tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91686453521807260832024-03-04T23:16:42.679-08:00Watching from a glass housesilent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.comBlogger110125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-37252398701600305102010-03-20T01:23:00.000-07:002010-03-20T01:25:41.558-07:00The poor unfortunate soulsMy favourite : "Don't underestimate the importance of the body language"<br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Vi4o2cG_SsI&hl=en_GB&fs=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Vi4o2cG_SsI&hl=en_GB&fs=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />Doesn't she remind you of dubai?silent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-70606399259655285632010-03-01T09:54:00.001-08:002010-03-01T09:54:37.407-08:00Now that I'm not numb anymore.....<br /><br />I wish I weresilent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-71524071447384904962010-01-25T11:28:00.000-08:002010-01-25T11:30:13.160-08:00The slow process of knowing and losingWhen meeting somebody new, it's like looking at a map of a foreign city. It takes practice to memorize all its streets and find your way in it. Every corner looks new, every restaurant around the corner, every crossing, every turn. Then you live in the city for too long and you know your way almost unconsciously; it's too familiar that you forget that you once lost your way in it. The city grows on you, it becomes part of you. The smells, the noises, everything that makes a city breathe will be imbedded within you.<br /><br />Then when you leave the city, you're always afraid that by time the memory of it will get stale. That the city that you've once known so well is no longer recognizable. Would anyone believe that the Cairo of 50 years ago is the same city?<br /><br />Maybe some shops have closed down and others have opened. Maybe billboards infested the streets. Maybe the streets got dirtier, the people louder, the drivers bolder.<br /><br />And that is always the fear when you're about to part with someone you have come to know so well.<br /><br />You wonder that maybe in many years you will meet again. You will see traces of your past somewhere inside the person, but you will no longer recognize the person.<br /><br />The routes you have strove to learn so well have become clogged in your memory. And that second you realize that the person is forever lost. Sometimes it's sad, yet at other times you know you have also been unrecognizable to them and think "that's just life!"<br /><br />Prior to losing you always hope that what you have transcends the mere boundaries of the physical world. That there's a much deeper connection; that of the soul, the one that could never be shattered to pieces by time.<br /><br />Time would be merely an ellipsis, nothing more.<br /><br />Memories are never blown away immediately. The tick of the clock eradicates them slowly, like water washing over stones. By the time their shape changes, you no longer pine for them.<br /><br />"That's life!" you would say and walk away.silent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-13059835959267160322010-01-22T14:08:00.000-08:002010-01-22T15:33:28.975-08:00I feel so much, yet I feel nothing at all<br />It may sound contradicting, but in my mind it makes perfect sense to me<br />I know I must be feeling so much<br />yet I'm perfectly numb<br />yet I see all these emotions circling around me<br />but now they are trapped inside the glasshouse and I'm just watching from the outside<br />Maybe I'm scared because I know that feeling too much would lead me back to the glasshouse and I'm not really sure I want to (do I?)<br />I reached the conclusion that I never quite write (at least with passion), without being in a sort of isolation....<br />and I wonder.<br />I'm always happy lately, cheerful. Something bad happens I frown for a few seconds and then shake it off and continue my joking around.<br />I don't know if I'm doing this as a defense mechanism or because nothing can touch me anymore...<br />Maybe I've grown a thick skin that doesn't allow anything negative to penetrate my being<br />yet I'm craving it<br />craving negativity<br />call me insane I don't care<br />I enjoy my life lately I can't deny it, I'm having fun, dyed my hair red, I don't know it seems so much has been happening. And it's fun. But only that.<br />and this is the problem I think.<br />I can't be just having fun... I try to write, nothing much comes out.<br />There are thoughts in my head- millions of them- but I can't quite write.<br /><br />I few days ago, someone told me something that I always thought I wouldn't quite take well<br />I didn't feel anything<br />only a day later I felt something and it was so very intense<br />It lasted for a while, but then when the moment was gone I lost it<br />I crawled back into my stisfied unbearable numbness<br /><br />An hour ago a delivery guy from drinkies rang the bell. I told him it's probably for the neighbours yet all I wanted to do was grab the bag shut the door drink drink drink and forget about my existance, even for a second<br /><br />sometimes I confuse metaphors with reality and the reality with metaphors. And I saw him slipping away, I vivdly saw our invisible connecting strings unraveling, at least the strings of the physical life.