Pages

Monday, December 28, 2009

Things That Happen at Henna Parties (Through the Eyes of Mon)

A Henna party is the Middle Eastern, perhaps mostly Palestinian, version of a bachelorette party. It's all girls, it's all dancing, there's no booze in more than half of them, and there's usually a woman drawing Henna tattoos for the girls.

I thought breaking this party down into numbers would be fun.

* Amount of alcohol consumed: 0%
* Amount of nicotine consumed: 0%
* Dances learnt from neighboring countries: 2
* Times intended shoes to go off: 37
* Times shoes went off: 2
* Times funny doctor sneezed/coughed/yawned/danced/held tambourine hilariously: 7
* Times F word said (strictly out of amusement): +59
* Male Egyptian janitors spotted flirting, hardcore flirting, with Filipinas: 1
* Ridiculous songs you discover that you know from your childhood: 5
* Times wished you owned one of them traditional Palestinian robes (dress, frock, garb, whatever you wanna name them, they're always going to be "thob" to me): +113
* Times danced around fountain: 6
* Times danced barefoot on fountain: 3
* Henna tattoos acquired: 0
* Amount of fun had: 100%
* Times held mic and sang into it for all to listen to excruciatingly annoying notes: +3
* 11 CM heels and cobblestone: STILL BAD.

Friday, November 27, 2009

As We Digress: The Day Karma Wasn't Around

So, it's the holidays, right? One would normally be in a rather good mood. And when there's a lot of traffic you're being abnormally quiet, and pleasant, letting through everyone who wants to cut the line and go in front of you without even signaling, being the one to stop all the cars behind you in order for a small car to pass out of this tiny street that no one pays attention to, you know, all the nice things one could do on the road. One of the things that I dislike is the people staring at you when you're at a traffic light. Usually, I have my eyes fixed on the traffic light, or rummaging quickly for something in that huge bag that I carry around for university, or fixing my hair if the time allows it, sneaking a quick look in the mirror, you know you're like in a confined room of yours that has windows and a wheel, and usually when you're in your room you'd hate it if someone is peaking at what you're doing. I mean yes, the windows are tempting, but the only way they're going to look at you, or me for that matter, is "what the hell is this weirdo doing?", or "how typical of a girl to fix herself while she waits on the light", but I'd be thinking "what the f*** are you looking at?" or "do you mind?".

Any way, that day Karma so wasn't around. My niceties went completely unnoticed, and one of those big trucks, that I still don't understand whose existence in residential areas, hit my front right wing, and had I not honked like a maniac (and may have made an infamous hand gesture that I hope went unnoticed), according to the truck driver, he wouldn't have known he hit me.

Karma, are you serious?

So any way, I get out of the car, half pissed half scared (for no reason obviously, it was nothing a quick paint job can't fix) and I go: "you're kidding!" and he was like "it's okay, you wanna call the police?" and he started acting like I'm the stupid lost girl, and he's the one who knows how it all goes. And I let him call the traffic people and they came, the engineer/policeman asked me what happened, and asked Mr. Truck Driver what happened, and took pictures of the hit part of my car, and Mr. Truck Driver's unaffected vehicle, then Mr. Truck Driver and I signed the papers, and it would've been done there and then. But no, Karma wasn't there to save the day. Mr. Truck Driver was obviously unhappy with the fact that the whole accident was his stupid fault. Of course not, if a man and a woman get in a car accident, it's the woman's fault, and that goes without saying.

Too bad Mr. Truck Driver felt that way. Because he decided to call a full-on investigation of the matter, pissed off the engineer/policeman and had to drag me down to the police station for two meaningless hours, only to drop the whole matter because then he'd have to take it to court. And that's a lot of money he can't effing afford. My day was ruined. Mostly. But I moved on.

