overflowing winter rain (hey, that could seriously cause lung diseases!).

I haven’t written that many lines in ages, I am really getting worked up about this topic. But please note that the upcoming sentences aren’t meant to try and draw the reader’s pity or sympathy for that matter, in any way, but governmental conspiracies and civism lessons aside, I love smoking. As I have emphasized multiple times before in this blog, my cigarette is my companion, it is somehow part of my hand, an irrevocable part of who I am, of what I represent in my society. It is hard for some people to imagine me not holding a cigarette; sometimes it is hard for me to imagine it as well. And if you think that quitting smoking would be beneficial for my health, think again. If you think that once I at least cut down on my smoking I will be running up stairs, also think again. Smoking a cigarette has kept me from going insane many a time, it has prevented me from feeling totally and utterly abandoned more times than I care – or dare - to count. My mental health, which is questionable I admit, matters a lot more to me than my physical one, which will deteriorate one way or another, one day or another, for one reason or another. A cigarette joins together the beginning and the end of any creative process for me as well. With all due respect to my fellow non smokers, try smoking and you just may – emphasize on may – become as good as I am someday :P

My Phone Is NOT Smart!!!

For most people, it comes as a shock, no, as THE shock. Some go as far as considering me old fashioned. A local standup comedian labeled everyone who still uses a Nokia – myself included - as “old people”.

May I please know why is it wrong to hold a user friendly phone that happens to fulfill a phone’s basic duties? Why is needing a phone only for what a phone is meant for looked down upon?

Have What’s App and BBM become a necessity now? It is much more fun to hook up with your friends over a cup of coffee than to break your thumbs chatting with them over a microscopic phone board, or is it not? Do make me stand corrected if you can!

And friendships aside, why would anyone in their right mind consciously make the choice to become reachable via email off of working hours?? People I am not sure I understand you! Sure you may have a few reasonable arguments, but not nearly enough to convince me!

My phone is not smart!!!! You make me feel almost ashamed to say it!!! And now I feel as if you would assign it for me to write 40 times on my FB wall as a punishment, unbelievable…

But then again, loneliness and boredom have been doing a great job eating me up lately, so maybe it is about time I joined the masses, about time I tried some new technologies, about time I tried virtually blending in, about time to and to and to…

Oh you think the magic has turned on the magician?? Well guess what, even if I could be persuaded – which I am not admitting to still, I can’t afford smart phones! Hell recently I haven’t been able to afford smart thoughts, and those are practically free!

God help me, I may actually truly be old, I more often than not feel as if I belong to a totally different era somehow, and not a cool one even! Anyway, back to subject, or maybe not, I have probably ranted enough for one day. I would have enjoyed making a funny sketch about your alarmed face expressions once you have seen my phone though, could have been hilarious! :)

Status: Update

It seems that the best stimulation for a Lebanese mind is none but war. We thrive at the mention of a weapon and soar to the sound of a bullet.

I am not totally basing this article on a random opinion; I actually have thousands upon thousands of FB timelines to back me up.

I hadn’t seen that many creative statuses in so long! It is as if everyone had a bunch of fabulous ideas and was just waiting for a relative event to publish them!

It saddens me that almost all our movies, all our independent music and book productions are war related. It is true that art forms are highly dependent on one’s reality, but our reality is much more than a few stray bullets and burnt tires every now and then!

Why don’t you get creative about, say, the beach resorts that are robbing you blind for instance?? How come you are not inspired by everyday events and simple day to day struggles? I haven’t seen a personal joke in a status in like forever, and rarely do you feel up to posting comic situations you went through or a new info you came upon. Why is that?? Are these sorts of statuses irrelevant, while the fact that we have no electricity is? Well news to you, everything is relevant and is worthy of a head scratch.

Some of you will criticize me on the basis that I rarely ever update my own status, but I have my excuse right under the arm: I write a blog! If I have something to say, then I say it here and elaborate on it, no better even, I dwell on it.

Alright, I have said my share, but since I am at it, go Italy and go Spain statuses also annoy the hell out of me. That said, it actually was a nice win for Spain tonight.

Ya Mijana!

My dear smug compatriots, I have been meaning to sneer at you about this for a while now. I shall skip unnecessary introductions and get right to the point. Arabic music is my chosen subject for tonight. I am sure 90% of you will have stopped reading already.

