On the Olympics, Success, and National Pride

Ya Akhi why do we participate in the greatest sporting competition if we're not really planning to win anything? I can understand the degree of professionalism athletes have worldwide, but that's really the point, being a professional athlete is the road to winning in any competition, certainly the Olympic games, and it's not like you find out 20 minutes before it starts, you've got 4 freaken years to prepare! See the Olympic games are politics wearing shorts, raising national flags and playing national anthems, it's a show of force, albeit soft.

Maybe it's not fair to blame the athletes themselves, as they're just the executors, but failure is a domino effect, so is success, we're just used to failure, as we give it a fatalistic attribute, rather than the product of our mentality. Zimbabwe, one of the poorest most failed states in the world has already won 4 medals.

One last note, notice how the leading countries in the Madel count are all "nation states", national pride is the driving force for success, in politics, sports and everything in between, and it's not an achievement to waltz down the track with the flag at the opening ceremony if that's the only thing you do, once every 4 years.

Saudade

Remember Eve? She still comes to mind, less often than before, but as certain memories are triggered with scent, sound or season, Eve's memory is triggered by all Three, and today all three got together and flooded me like a sudden Tsunami, and swept me off to a distant time and place, funny how time catches up with you sometimes, even if you try to evade its border patrol! So today I was an illegal alien in the land of Eve, I wondered around and visited the Forbidden City, strolled in the narrow streets of Time, and watched people walk by, as time and place froze for a fraction of a second.

Eve is somewhere else though, and her scent is complimenting the season that sounds with birdsong wherever she goes, and where lilies bloom as she walks by. I'm still spellbound by her charm/curse, even after I've taken the antidote and thought I was healed, but some illnesses are persistent, they invade you and refuse to withdraw their forces even if you declare resistance; both armed and passive, whichever you decide to wage first.

An Overdue Stroll With My Grandfather

I've never really noticed these dates, as they passed year after year, but today a thought went through me like it never did before, as I watched a program about the 60th anniversary of the Nakba, I suddenly remembered both my paternal grandparents, who passed away in the early 1990s, I've never really been interested in knowing their stories, how they lived before 1948, weird enough though, I knew their story after '48, and how my grandfather, walked with his small family away from Haifa on one summer day in 1948, and never went back. I know that my father was born on the beach and had his first bath in the Mediterranean, and I know that he carried his infant brother as they left their home.

I've never really sat and thought about the man who was my grandfather, but now it's only appropriate to remember the man, who despite all the troubles he lived, maintained a mysterious kind of patience, he never complained. I was in my teens when he passed away, and I wasn't really interested in asking him the questions I wanted to be answered now, How was it..having an ancestral homeland? what was it like to lose the house you were born in?

I remember my grandmother, that green-eyed woman, who despite her reaching her mid 80s, looked like a little girl, with her innocent smile, she used to comb her hair into two pigtails, and although the long dark nights made it grey, she remained the beautiful girl who lived on Mount Carmel, over looking the wide open sea, despite the time and space between them.

One of the most enduring things I remember about my grandfather was his gaze; he had that amazing gaze, one of determination..I was always amazed how this old man managed to walk for hours every day, even days before he passed away, he liked his strolls, and I was stupid enough to never walk with him even once, but he always brought me sandwiches on his way back, falafel tasted different when my grandfather brought it, it might have been blessed by God through the fingertips of that dark old man, with a white beard, and a white head-dress, I always wondered why he was dark, but later I knew that he loved to be in the sun, he was a man of open space, never liked the indoors.

I never got to say goodbye to my grandfather..I wish I did, and today, as I haphazardly mark an occasion of displacement, I remember the beautiful green eyes of Thuraya, that little girl who happened to be old enough to be my grandmother, and her Rock; Mahmoud, the kind old man, to whom both I recite a prayer, and ask for their forgiveness.

