Um Hasan

When I was young, there was a lady who used to visit us often, she sometimes baby-sat me and a cousin, she told us stories about her days in a distant place called Gaza, she used to have tears in her eyes every time she mentioned Gaza, as the only good memories of her whole life were between the G and the A of Gaza.

I always wondered why Um Hasan's son; Hasan never showed up, but as I grew older I understood that there was no Hasan, as Um Hasan didn't have any family, the only family she had was my extended family, she felt safe among us, she played the role of the mother to the adults, and grandmother to the children.

Um Hasan was illiterate, but she never told me she were, she helped me with my homework, making me recite poems I had to memorize while she looked in the book as if she was making sure I didn't make mistakes, she couldn't dial the phone as she couldn't read the numbers, but she could tell you the phone numbers of all my aunts and uncles by heart.

Um Hasan never lived to see Gaza "liberated", she never saw it occupied again, and again, She never saw Gaza abandoned again, and again, and probably would've died again and again if she did.

I haven't thought of Um Hasan for more than 10 years, as she passed away in the early 1990s, but today, and without permission, she passed by with her cigarette smoke filling the air, and her stories of beautiful Gaza came to mind. Sometimes, our minds pinch us into remembering people who have had a role in our lives, I recited a prayer for Um Hasan, it was probably the first time anyone thought of her since her passing, how ungrateful we are sometimes.

Um Hasan's name was Jameeleh, and as I remember the smiling face of that Gazan angel, I remember a bruised beauty of sorts, time bruises us like nothing else. But tonight, Um Hasan's face looks like a full moon, to me; the little boy who used to run away every time she tried to kiss me, lighting the cloudy London night, and jumpstarting my numb conscious as my sanity hangs by a thread.

Mi Gaza Es Su Gaza

I've been pondering the recent events for a while, and as the plane crossed the Palestinian coast as it left Amman on her way to London today, I looked out the window to the far distance, trying to defy my eyesight into reaching the far southern tip of the coast, where people's souls are taking a special stairway to heaven, not the Led Zeppelin song, but one with no closed border crossings or besieged neighbourhoods.

I'm not a fan of pointless blogging, that's probably why I don't blog alot, as I know that when I don't have anything to say, I don't say anything, but I had to think about that stairway to heaven in the distant horizon today, I could swear I saw a band of angels on a cloud, they probably were there to carry the souls of the fallen children onto their homes beneath the walls of the Throne of God, that's where they belong, safe like they never were, or any human will ever be. I saw a little girl with brown hair combed in a pigtail lying in her blood on TV today, she's probably looking at the face of God now, no higher honour can make up for her murder.

They're the living, and we're the dead, Gaza in Arabic means a needle stick, a name synonymous with pain, and pain is the only constant found in Gaza today, but bodily pain can heal, the pain of conscious on the other hand is terminal.

Gaza has a stairway to heaven, I saw it today.

On Days Past

Bil Zamanat, I used to enjoy walking around Jabal El Weibdeh, which to those not familiar with Amman, is one of the oldest neighbourhoods of the city. I had a very good reason to do so besides the beautiful old houses and narrow winding roads, as a certain blonde was living there, so every summer evening of that July was spent walking around Weibdeh with that tall girl, talking about anything; it didn't really matter what was said as being there and then was the point.

This sudden recollection came as I prepare for another pilgrimage to Amman, the place I miss more when I'm in than when I'm away from; much like the line of ancient Arabic poetry with the same sentiment:

يمـوتُ الهــوى منــّي إذا ما لقـيتُها

ويحيا إذا فارقتـُـها فيعــودُ

But I'm not going to dwell on this as this post is supposed to be as "sunny" as the mid-summer days in Weibdeh, the whole neighbourhood felt like home, even if home was a few miles away, every window in every house felt familiar as if I had actually lived there and looked through it every morning, or roamed around it in my slumber as I walked around it in my sobriety, there was a distinct scent of jasmine, and that scent still runs through me like the blood through my veins, I never smelled anything as beautiful, it was probably the scent of Love, as every emotion has a scent, the same overwhelming love I felt, and now am nostalgic to. Love ages like wine, or cheese if you prefer, it acquires more taste, more interpretations, as one grows older, but one thing remains the same; the memory of days past.

p.s: I saved the world today.