For those who haven’t, get ready to be taunted. Let me put it this way: have you ever been to a night club in Europe that plays Majida el Roumi or Amro Diab? Have you ever encountered a driver blasting Wael Kfoury or Najwa Karam in his car in South America? I bet you haven’t, or even if you have, then what a rare opportunity you have witnessed, an envious experience even!

People, my message here is simple: Get over yourselves and give some respect to your origins. I am not saying you should quit listening to foreign songs, I am not saying the Beatles were a fart or Bob Marley was an idiot. I am not asking you to delete Red Hot Chili Peppers from your iPods nor am I urging you to laugh at an indeed laughable Britney Spears. I am just trying to make you try and relate to a music that reeks of you although you keep trying to brush it off your shoulders as if it were dandruff.

Compadres, don’t get me wrong. This is not a shout for you to start enjoying Ali el Dik’s duo with Dominique Hourani. I am definitely not recommending petty, disgusting, or even insulting tunes. I am aware that Arabic music has been undergoing some serious damages lately, it has been stained by too many imbeciles and has been gradually - not to say totally - declining, but that doesn’t mean that our own oldies for instance, much like foreign oldies - to a difference, don’t remain actual pieces of art to this day.

What I actually have a problem with is your attitude towards Arabic music. It feels to me as if you have an internal buzzer that switches on the second you hear a Oud note or something. You are, plainly put, funny to me. You make me giggle at your poorly founded opinions and tastes.

It goes on without saying that I don’t listen to Ragheb Alama and Nancy Ajram from dusk till dawn, yet I don’t flinch at the thought of hearing their voices. Their songs are part of a popular culture I belong to, no matter how much I would have preferred belonging to another.

Try and enjoy the beauty of songs that speak of us, even though we deny our reflected identity through them. Music is the representative of cultures, and like it or not, you distinguishably make part of this culture. You don’t fancy our music as it is? Then do something about it, revolutionize it, don’t just heartily despise it.

Oh and a footnote for those of you who will feel unconcerned with the subject since they already listen to those 20 Arabic Jazz tracks we have in our repertoire, get over yourselves as well. Ziad el Rahbani, although I casually enjoy his music from time to time, is not the master.  

Reality Check

I secluded myself – almost completely – from the world, for three entire weeks. I can’t remember why I thought this would be beneficial for me when I took the decision. I know that I was desperate for some privacy, but I am also aware that I can’t live without people around me for long.

It is true, for the first while, I enjoyed the peace and relished in the privacy, but after a few days, not even a week, had gone by, I realized I cannot detach myself from the chaos of it all. In spite of my picking up on this fact early on, I still decided to challenge myself and extended my two weeks stay into three.

In fact, after the first three days, I wrote a little tale detailing all the wondrous improvements I had been noticing about myself due to my independence. I went on and on about how I am sticking to my diet, how I miss TV but can live without it, how I am thinking of turning off my phone and many more components that I found myself truly enjoying then.

Now though, three weeks into it instead of three days, I have to admit that I cannot live without TV, that I prefer reading in the noisy coffee shop, that I am not happier, that my fear of disgusting insects cannot be abolished, that I am thrilled when my phone rings, that no matter how much I try or how hard I try to convince myself, I am just not into exercise. I am also now sure that I will not be taking my photographic skills to the next level any time soon, well unless I stumble upon a huge sum of money that I could spare too, in order for me to buy the right equipment for the endeavor.

I have been spending way too much time online during my stay here. Not that I didn’t do that before I came here, but never to this extent. Trying to get away from the people in my life led me to get mixed up with people in my virtual one. Online fun used to be just that, fun. Now it took a serious turn and I realized that drama and stupidity could follow me everywhere, even through a virtual network of nonexistent wires and abstract connections. Thus I needed this reality check to ground myself again and be more appreciative of the tangible relations I am blessed and sometimes honored to have in my real life. I am not denying that I have met some fantastic people online, and in many cases those people have become deeply cherished friends, but I am saying that I am now more aware of the boundaries and hopefully a little less trusting of just anyone.

My stay in here also proved to me how much I love drinking and exactly how much I miss it. I tried to stay away from the Jack Daniels bottle that kept eyeing me every time I opened the fridge, I really did, but when I found myself surrounded by a bunch of delightful friends for my birthday, I had to give in and have a couple of drinks, even though I am still not cleared for drinking due to my liver condition.