But Karma, we need to have a talk, as this isn't the first time you let me down like that.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Things That Happen at Your Cousin's Engagement Party

1. You kiss hello every single person in the family, both immediate and extended.
2. Your seating arrangements aren't taken care of, you're family, sit wherever you want!
3. You speculate whether or not a certain cousin got liposuction.
4. You pretend to like what the couple's wearing, his suit, her dress, when they're really just normal, and perhaps something your taste doesn't quite grasp.
5. You almost run over a kid playing and running between your legs, only to discover that this one's the second cousin you never knew you had. Which makes one wonder, why on earth is there a kid at a formal party?
6. Your mother discusses boys with you.
7. Your mother discusses girls with you.
8. Your mother cracks jokes and gets sleepy.
9. You run into someone who had a crush on you when you were a teen and your eyes search for someone who knows the story from before just to laugh.
10. You run into an entire crew of flight attendants, pilots and their co's, who all happen to be extra hot.
11. You indulge in the food a little too much.
12. Your mother asks you if you like some girl's dress in front of others, which pressures your judgment; it comes out rather benign.
13. They bring in a percussionist to accompany the already-bad music (alright, maybe it's not bad music, it's just music that you do not appreciate whatsoever). The percussionist makes it all-the-worse by off-beat drumming, and meaningless bangs that make him look like he's thrashing, not drumming.
14. You run into a ton of people you knew from years and years ago, you all mostly went to the same high school, were taught by the same teachers, sat at the same desks, and thus you have innuendos that an outsider will never ever get.
15. You see one of the kids you went to high school with. These are nice encounters; running into someone who went to the same classes as you for at least 9 years and then seeing them again when college is almost over really is something. You engage in an exciting talk about what happened in college, and what's happening after college and plan to get together real soon. And even if it never happens, you still feel like it did because you both wanted to, you only got really busy.
16. You're showered with compliments because of your outfit, your smile, your hair, but hell, most of all, because you're awesome.
17. Your grandma falls asleep when the music's so loud that the glasses and utensils are shaking in their place.
18. 11 CM heels and cobblestone: BAD.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

As We Digress: Family is Instinct


Here are some of the definitions I found on family:

* A father, a mother, their sons and daughters.
* A group of people related by blood, marriage, law or custom.
* A group of people who live together.
* A group of individuals living under one roof and usually under one head.
* A group of persons of common ancestry.
* Any group or aggregation of things classed together as kindred or related from possessing in common characteristics which distinguish them from other things of the same order.

A family may or may not be set at one home, but had been once set in one home. Meaning, now you live with your family, tomorrow you don't. And this doesn't mean you're without family after that. Also meaning even if all of you are scattered all over the place you once, at least, lived together to the point it was painful. But now, sometimes, you feel so lonely, it's painful.

A family is a very energetic organism, it's a body with parts, a beating heart and a mighty mind. The more quirky a family is, the more interesting and the more exciting it is to be part of it. And by quirky here I do not mean dysfunctional to the point it makes one sick, by quirky I mean the way each member handles, introduces, behaves and carries out things, no matter how normal or strange they are. It's the way they are received by other members, the reactions thrown, or the lack of reactions for that matter.

There is nothing uglier than having a family's members cloned to the point of no-recognition. A family is like a firm, each has their thing, and each does their thing, and later the final product is ready when each member knows their duties and their rights; a more harmonious life there cannot be. Thus, when one kid sings, the other one dances, and the other one plays an instrument, and so on, the parents enjoy their kids' unity but also appreciate and encourage their individuality and the kids are thrilled because of the individuality they have and how they enjoy it under the collective name of the family. And that's the beauty of it. You are what you are, and you do what you do, you always have someone to tell you when you're screwing up and when you're doing a great job, you always have someone to help you out when you hit rock bottom, through sickness and health, they're always there, no matter where they are, or when things happen, they're there, for you, and only for you, no benefits, no hypocrisy, no underlying hatred, just pure, and absolute love. Whether you get a call at 3 in the morning or 4 in the afternoon, you love them the same and just be where you need to be. And how, when you start to mature, they do accept you the way you are, how you like and dislike things, how they respect some (if not most or all) of the things that you care for, believe in and want to achieve. And the way they are ready to support you when you most desperately need it.