On Solitude

Sometimes, we like to be alone, even if we're the bubbliest most sociable people in the world, solitude becomes a necessity at times, it's a self cleansing system of sorts, one's mind recharges with deep thought, and deep thought is only reached in solitude, it's quite amazing how a mental action is best executed with a physical action.

You reach great decisions in solitude, if you think a little bit about your own greatest decisions you'll be surprised to find that those most probably were taken after a day or night of solitude. Your senses are fine tuned to your own thoughts when you give all your attention to you, even if the decision is to seize your solitude; proposing to someone or accepting a proposal.

You're at your most transparent state when in solitude, so any mental attempt to play a game of strategy is void of its purpose, all the roles you play around people are removed from their element like you remove a coat when you reach home; the intellect, the considerate..etc, all the social "masks" are taken off, and you're left with the real you, the one only you know, with all your flaws, all your vices, the ones you always make sure to hide when not alone.

Its funny how when you're in love, you tend to want to be alone, away from people, and with one thought, about one person. Solitude becomes your destination, you intentionally go through that mental trip, and when you reach that certain "Nirvana", you willfully decide that your solitude is a pilgrimage for your love, a proof of your devotion, it's not a coincidence that we have only one heart and one mind! Longing too is an act of solitude, when you miss, your surroundings seize, you can't feel the people around, your soul is somewhere else, with someone else.

lovers don't finally meet somewhere, they're in each other all along.

On Egypt

I've been reading some of the posts made about the events in Egypt in the past few days, and I have to admit that I'm impressed, people have had enough of whatever they've been fed -or not fed- for the past two decades, the corruption is reaching epic proportions, and it's very clear that people's life is getting harder by the minute. Now I don't mean for this to be a stereotype, but Egyptians are known for their patience, and for them to lose their ancient patience and declare mini-revolutions is a sign of change, a kind of change "suave" dictatorships is not used to.

Many times I find myself envious of Egyptians for their love of their land, their music, the lyrics all drip of an amazing kind of simple love, I sometimes want those songs to be for Jordan, instead of the noisy nonsense we're forced to call patriotic songs. Patriotism is Love, the deeper your love, the easier you express it, and the genius of the Egyptians makes their expression of love the simplest, most sincere of all expressions, Egypt is the woman who gets younger and more beautiful with every sunrise over the Nile.

One important lesson to us all, the suave among us and the not so suave; never take the patience of people for granted, and never underestimate the power of hunger. Moreover; change is in the air.

On Culture, Stereotypes and Misconceptions.

I've always been fascinated by culture and how it affects people's perceptions of others, the way one perceives their own identity has a great effect on the way they see others, there's a subconscious hierarchy that grows slowly in the collective mindset of people around the world in terms of where they see their culture in the pyramid of world cultures, and almost always people tend to put themselves on top of the pyramid, based on what is perceived to be theirs or their ancestors' greatest achievement whether it's religious, or technological, or any other criteria, and that makes it superior to other cultures, even if this superiority is based on a benign factor, or so we convince ourselves.

I'm drawing a line between the terms culture and tradition, as although they're intertwined to a great deal, tradition usually has more of an ethnic character, whereas culture is usually more of a progressive refinement of people through historical events, conquests, the spread of faiths, commerce. All aspects of human interaction contribute to the creation of culture, and before settling..the storm of culture-building acquires and sheds many aspects of the life of people as it takes the shape of Identity; language, Faith and even tolerance or ethnocentricity.

I'm a great fan of the late Edward Said, and his books on the thought of culture and its effect on people are a great read, one notion in his book "Covering Islam" explains that the way western journalists, who tend not to know the languages, or much about the culture of the places they report from, rely on slanted academic studies for their understanding of the Islamic world, and allow it to color almost everything they write. As a result, reporting from Islamic countries is not only shallow, but often filled with insults and ethnic slurs, Islam is represented by news gatherers, experts, and policy makers. with emphasis on violence, anti-American rhetoric, and resistance to modernization, which really belie the fact that there is not a single monolithic Islam but many Islams and that what news organizations perpetuate is an undifferentiated form of cultural stereotyping - as if it were sufficient to say about the Dutch that they all wear wooden shoes!