My birthday happened to be within the weeks of my seclusion, and hard as try, for the life of me I don’t understand why everyone was so nice to me for my birthday. I am not complaining, that is for sure, but I am stunned, seeing that I had been nothing but rude to everyone the past year. I was really surprised by everyone’s kindness and understanding towards me. I realized I am blessed with friends I barely deserve and a family I definitely don’t.

My feelings about my birthday are slightly annoying to me this year. I am starting to feel age weighing on me, although 26 is relatively still very young according to most people. I don’t like the fact that I am feeling the cold this year and that I am shivering even. I have mixed emotions about being so close to becoming 30 years old. I find myself way underachieved and can’t help but blame myself for it. This isn’t where I had pictured my life to be at this age. I should have established myself somehow by now. But looking at the facts, I am in no way near fulfilling that path. I am still unemployed. I am barely making ends meet. I am not in a serious relationship, if in any at all. I am not the best person I could be. I haven’t learned enough skills as dictated by my potential. I have indeed done the basic stuff; I have graduated, gained experience, tried being in relationships, the works, but it somehow all feels void when nothing is consistent or stable.

But at the end of the day, I am an incorrigible optimist. I could nag for another hour, but deep down, I know I still have hope for the better in every possible way and regarding every possible aspect. I just need to trust that at the age of 26 I will be fortunate again and that I will appreciate it. So here is for hope, motivation, confidence and change.

A Letter To My Dear Friend John

A little background first: John is a wonderful friend whom I have recently met online, and not long ago, he surprised me by posting a YouTube video in which he dedicated a reading extracted from one of Amin Maalouf’s books to me. This is my way of thanking him. Although this is nothing compared to what he had given me, it is the best way I can think of for the moment to thank him. So John, please accept the following as my gratitude towards you.

Link to John's reading to me

Dear John,

I am ashamed to say that I have read only one book by my compatriot Maalouf. I should have read two by now, but alas, one of my many oddities and complexes got in the way of reading one of them. Let me elaborate.

When I was young - or should I say when I was young-er, considering that the fact that I am a woman makes me ageless, or at least not prone to admit the fact that I am getting old-er – I didn’t care much for books. I only occasionally read the books assigned by school, and rarely enjoyed any of those at the time. I tell you, they give beautiful books to people who aren’t capable of appreciating them yet. Les Miserables felt like a punishment at the time, and Madame Bovary reeked of boredom. Let alone the fact that sitting still for more than five minutes back then used to be a major obstacle between me and a book.

So, back to Maalouf. Before they had all moved away or gotten married, my uncles and aunts did a cleanup, which meant they sent me all the books they had already read and didn’t have the place to store anymore. Among those books was a French copy of Leo the African.

The cover was not attractive. The font was so small and the pages were so long that it scared me. But the oddity I had mentioned earlier didn’t lie in any of those facts, although those weren’t exactly helpful either. My major book complex has to do with the fact that I simply cannot read a used book. And although this one was in great shape, it was still a book that had been read by half of the family, who didn’t only touch the pages and rummage through the book, they also had the nerve to make notes and translate words all over the place. I think that is when I had started to be more appreciative of books. I felt that the book’s temple had been messed with, violated. I realized then that books are sacred and should be treated as such.

Now I have been ranting for so long about this you would think I treat my books like shiny silverware, I don’t though. My yellow marker covers every single sentence that I have ever liked. The thing is, I just don’t like reading a used book, and I am awfully strict about lending my books to anyone too. Once I have marked all those stuff, and occasionally written some notes, the book becomes mine rather than the author’s. All these little scrapings make it so personal.  

Dear John,

By now I have been writing this piece of nothing for weeks! And another Dear John entry in the middle of it might turn this into a diary! We wouldn’t want that, no one would want to read my shameless rambling if it goes on for over a page, so this is to commit to write faster!

And now that we have established that, where was I? Oh yes, I was rambling about myself, now it is time to ramble about you!  

You used to be a lawyer, so I gather that is where the wit comes from! And you are an avid reader, which accounts for the wild imagination.

John, this is mostly to tell you how much I truly enjoy our conversations, how much I look forward to them, and exactly how surprised I am each and every time we get to catch up; you always manage to cheer me up, even if it was with the most simple ways. I will also never forget the extremely nice gesture of having sent me the beautiful Hockney book along with the postcards; it was an utter delight receiving mail from you.