It's sad how one only discovers the meaning of this when something bad happens, like one of the family members gets terribly sick... Everyone drops whatever is in their hands and runs to wherever the sick one is. The way they comfort each other, or the way they discuss things among each other, the way they divide what has to be done, each according to their ability, the jokes, and the inside jokes cracked to lighten the mood, the comments, the actions and reactions... And all of it happens naturally... Family is instinct. It's born with you, you're born with it, and you make it happen, and it's awesome. Until everyone's ready to move on when you'd just discovered how beautiful it is to have them around, to care and be cared for. Everyone has their thing now, but not under the collective name of the family, because now they've got their own families or jobs,... etc. and it breaks your heart how each and every member has found a purpose in life, while you're still behind, savoring the taste of wonderful family, and taking your time to figure out your job and other things... It's one of these bittersweet moments, where you know you've got your freedom (or almost have it) but still didn't quite figure out what you're going to do with it.

And with all the beauty and wonder of family, it is not a luxury. It is a right, a duty, and it's love and respect. And while many people think family is built on perfections and problem-free lives, I believe it is quite the opposite, a family is built on the imperfections that each one of us possesses, and it's built on the way we engineer our lives to work around these imperfections and make a long-lasting establishment of unconditional love.

On second thought... My perception of family written in these words doesn't cover all of my thoughts... But this, my friends, is family in a nutshell.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

As We Digress: A Cup of Coffee at the Table


I am not aware whether or not people have an ideal situation, place, or a certain setting in which they find peace and quiet, whether or not it exists, and whether they escape to it even if it were only in their heads.

I really don't know if this issue is related to gender, age, vivid imagination, or the lack of it, or maybe it's just an individual preference. All I know is that sometimes we take comfort in things that may seem unusual, or in my case, finding it unusual if someone doesn't take comfort in a thing, a place, a person or a situation when they need it. I sometimes get curious to find out what gives comfort to others. To me, it's just another social experiment, and totally pointless to science, but fills me and satisfies me as a human being. To know that you are not the last human being standing, to know that there are people who still get ecstatic, people who still have orgasms, people who grieve, people who get heartbroken, people who feel pain and in all this they find something to take comfort in makes me feel better.

I don't take personal interest in people's lives, or necessarily feel/understand what they're going through, whether it was a happy or an unhappy emotional trip.
This is not selfish, this is normal human behavior, normal emotional protection, distance, because one human being cannot bear all that goes on in this world and be normal afterward. There's only little care we can give left, and usually it goes to those around us... Life and the world have become so scary, dangerous and unsafe that we are failing to care about things that go on in other places because we're too afraid and concerned about those close to us. If we felt safer, more satisfied and happier we might have had the energy to care and change the world, but individuality is so important and that's why there's no one left to care. I mean don't get me wrong, individuality is the way to go but unfortunately most individuals chose to direct their attention one way, and it's not the world.

There's nothing uglier than a world that has no emotions, or an overflow thereof. It's like watching silent, colorless movies. Why stimulate one sense, when you can stimulate two or three? But also why stimulate all five senses which leads to exhaustion, when you can satisfy two or three senses which will make you feel the happiness without the exhaustion.

I say cut back on your corporate lifestyles, focus more on your happiness, mental comfort, and just do what you love which I believe is the way that's going to get you, and us places. Places that we like! Like a lazy, sunny afternoon in a quiet room that has big French windows that have ledges with comforters on them, sitting there with a cup of coffee or tea discussing really inane concerns with your closest companions often with soft giggles and laughter in between... Or a cozy room with a new table that you get excited over and want to use coasters on it because you never do, you have coffee just to use the coasters on the new table... And it's really good coffee... Like lying on your back in a desert camp to watch stars, and the shooting ones too, and do so in silence, with your companion(s) but in silence, companionable silence. The most wonderful form of silence... Like many things. Life is so beautiful and easy when you know what you want, when you know what you feel, and when you're not too afraid to feel.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

As We Digress: Music


Do you think music defines you, or do you define what music is to you?