Now, I'm again drawing parallels between culture and tradition, Islam in Malaysia is the Islam in Senegal, in the cultural identity meaning of the term, but you will definitely find different traditional practices surrounding religious practice that are completely alien to the core of the faith itself, which only proves the diversity of the believers, the compatibility of the faith with traditions, no matter how diverse, but doesn't necessarily mean the condoning of traditional practices within the faith, one reoccurring example is the practice of female circumcision in Africa, which is not condoned by Islam, and practiced by Muslim and non Muslim populations of sub-Saharan Africa.

Another impressive academic is Azmi Bishara, who in his explanation of the notion of clash of civilizations argues that The issue at hand is not one of dialogue or conflict between Christianity and Islam, since neither religion is uniform and there are many versions of both. Christians in Jordan or Syria are different from those in Poland or Latin America, and both are different from American Protestants. Islam also changes from rural to urban areas, across social classes and over time. which according to these facts voids the inevitability of a clash of civilizations as predicted and even advocated by its main theorists Samuel Huntington and Bernard Lewis, and robs them from their prophecies of an Armageddon, where God stands with the Good against the Evil, which brings to mind the famous statement: "you're either with us, or with the terrorists" in turn based on the teachings of the neo-conservative think tanks, a clear cut black and white world, void from shades and colors. What is most worrying though is that a third color is taking prominence; Red.

One last thought: Both Said and Bishara are Christian Arabs, speaking about Islam in the first person's narrative, which only proves the virtue of the notion of cultural identity, against the notion of religious and ethnic separation advocated by antagonists both in the East and in the West.

My -very subtle- Jordan..

Today, according to the blogo-calendar, is the Blog about Jordan day, and besides the haphazard celebration on a haphazard date, the thoughts in this post are anything but haphazard, they've been brewing in my mind for a while, and today is certainly an occasion to express them.

I know that we're not perfect, no society is, no nation is completely immune from social injustices or economic hardships, so I won't sing praise in the fashion of festive speech making and the art of celebration. Today I give credit to those who wake up every morning and go make a living, the farmers and the teachers, the simple people who make an honest living..as little as they make, a little girl who wakes up with the sun and combs her hair into pigtails before walking to school, and in the evening, she finishes her homework, recites a short prayer she learned as she surrenders to sleep to dream of becoming a doctor or a lawyer, and live in the distant utopia called Amman.

The Jordan I'm proud of transcends the big buildings with glass facades and the Wi-Fi enabled cafés of West Amman, it's the Jordan of people who are patient, content with what they have, the ones who insist on giving their children the good education they deserve, even if that meant taking bread away from their own mouths, the people who have all the hope.. and all the patience in the world, Those are the Jordan of tomorrow, the ones who will bring Jordan forward, ethically..more than anything, as God knows we're in need for a dose of ethics, we seem to think that the dissolving of ethics is a natural result of modernity, when in fact it's a natural cause for our own dissolve..into the unknown.

Today, I'm celebrating the children living on the edges of the Jordanian desert, who probably have internet access in the white washed schools of their remote villages, but have no running water in their homes, the mothers who weave traditional dresses to feed their families, the same dresses the ladies of the velvet society wear at gala dinners at The Dunes. I'm celebrating the waiters who work evenings to pay for their university studies. The Jordan I'm proud of is one hidden in hearts, and the hearts are of people who know what Love truly means, they don't have to express it, as actions speak louder than words, and with every breath they take, their love is proven; to themselves, to each other, and to those who care to look into their eyes, it's a soft determination, coated with hope and content, and the warmth of hearts feeds it as it grows, slowly..but surely.

Painting by Jordanian artist Muhanna Al-Durra.