<br /><br />and then I remebered what he said again... I was swarmed with images, more likely scenarious of what will be....<br /><br />We will always have a spiritual and mental connection... but is that enough, I ask.<br />Is it?<br />Is it?<br />Is it?silent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-19254445995400337832010-01-19T14:06:00.000-08:002010-01-19T14:09:06.309-08:00PeopleI like people quite well<br />at a little distance.<br />I like to see them passing and passing<br />and going their own way,<br />especially if I see their aloneness alive in them.<br />Yet I don't want them to come near.<br />If they will only leave me alone<br />I can still have the illusion that there is room enough in the world.<br /><br />by D.H. Lawrencesilent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-16445780074420495322009-12-15T13:04:00.000-08:002009-12-15T13:07:09.335-08:00The soundtrack of my lifeWhen I wake up early in the morning,<br />Lift my head, I'm still yawning<br />When I'm in the middle of a dream<br />Stay in bed, float up stream<br /><br />Please don't wake me, no<br />don't shake me<br />Leave me where I am<br />I'm only sleeping<br /><br />Everybody seems to think I'm lazy<br />I don't mind, I think they're crazy<br />Running everywhere at such a speed<br />Till they find, there's no need<br /><br />Please don't spoil my day<br />I'm miles away<br />And after all<br />I'm only sleeping<br /><br />Keeping an eye on the world going by my window<br />Taking my time<br /><br />Lying there and staring at the ceiling<br />Waiting for a sleepy feeling<br /><br />Please don't spoil my day<br />I'm miles away<br />And after all<br />I'm only sleeping<br /><br />Keeping an eye on the world going by my window<br />Taking my time<br /><br />When I wake up early in the morning,<br />Lift my head, I'm still yawning<br />When I'm in the middle of a dream<br />Stay in bed, float up stream<br /><br />Please don't wake me, no<br />don't shake me<br />Leave me where I am<br />I'm only sleeping <br /><br />I'm only sleeping- the beatles<br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>silent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-23778027813823070412009-10-30T03:23:00.000-07:002009-10-30T03:26:45.231-07:00How can one....<br />keep up with studies, go all the way to kattameya every single day, freelance for a magazine, have a social life, regularly wax hair, do all those family obligations, read, write and have a moment to relax and not look like a zombie by the end of the week....<br /><br />how do people do it?silent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-29291047245861075002009-09-18T06:28:00.000-07:002009-09-18T06:30:59.269-07:00yesterday I found woman in her late thirties or even early forties jogging and wearing a T-shirt that says "I love cute boys". Seriously? It should've had "child molester" on the back.silent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-63068126258047474142009-09-18T06:21:00.000-07:002009-09-18T06:28:02.292-07:00the ironythe only good and healthy relationship that I've been in my whole life, is the only one that didn't devastate me when it ended...<br /><br />Yesterday I told my friend that I want a new experience, not neccasarily guy related, actually I don't want a guy related one.<br />I want to travel, I want to do something so very unexpected.<br />When I was a kid I always wrote stories about this girl who prayed for an adventure before sleep everynight. And she did get her share of adventure, I on the other hand, did not.<br />My friend's sister is on a oneyear study abroad program in Japan and as much as I was so excited and even gave her websites to study hiragana and katagana, something inside me was asking: "why wasnt that me? Im the onle who always wanted to go to japan."<br /><br />I feel I'm stuck in a major I don't like and in a life that I want to get away from.<br /><br />I want to go somwhere and I want to break the pattern that Im afraid I would be stuck into.<br />It's my biggest fear latelysilent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-31797282117052104512009-09-15T10:12:00.000-07:002009-09-15T10:37:20.857-07:00why is the ka3ba called <em>beit alla el haram? </em>Not only is it halal but holy.<br /><br />In my imagination I'm funnier, wittier, more confident and stronger.<br />When I make up scenarious in my head I am that person. I'm still me, talk like me and act like me but I'm the version of me that I still can't be.<br /><br />I miss being in my glasshouse, now I have one part outside and the other inside. It's confusing because I'm not really standing anywhere.silent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-33776029734090802832009-06-12T08:10:00.000-07:002009-06-12T08:49:35.284-07:00why does everyone try to enforce his own worldview upon me?<br />and nobody really asks me what I actually want<br />so 'advocate of promiscuity' wants me to drop the boyfriend and have fun.<br />"let go and have fun," she says "it's been going on for a long time anyways."<br /><br />How could someone love two completly different people in one lifetime?