First of all; I would like to reassure all of those concerned that cyclone 'Gunu' (a funny name by the way) is not having any significant effect on Dubai yet. The Met projections suggest that it is going to head north toward Iran. Dubai might experience some mild showers.
Well; whatever will be, will be.
I haven't been posting much recently. I've been extremely busy at work. During the last couple of weeks, I would go to bed dreaming of tons of steel slung over my shoulders, floods of concrete poured around my calves, angry owners screaming in my ears, shackles of penalties and contractual obligations holding my hands in a standstill. This is not a nightmare by the way; it's been an every day's reverie.
But I am not worried, because even in the darkest of my impulses, I am never gagged, I am still able to mumble, talk, shout, curse, cuss…at least for now…
Today marks the fortieth anniversary of our notorious defeat. A very bitter memory, even for those who haven't lived it. I am fortunate to have a father who fought in the 73's October war, a relatively successful war. He was a squad commander. The rule of his group was pronounced more loudly during the attrition war that followed the course of the main war. Those were difficult times when Syria was left alone. Anwar Al Sadat had suddenly decided that Egypt would do a better job singing solo, something that is still gravely disputable till date.
One of the blessing of having blackouts in Syria (and those were aplenty when I was a little kid) is that my father would seize the moment, in which he wouldn't be able to anything else otherwise, to tell me in details about his experience in the combat field.
War memories are never sweet; I still recall the bitterness in my father's tone. He still suffers a punctured eardrum, an injury which he'd been able to disguise through trickery and solemn attitude. He realizes deep down inside, that his very little sacrifice is nothing compared to the tremendous suffering of our Palestinian brethren, either those who were stranded in the exodus, or left inside the occupied territory, floundering in despair.
But let's admit that neither Palestine nor Jolan could benefit from our tears. And just how many tears have been shed, reflecting the agony of the immeasurable pain. I am only hoping that that would not go in vain. With Karma in place, what had gone around would come around one day, and justice will take its course. Peace has been a glamorous word recently, I am not being despondent, but I believe that relying on peace alone is not the answer. I advice those wagering on peace to consider the alternative, a plan B should never be shelved. We need to be honest to ourselves; we need to subordinate our personal and national agendas to the greater cause. Al Quds holds a sacred statue for both Muslim and Christian Arabs alike.
However, the Arabic prospect looks very bleak at the moment, with all the internal troubles hovering in our backyard, restoring Al Quds, and all the other occupied territories, seems to be a purpose held in abeyance.