In the past few months, I have come to be online for a great deal of my time, due to personal reasons, and during these months, I have had the honor and the blessing of meeting several unique and talented individuals from across the globe, and you, by all means, and considering every aspect, climbed to the top of that chart very quickly. I can’t think of a nicest person. I can’t think of a more respectful person. And I can’t think of a more imaginative and inspiring one.

John, I believe you are one of the few, rare people on this planet who would indulge me on my mad virtual escapades, who will go with me to the end of the line when I am muttering absolute nonsense concerning a new world war that would be ignited by the Europeans bickering over the origins of the almost word yoo-hoo!

My dear, it has come to my attention yesterday that you are currently facing a rough familial situation, and I already know you aren’t doing exactly well yourself at the moment. So I will wrap it up by sending you my best wishes for recovery and happiness once again. If there is someone I know who deserves all the blessings that can be bestowed upon them, it is you. Now I will not pretend I will go to church and light candles, but I do promise to keep you in my thoughts and to mention you to the Almighty while I bombard him with my endless list of demands every night before I go to sleep. May He one day forgive my negligence and selfishness.

Christmas Battlefield - A Little Late I Know!

I know I am a bit late telling this tale, but it ought to be told nonetheless!

It was supposed to be a regular family Christmas gathering at my grandmother's house in the village, just like every year. And so it had seemed at first. We ate and drank ourselves silly, and then one after the other, the family members started dozing off. Some of us stayed up playing poker and trying our luck for the New Year. Eventually, everyone went to bed except for my cousin, my brother and I. 

Apart from the sound of our glasses clinking against the table, it was almost totally silent. The silence didn't last long though. All of a sudden, we heard a voice coming out from one of the bedrooms. It was our relative, talking in his sleep once again. He had done so a bit earlier when he had dozed off on the couch, so we moved him to the bedroom thinking that it wouldn't occur again if he slept on a comfortable bed.

And oh how mistaken we were!!! I am sure most of you, dear readers, are aware of the fact that Lebanon has had its share of wars and conflicts over the years, and my relative used to work as a security agent for the headquarters of a Lebanese political party. He didn't serve during the war years, but still, the job seemed to leave its marks on him, in his dreams at least. He started calling out for his colleagues. Rachid, Mounir, Bachir, Toufic!!! (And the list of names went on and on and on...)

From what we could gather from the fragments he said aloud, he feared an attack from enemies, and he was trying to warn his friends. That went on for about 15 minutes, but then the situation started escalating in his unconscious. Soon enough he had been captured by the enemy forces, and he was screaming for his allies to come rescue him. Toufic, help! Mounir, don't let them kill me!

Although this may sound sad to you, it wasn't. Not in the least. That may be because we were drunk of course, but still, we managed to turn this scene into a hilarious one! We turned the house into a war zone, and we started adding our own bits to the script and lived the dream with our relative. My brother started making gunfire sounds every time our relative spoke. Pouboupoubov! Pouboupoubov! Pouboupoubov! 

Gradually, the rest of the family members started waking up to the ringing sounds of our laughter. And the script just kept on expanding with vivid details. The memory of the war took an alternative turn, and when we asked another older relative to remind us of the signature Van Halen theme that was used by a popular radio station during the war years with the ever present words "Maktabou el tahrir fi khabarin jadid" - which translates to: the editorial office with a new piece of news - his interpretation literally came as follows: Bichtik Bichtik  Bichtik  Bichtik, Tararararaaaaaaaaa!

Our sleeping relative kept on living the battle, and our minds kept soaring with more and more imagination. My grandmother awoke and proposed to wake our relative from his dream. We advised her to hold a white flag before entering his room. And of course we didn't let her wake him up! This wasn't something we could live every day after all.

We started laying our heads low while moving from room to room to protect ourselves from the bombs. We built illusionary barracks of sand around us to shelter ourselves. We rationed ourselves with all sorts of food before going to hide undergrounds. We lived an imaginary war for one night. We made fun of war and we let our minds and our imagination create a better version of it, a less sour one.

This is by no means a tale to underestimate the gravity of war or to undervalue the bitterness and the sadness our people had to live through. It was just that the opportunity presented itself under relatively better circumstances for us to laugh at war and make at least one nice memory out of it.

It was a Christmas to be remembered. Sadly not all the family members were present due to traveling and work circumstances, so this one is for them, we wish you had been there with us to share these beautiful moments and have a laugh with us over a drink and a losing poker game (at least for me!). Wishing you all a happy 2012.