<br /><br />"everytime we talk again I feel that you grew since the previous time"<br />"well you knew me when I first entered university. I was very young."<br /><br />and then I got 'the look' repeatedly<br /><br />why am I getting more attention than I'm asking for?<br />Yesterday I realized how I left bits of me in places I forgot<br /><br />it's hard to handle loving someone who doesn't love you back<br />but it's even harder to receive sentimentalities you can't give back<br /><br />I don't know what's happeningsilent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-10628088390051352122009-06-05T11:38:00.000-07:002009-06-05T11:43:11.280-07:00final decision<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCZxo4BgXyuaQLYQ5-KH1iCS6L7zYLGvRYWf5gwkijS31v2Ua-RxD4dJM-LVH2wPXBGK1uTFdve1Pqr52QqMhSPiv3eQAQ0BTvwEX5iPB1a3mt6hHCAZXv9r-BaC5hDOCqdXiscddl9g0H/s1600-h/irma+la+douce.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343915133503266962" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 186px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCZxo4BgXyuaQLYQ5-KH1iCS6L7zYLGvRYWf5gwkijS31v2Ua-RxD4dJM-LVH2wPXBGK1uTFdve1Pqr52QqMhSPiv3eQAQ0BTvwEX5iPB1a3mt6hHCAZXv9r-BaC5hDOCqdXiscddl9g0H/s320/irma+la+douce.jpg" border="0" /></a> I don't know what's wrong with me lately. I know there's something but I can't really trace it or link it to anything. I sat on the balcony for an hour or so, just staring ahead, like I used to do. I'm tired of going here and there all day long. I miss solitude.<br /><div></div>silent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-51360972216072968632009-05-30T06:20:00.000-07:002009-05-30T06:23:59.282-07:00costume partyso I was thinking charlie chaplin<br />or with my boyfriend (pimp and prostitute)<br />me being the pimp hehe<br />any ideas?silent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-22594721276582479802009-05-01T00:52:00.001-07:002009-05-01T00:53:18.582-07:00tacticsI really hope it would work this time.<br />I'm more calculative than ever before<br />I really really dosilent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-25831089543754644502009-04-23T13:30:00.000-07:002009-04-23T14:02:05.379-07:00Choices<br /><br />You always realize that you made the wrong ones a little bit too late, hesitation might be called sane or wise, but I always prefer doing rash actions, they're the ones I still do not regret, hesitation makes you think and thinking gets you to doubt and then you prefer staying where you are<br />I regret many things, but I don't care I'll make the best of what's here... at least for now...<br /><br />Moments<br /><br />some moments resonate within you....<br />they leave an aftertaste<br />and sometimes it's so sweet and stays for days<br />I still feel his fingers on my skin<br />his breath on my neck<br />his hearbeats against my cheeks<br />it's like the moment doesn't instantly go away the second it's over<br />it leaves a mark on you<br />that fades away very slowly<br /><br />"A butterfly fluttered it's wings in a wind thick with the smell of seaweed. His dry lips felt the touch of the butterfly for the briefest instant, yet the wisp of the wing dust still shone on his lips years later."<br /><em>Rashomon and other stories by Aktugawa Rynsuke</em><br /><em></em><br />Endings<br /><br />It's there looming above me<br />and thinking about it, it sort of become the story of my life<br />it hurts<br />but I don't mind<br />everything is just a phase<br />i'm starting to accept that fact<br />i'm not even into japan that much anymore<br /><br />Passion<br /><br />I know where my passion lies<br />I feel it sometimes somewhere within<br />but it comes in sudden outbursts<br />little glimpses of something glowing within<br /><br />Connection<br /><br />I find it hard to connect with anyone<br />or to open up<br />but I don't mind<br />I will have fun<br />and spend my life<br />endlessly searching<br />for that thing<br />that I will never findsilent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-54398859379448971772009-04-17T09:44:00.000-07:002009-04-17T10:10:52.389-07:00Some moments, even in the most normal of settings seem very unreal<br />almost like a dream<br />like a stroke of a magical paintbrush<br />on a photograph of an ordinary moment<br /><br />suddenly the flat colors are accentuated<br />and you can almost see the figures moving<br />dancing<br /><br />funny thing is that you stumble upon them<br />sometimes even by mistake<br />you'd love to repeat them over and over again<br />but like an overused film reel<br />it dissapates<br />like a song on repeat<br />it loses the feelings it released<br />the first time<br />the rainbow colored fog<br />slowly evaporates<br />into thin air<br />and you see everything clearly<br />it isn't neccesarily ugly<br />it's just<br /><br />realsilent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-76965535151596885862009-04-01T06:53:00.000-07:002009-04-01T06:54:11.365-07:00some days i just hate modernity, technology and the city life<br />I want to go back in time<br />waaay backsilent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-8293882197178660942009-03-19T03:04:00.000-07:002009-03-19T03:11:17.563-07:00March 18th 2009 proved to me that I should never say "I can't" or "I give up"silent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-15664575430071918062009-03-14T15:35:00.000-07:002009-03-14T15:49:16.344-07:00today I overcame two fears<br />and tomorrow I'd hopefully overcome another<br />In the novel the Bell Jar, the narrator said at one instance, that you could get away with almost anything if you are confident enough. She was describing the way a poet dressed and ate at a very fancy hotel in the most confident manner, which made him not look odd.