Lately I have been experimenting with different genres of music, and I feel rather attracted to a specific genre that I never knew existed. And I think, would I have loved it more than my other favorite genre had I known it at the time? I didn't have an answer before.
And I didn't have to.
And I wouldn't have had to.
But it's just a question that dangles in front of you and it makes you wonder (if you will at all): How much time you are willing to spend wondering if you should answer, or not answer, wondering if there is an answer, or if there isn't is completely up to your busy or un-busy schedule, is up to how much time you are willing to spend on a question like this, and up to how seriously you take your taste in music and how highly (or un-highly) you think of this incredible form of art.

Is it the lyrics (if you listen to music with lyrics) that attract you? Or is it the actual formation of music that blows you away? Or is it both? If so, then which leads to the other? Is it the lyrics that would have a song blow you away? Or is it the composition of music that makes the lyrics divine to you?

Do you think music should come in themes or is it some sort of distorting the raw, beautiful material that's already there? How do you think music should be categorized: according to genre? Content? Lyrics? Loveability? Popularity? Unpopularity? Or should it be un-categorized?

Do you think there's unsuitable material for musical or lyrical incorporation? Musical, like adding unorthodox sounds, like frogs, flies, mosquitoes? Using rather normal objects to make sounds and incorporate them in music?
Are there any limits to what a song should or shouldn't talk about? And if so, then why there should be limits? After all, creation is infinite, and there is no stopping it, so why would you not listen to a song merely about pancakes? Pencils? Picture frames? And the more important question is, do you have an open mind to listen to it without labeling it or judging it by saying it's stupid, or meaningless? You know, this might actually hurt an artist. If you don't like it say so politely, and walk away...

In case you wonder whether or not I have answers to all of these questions, well, I do. And in case you didn't, then no problem.
I only have one more thing to say... I feel sorry for anyone who fails to be in love with music, the arts, and the universe.

And for art, even sky is not the limit.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

A Change of Mind

She lived alone in a city far away from her home. As night sank in and all retired to their home she walked back to her house, a tiny apartment in a simple neighborhood where all form of life disappears by sun set. Silence and quiet were her biggest enemies, and in the past few months, clicking, they took her places she never wanted to go.

Just as she entered her place she ran to her stereo and played her favorite music, she then changed her clothes and cooked dinner, but she couldn't ignore the clicking she's hearing so she turned off her stereo for a few minutes, the clicking quieted but hadn't gone. It could be the pipes she reassured herself and turned on the music again, louder this time. She ate dinner by herself on her balcony, the clicking was in the background. "The pipes, the pipes" she reassured herself again and again. She did the dishes, played her music louder, and showered, and though the water fell hard on her head like this of an actual waterfall the clicking made its way through to her ears, clicked like the fall of mice feet on bare marble floors, fast, resounding, and... fast! As she finished the routinely chores around the house, her last stop was her bed. She checked the house, every corner of it, time and time again to find the source of the clicking, but nothing she found. The pipes are too loud, the pipes.
She headed to bed after her search failed, by then the clicking had subsided, but hadn't completely died out.

As she lay there alone the clicking seemed to be coming from the living room. Sleep abandoned her, leaving her prey for the night and to whatever clicked out there. The sound seemed to seethe through the walls, getting louder, and closer, creeping slowly to her head by the minute. Then the wall right next to her head clicked, and a shiver came down her spine, she was scared to the core. She felt paralyzed and unable to move.

After long, agonizing minutes the clicking got louder, and fear, like a current in a corpse, had her jump out of her bed and run to the kitchen where she had a big hammer in a drawer, then ran back to her room and started hammering the walls in a frenzy of fear and screams, shattering the walls of her room, the clicking got louder, and louder and more persistent, and she hammered, and hammered and screamed shattering all plaster that held those walls together, leaving nothing but naked pipes, a hollow windy spacing, and the clicking. The clicking, the clicking drove her insane, it drove her crazy, where is it coming from? Why is it still there?

Her ears started ringing while silence weighed her down, and the clicking so persistent made her grab that hammer and start hitting her own head, more frenzied than ever, she hammered at her head, laughing, screaming, crying in agony, and she went on, and the clicking went on, and the hammering went on until the blood-spattered walls stopped clicking, her ears stopped ringing, and the hammer looked like it was dipped in dough-like matter colored in flesh and red.