Evolution

First Came This

Then Came This

First Came This

Then Came This

First Came This

Then Came This

First Came This

Then Came This

First Came This

And Soon Comes This

The Audacity of Hope: A Reflection

There's a certain Audacity in Hope, which by the way is a great title of a book by a certain senator named Barack Obama, who just won a certain presidential election. It's the instinctive unwavering adamance in the rectitude of one's discourse in life, through trial and error; conquering one's own prejudice and bigotry before rising above others' antipathy and discouragement. This hope burns within us all, and sometimes it reaches the point of near extinguishment as it fades into subconscious hibernation, only to be woken up again as if it had never faded.

These are the moments of human conquest; they flood us all as we share a moment of overwhelming joy, a joy willed but not expected; not because it's not worthy of fulfilment but because human nature sometimes tends to believe..but doubt, so as if one or the other decides to prove us wrong as it proves us right, we're not shaken into a cocoon of apprehension and malice, as only those who believe that it's either their way..or no way, only those who are intoxicated with the illusion of their own righteousness and the corruption of their opposition, only those..are left behind as humanity moves ahead.

There's a mysterious allurement in Hope, a promise of collective return, oblivious to the rules of time and place, it crosses all boundaries, physical and intellectual, as it penetrates the hardest of walls reaching the heaviest of hearts, uniting people as it offers redemption from grudge and grievance, promising consolidation and acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of difference as a factor of diversity not one of division, it expects acceptance with dignity as it reciprocates both, uniting humans all over the world for a moment in time undeterred by their divided reality, and holding them together with that transparent thread that holds us all: Hope; in Peace, Love and Freedom. And a better, brighter Tomorrow for all humans; in Palestine, in Iraq, in Lebanon, and in all the cities and villages of this planet.

Yes We Can.

The Obamaization of History

This is the point of view of a non American observer of American politics, and there sure is a lot to see these days, but what makes this election special; both for Americans and non Americans is the possibilities it promises, those remain promises and are not in any way certainties.

But with a man with so many complications; his father was a Muslim Kenyan , his mother was a white Christian American, he has a Muslim middle name but he himself is a Christian, he was accused of having attending a Madrasa or a Muslim religious school when he lived with his mother and step-father in Indonesia, despite the fact that the term Madrasa in the religious aspect of the word has a mental reference to the extremist schools in Afghanistan, and not the mainstream modern Islamic societies, and as a result, his patriotism was, and is questioned like no one's patriotism was ever questioned before, and still, he's the strongest contender to the presidency.

Obama isn't just another candidate, it certainly doesn't seem to be the case from this side of the world, and his election -if it happens- would void the Anti-American sentiment from its premise, as the mere election of a black man, with a Muslim middle name, is a clear proof of the virtue of American democracy, it see's beyond colour, name and creed -or so it would seem- despite the fact that history will always remember the fierce attacks made against him during the presidential campaign.

If he loses, on the other hand, and no matter how fair and accurate that loss is, the world will have more cause for an excuse -no matter how unfair and biased that might be- to the vice of American democracy as it didn't tolerate the election of an unconventional presidential candidate, and again the negative campaign against him would add oil on the already burning fire of doubt, and with it the rift of misrepresentation and misunderstanding would widen, with Obama becoming an embodiment of the idea of the clash of civilizations as it returns to the center stage, with all the demagogues around the world having a victory parade.

I hope Obama wins, for the sake of Ambition, and all that it stands for, The Ambition of people all around the world, and certainly my own, although I have nothing to do with US politics, but the election of Obama would have a domino effect, or a butterfly effect for the sake of a softer portrayal, I hope he wins, not because I think he's the awaited Messiah as the cynics on the opposite side of the fence describe his campaign, or because I think he'll achieve what the previous 20 presidents failed, or overlooked, but because he represents Ambition, the triumph of hard work, and the overcoming of all the odds.

On The Convenience in Ignorance

They say that the illusion of knowledge is far more dangerous than ignorance itself.

See here's the thing: An Arab isn't necessarily a Muslim. Furthermore; a Muslim isn't necessarily an Arab, but yet again one could be both..or either, or in this case, Neither!

Here's another thing: One could be an Arab and a Muslim, or either..and be a Decent Family Man. Moreover, one could also be both, either or neither, and not be a decent family man.

Try to figure that out with your paranoid little brains!