<br />I think that's the key<br />confidence<br />and it's hard because it's something I totally lack<br /><br />but I still won't say "I can't"silent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-80786411811687673102009-03-10T11:31:00.000-07:002009-03-10T11:39:28.516-07:00I always fell in love with illusions<br />and ideas of people<br />If I fall in love with him<br />it would be the first time<br />I fall in love with a real person<br /><br />scarysilent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-38289768899038839902009-02-27T22:54:00.000-08:002009-02-28T06:50:18.360-08:00In what languageIn what language to write?<br />That's a question that's been haunting me for a while now.<br />I know three languages fairly well, Arabic, my native language, my mother tongue and the language that comes out easiest, there's always some english inserted in between when I speak, but I believe its the language I can speak best, at least the colloquial one.<br />Then there's german, a language I've been taught in school for 13 years, I'm supposed to be good at it, since I've been taught all sciences, maths, history, geography and all the other subjects in that language. But I'm not good at it and have a deep disliking to the language, maybe it has a link to my disliking to my school. I try to read german literature in german, but this task is always excrutiating. It feels more like a chore than pleasure, and it's a shame to know the lanuage of Thomass Mann and Kafka and read them in english instead of German. I read German very slowly. I used to be good at german, and I was one of the good ones in class but that was back then, in my primary and secondary years of school.<br />Then comes English, a language, I've been taught since grade 5, and its quite ironic that it's the language I can best express myself with in writing.<br />I don't think that I mastered any of those languages, and it makes me wonder, if I ever intend to publish a novel or any sort of literary work, in what language would it be?<br />If I write it in English, a language that I usually write in lately, since I'm studying Journalism in English and practiced my writing skills in that language, I don't think it would sound truthful, since my daily life is not usually in English.<br />So should I write in arabic then?<br />When I was a kid I wrote one page stories in arabic, I found a few of them some time ago, I also had attempts in German and I even remember that I once gave a teacher a short story in German to correct, she corrected it gramattically but never commetented on the fact that I attempted writing a story, and she also hated me until the day I graduated, the reason for that is beyond me, but that's not the issue here.<br />So I wrote in arabic as a kid, but that was a long time ago. The problem with arabic, and this is a problem I know many are facing is the split between the colloquial and fusha, we speak one language, but then read and write in another. Would writing in fusha capture our daily lives and who we are and our identities? To some extent it would but not entirely, since we never speak that way, sometimes when I use fusha words people make fun of me. We have become alienated from that language, the language that holds layers of our history is not relatable to the contempoary Egyptian anymore.<br />So should I write in colloquial arabic?<br />I am totally against that. I personally think that colloquial arabic in writing looks cheap and is not beautiful nor poetic. I wrote for a magaizne in colloquial arabic some years ago, but I stopped writing for it for what I wrote was never my writing, and never captured my essense and it always, at least to me, felt cheap.<br />For instance I would never want to use words as neek or bedan in my works even if they are commonly used, the way they sound is unappealing, and I'm not only talking about swear words, the way people talk in general or better said how youths talk. Using words like 'fakes' for instance, I don't have other words on top of my head, but the usage of these words repells me a bit, even if I sometimes use such words, it just grows on you in a way. Even if it writing them captures reality I would rather not.<br />Colloquial arabic would not have a lasting literary value and I know it's easier and more relatable but I don't think that works written in colloquial are timeless.<br />I've noticed, however, that many contemporary arabic works are written in fusha and have dialogues written in our common language. I believe that's the best approach but it's easier said than done.<br />First of all, internal monlogues have to be taken into consideration, in what language should they be written?<br />Let's say the author decides to write the internal monlogues in colloquial, so what if a novel is written in a first person narrative, would the whole work be written in colloquial? And if it would then we're back where we started. So many questions arise.<br />Secondly, in our daily lives, and I'm talking here about the upper class in society, english is mingled with arabic, like an entagled thread and it's hard to disconnect the languages from one another. Actually, sometimes English is spoken more than arabic. Some parents only talk to their children in English, Frensh or, though rarely, German, depending on the education they're receiving.<br />I was at a press conference about a month ago and I met a British guy who was learning arabic. He was learning fusha, and told me that he can never communicate with Egyptians, since they never use that language. He also commented that English is everywhere to be seen on street signs, in daily conversations, in commercials, magazines, and the list goes on.<br />He asked me why I think that is, I told him it might be due to the british collonialism that lasted for a hundred years. He told me it was a long time ago. I don't really agree with him, since I believe that everything that happens has a lasting impact, not only in history. If you take the life of a person, every encounter the person faces impacts the person in a way, even if its done unconciously, my reactions to incidents I'm subjected to are related to my history and what I've encountered so far, and though I'm mostly unconcious of it, if I sit back and analyze it, I realize that my encounters and experiences in life have a huge significance on these reactions.<br />But though I disagreed with his argument, he still said something that I think does make a lot of sense and could also be another reason for the spread of the english language.<br />He said that maybe Egyptian youths relate more to that lifestyle, or better said appeal more to the American or Eurpean lifestyle, since it has less constraits (at least that's how it appears to be). This might be a big part of it, and another reason why there is an identity crisis among youths. He also pointed out that maybe due to the tourism, English is widely used, to act as a bridge, since its also a universal language, but I don't really agree since you don't find english in many cities that have many tourists. I remember in Praque, the Chechzs didn't know any other language, and I also hear that the Japanese don't talk to English and whoever wants to live in Japan has to learn the language first.<br />A language is a carrier of culture, as said by Ngugi wa Thiong'o in his essay 'decolonising the mind'. But what if, you are against many of the cultural norms surrounding you, and what if you don't relate to your culture? Do you write in another language?<br />I know that many Egyptians appeal to western cultures because it's 'cooler', but I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about people who are born in a culture and do not conform to its norms, a person who questions the base of these thoughts, a person who questions religion, which is one of the most dominant factors of culture, a person who doesn't believe that a girl's chasitity is the most valuable thing a girl could have.<br />But then again, putting that in mind, these cultural norms, do affect a person living there one way or another, even if someone questions these norms one has to deal with the culture one is surrounded by it. Even if one doesn't conform, the mere fact of non conforming creates an inner struggle and thus makes the person living inside that culture affected; being an outsider still makes you part of a culture, an outsider of a culture, but there is a direct affect, so basically what I'm trying to say is to live somewhere, its roots will be embedded inside of you.<br />So back to language and its relation to culture.<br />Ngugi says: "The choice of language and the use to which language is put is central to a people's definition of themselves in relation to their natural and social enviroment, indeed in relation to the entire universe."<br />He also says: "Unforunately writers who should have been mapping paths out of that linguistic encirclement of their continent also came to be defined and to define themselves in terms of the languages of imperialist imposition. Even at their most radical and pro-African position in their sentiments and articulation of problems they still took it as axiomatic that the renaissance of African cultures lay in the languages of Europe."<br />So are African languages being eradicated?<br />and would it be our choice to eradicate our language?<br />Is it done conciously?<br />and I'm talking about Arabic here in specific, do we conciously let go of the lanuage.<br />Now to be more specific, Arabic in Egypt, why do I sometimes feel that the language is looked down upon in the upper class, and why are the best schools in Egypt international and foreign schools.<br />I remember this one time I was discussing with friends of mine the languages we read in.<br />We were all Egyptians but all of them either attended international schools or lived abroad their whole lives. I was the only one who could read in Arabic.<br />Though I do consider my fusha arabic better than many others I deal with, I know for sure its not good at all and to some, it might actually sound childish.<br />But do we blame ourselves for not mastering our language?<br />It is hard and not used in our daily lives, and also, education wise, I don't think I received the best education in that language, yes, we did get the syllaby of the public schools' arabic, but we only had to pass it in school, no great emphasis was put on it.<br />And another point is also that the way it was taught was very unappealing compared to how other subjects were taught, not that any subject was appealing to me, but at least, in German class for instance, we analyzed works, we wrote essays and most importantly we thought. In arabic we had to memorize everything which led to our indifference and dislike to the languge, it was for us, the boring thing that we wanted to run away from and another thing, I do remember liking some of the poetry and short stories taught in the curriculum, especially in high school, but they were taught in a manner, where any sane person can quite want to learn it. We were told what the metaphors meant and we were told what to write, there were model answers for everything and whoever strays from that model answer is wrong, just how this society functions.<br />So still, even if the way we were taught our language wasn't appealing, would writing in another language make up for the lack of our own education in our language?<br />While writing in English I always feel that I'm cheating myself, that this is not really me. When I write about my utmost feelings I feel that its sincere even if its written in English, but when I try to write a story with social interaction I always feel that it's supposed to be written in arabic, though like I said there is a lot of English in social interactions.<br />Ngugi quotes Chinua Achebe, a Nigerian author:<br />"Is it right that a man should abandon his mother tongue for someone else's? It looks like a dreadful betrayal and produces a guilty feeling. But for me there is no ther choice. I have been given the language and I intend to use it."<br />Another reason why in words I could express myself better in English is due to the fact that I mostly read in English, even translated works.<br />The only arabic I read are the works orginally written in arabic.<br />Reading makes writing progress and that is a fact.<br />So should I read any translated work in arabic, and how about works orginally written in frensh or spansih? English would express them a lot better, since they're all Euopean.<br />So how about Japanese? Since I've been reading Japanese literature lately?<br />Anyway, whether I want to read them in arabic or not is not a question, it's a matter of availibility, and most of the time, English translations are the ones available, but even if the arabic ones were available, I would still get the English translations.<br />A last point that I want to consider is that. What does literature say about a culture?<br />And should literature express the social and political problems of a certain time? And if it does, and it surely does, I personally don't it when a story takes place somewhere different than where the author resides or is subjected to, or when an author writes about a different time in history, but that's only my opinion since I believe there is literature for every region to express the sentimetns pf this region and for every time, so that the literature for each era or century can say something about that time. However, I still believe that they should contain timeless concepts about human nature that could be related to in any time, which is one reason why I belive many of the contemporary authors' work will not be timeless, because they write about the problems of our age and the hear and now, without digging in the charachters' psychology, but that is only my opinion.<br />So if I do belive that literature should somehow mirror the culture, how can I define the culture I'm living in. How can I define Egypt?<br />There seems to be two Egyptians. The upper class, who are taught in foreign languages and somehow look down upon their mother tongue and the lower class Egyptians who do not receive such education and therefore only know arabic.<br />And both of them are intermingled daily and both of them are Egyptians, but which of them express Egypt more?<br />In European countries, the gap between poor and rich never cause any gap in the way one thinks, one's culture. But in Egypt there seems to be more than one culture and as much as I am for diversity, there has to be some unity between Egyptians and this could never be realized except through a common education and it is a far off dream, so if nothing can be changed, thinking about me as an Egyptian and where I stand in society, what is my culture and in what language should I write to express it best?<br />I still don't know<br />it's a hard questionsilent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-16142758760485856912009-02-16T10:52:00.000-08:002009-02-16T11:54:45.694-08:00I always listen to sad songs<br />even when I'm happy<br />I always listen to sad songs<br /><br />"When I first met you I felt that we'd get to know each other better."<br />"I felt the same way."<br /><br />"when you start slashing your wrist, don't come crying to me. I'll only tell you I told you so."<br />"but I'm happy."<br />"which is the more reason you should end it."<br /><br />"it's really hard to find someone compatible to you"<br />"I know"<br />"there's the intellectual compatibility"<br />"the emtional compatibility"<br />"the physical compatibility"<br />"and there's the social compatibility"<br />"it really sucks"<br /><br />"I just want to see you for once in a normal relationship"<br /><br />"you know you're very stupid. You don't know how to enjoy things. You could just enjoy it and not look back when it ends, but you like to dwell. You always dwell. I get over people in two weeks."<br />"well, we're different people and we're made differently."<br /><br />it's funny how, I always give out the sad impression<br />I think for an outsider, I'd really look sad<br />since I tend to prefer keeping to myself<br />since I'm still somehow silent<br />and always always walk looking on the floor<br />I wear lots of blacks,<br />not all the time but most of the time<br />except for my occasional cheerful hyper moments<br />i'm still the quiet person i've become<br /><br />noone will notice that I really am happy with my life in general<br />why do I give out this sad vibe?<br />I think it goes back to my contemplative mood I'm always in<br />my friend today thought I was down everytime I got lost in thoughts<br />but I always get lost in thoughts, that's what he doesn't understand<br /><br />I think. Many years from now I'll look back at this time in my life and smile<br />I'll think of how young and free (well not really) I was<br />and how things were spontanous in a way<br />I'll remember the exctiement of moments I have<br />and my youtful spirit<br />I'll smile<br />I know I would<br /><br />memories become rusty by time<br />many details are lost on the way<br />sometimes I get scared of losing all these memories<br /><br />summer 2001 was one of the best summers of my life<br />I always remember it with a smile<br />and always remember how young and careless I was<br />I look back, and see how many of us, drifted apart and changed<br />how many life changing events happened to our lives<br />how some people are not here anymore<br />it feels so distant<br />like a shing star far away<br />but I wasn't really happy in summer 2001<br />I was obssessed about my one sided love<br />and was convinced that this is the harshed pain I could experience<br />now I laugh at myself<br />and sometimes smile<br />at that innonce<br />sometimes I yearn for such innocence<br /><br />it gets lots somewhere<br /><br />I still listen to sad songs<br />but I'm happysilent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-24979793861944436282009-02-07T00:01:00.000-08:002009-02-07T00:36:00.620-08:00It's funny how every single person sees me in a completly different light<br />there are so many 'me's out there<br />or at least ideas of me<br />it's funny how you think you're just you<br />and realize that there are actually thousands of you in people's heads<br />so many version versions of you<br />maybe some people notice one detail about me and overlook another<br />or maybe some people gather my reactions n differnt situations they saw and accordingly put together an idea of me<br />what's really humiliating about embarassing moments is the fact that this moment would be registered in the minds of its witnesses<br />it's intimidating knowing there are so many ideas of me out there<br />but then again I ask myself so which is really me?<br />since they're all half truths<br />is it my perception of me?<br />but it still can't be accurate<br />since self perceptions are always skwed and distorted<br />or maybe the me that I know is there lurking within but am scared to make peace with it<br />or accept its excitence<br />or maybe its the me that I like and enjoy talking to<br />or maybe it's in the whole combinationsilent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-25917295732836077992009-01-26T12:31:00.000-08:002009-01-26T13:05:53.360-08:00she was with me in class<br />we were friends for a year or so<br />she was my 'sports buddy'<br />I could never imagine her liking a guy<br />I remember this one, who used to call her all the time<br />they played football together, I thought it was rather strange how she never told me about a guy she likes,<br />but she always talked about a female friend of hers in the most romatic way<br />she used to make her little hand made gifts, and once she even showed me a video she made for her,<br />when we graduated we ceased to be friends<br />once I was in the club, going back to my car, it was parked in a dark area<br />I saw a car, with two girls inside<br />they were just talking, but I found it strange that they'd park a car and sit and talk in a dark corner<br />I looked closely and I realized that it was my friend inside with another girl<br />she said hi and we talked for a while<br />A few weeks ago I was talking with a friend, and she told me she suspects that this girl is a lesbian<br />I asked her why she thinks so<br />she told me that she saw her at the movies with a girl, she was laughing and putting her hand on her thighs, and then at the intermission, she kept asking the girl if she needs anything, and asked repeatedly when the girl declined.<br />I told the friend, the one I was talking to, that she actually might be lesbian, but she'll never admit it to herself or her family, and eventually she might get married and feel trapped forever, since she'd consider it the greatest sin of all<br />then I pondered a little bit<br />the last time I talked to her, back at school, I knew she would have thought it was the greatest sin of all, she wasn't extra religious, but I'm sure she would've been against that<br />but maybe she's changed, I have no idea what her religious beliefs are at the moment<br />I know I've changed a lot since school days, so who knows<br />if she were lesbian I'd feel sorry for her, since she'd be entraped forever<br /><br />A few days ago, a semi-friend made this crude remark on a picture of Ellen and Portia de Rossi, I asked her why she thought it was disgusting.<br />She got angry at me "don't give your I'm so open-minded shit! It's ok to be tolerant but you have to have your own opinions"<br />"well, my opinion is that I'm for gays and lesbians"<br />"I don't believe you. What of your sister marries a woman, would you be happy about that?"<br />"She wouldn't"<br />"Let's say she would."<br />"my sister is uptight, and even if she wasn't, she could never get married to a woman here in Egypt!"<br />"Well , ASSUMING it was ok. Hypothetically speaking."<br />"I wouldn't mind, I'll be happy for her if that's what she wants."<br />"you wouldn't you be boiling inside?" another one asked<br />"no," I replied<br />They started telling me that I'm a liar and that I would actually get angry if I was in that situation.<br /><br />I explained that sometimes, some people are born in a certain way and they feel entraped in their body, "what if a woman has no desire for men, what if she's built that way or vise versa?"<br />"God would never create someone like that."<br />"How would you know, just because you're into men doesn't have to mean that ever female specie should be born that way."<br />"la2 fee nas beystahbelo," (the wouldn't you be boiling) girl said<br />"I could understand if they were molested as a child," the first one said<br />"it doesn't have to be that way, why do people always assume that gays or lesbians were molested as kids? I mean everything that happens to a person, ye2ollo asl he was abused as a child. I might actually believe that some people would quite simply be born that way."<br />Damn you Opera, Dr Phil and Al Aswany if I might add.<br />and then it came<br />"yeah but then it would be a disease that needs treatment."<br />"here we go again," I thought<br />"they were born that way, why should you have to call it a disease?"<br />"it's like being a disabled person."<br />I'm no psychologist, I' not an expert and I'm no doctor so I don't have logical proof or evidence to stand by my point<br />"look," I said "anatomically speaking, it makes more sense tab3an that a penis would enter a vagina. But I still don't feel it's a disease, I can't explain it and I don't even have proof, maybe you're right, but I still am OK with the concept."<br /><br />I don't know why, but I really would feel sorry for homo sexuals in Egypt<br /><br />I remember once a conversation I had with two friends a very long time ago<br />"I can never understand the physical aspect of lesbianism" they were saying "but I would totally understand it from an emtional point of view, girls understand each other more."<br />I was totally against what they were saying<br />I actually I see it the other way round.<br />I can imagine being attracted to a girl, physically attracted but I can never be in a relatioship with one<br />too much drama and estrogen<br />la2 tab3an I need a man to be in a relationship with<br />I can count a few girls I've actually been attracted to<br />I don't consider myself lesbian though<br />not at all<br /><br />I don't remember in which Almodovar film someone says that females are bisexual<br />I think it's in "all about my mother"<br />it's true though<br />even if it's only by 1%<br />there's a teeny weeny bisexual in every girl<br />and many girls did admit that<br /><br />so anyway<br />I don't know what I'm going about here<br />I think it's really hard for homosexuals in the middle east,<br />allover the globe aslan<br />but here it's 100 times harder than anywheresilent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9168645352180726083.post-82412396386966624062009-01-25T05:29:00.000-08:002009-01-25T05:33:28.199-08:00sometimes I wonder why anyone would want to read my blog<br />I wouldn't read it<br />sometimes I get the urge to delete it and create another one and not comment on any of the blogs I usually comment on<br /><br />I want a free space somewhere<br /><br />and doing that would make me write even freer<br /><br />I will do that soon<br /><br />I guess I'm just lazy for nowsilent observerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09441591744051682787noreply@blogger.com9