It's now past 10 PM. I'd slept for probably an hour. It was such a rejuvenating bliss. All the dreams that I experience here about back home are true. True in their images, senses and care-free novelty. True in their embryonic form of happiness. I can revisit those long walks at night, where the roads are damp and the traffic is retreating.

I walk through the night, with a friend, talking about nothing, talking about everything. And I smell scents that are true. And I see reflections of the old oaks and cypresses, cast by the neon streetlights, on the damp roads. I see all my walks leading, as they always do, to where my first sweetheart lived. I see myself walking in circles around the block. My friend knows about her, of course, and he doesn't mind, for tomorrow we're walking around the block where his sweetheart lives.

We keep walking through the infinite night. An occasional car pauses at the intersection and its rear lights fill the night with red, a reminder of a love that hadn't been consummated. But I walk on nonetheless, around the same block, for the wounds have mended and yet I still come back to where she lives, and walk around the block. I'm not a child anymore, and yet I'm not a grownup. I'm irresponsible in my own level of honesty. Even the 'depraved' carnal images are pure. So we compare notes, me and my friends, about what we saw from the balconies of our childhood, or later, leaning against a wooden telephone pole and watching high school girls stream by.

My friend is smart; all my friends are smart, in their own way. And we talk about nothing, or everything. What we study in school always comes up, what she studies in school always comes up. I have now learned the ultimate truth: who hasn't excelled at the favorite subject of his first sweetheart? Who hadn't sat in class, in the back, through all the sessions, watching from afar, or from near, imperceptibly picking up the words, furtively seeking a glance. Who hasn't excelled to impress? I did, I have the proof of words and memories; taped from my vantage point as I watch from the back.

And so when we walk, me and my friend, we don't really run out of things to say, there is always the thing she said, in class, while savoring her favorite subject. There is always the things I said, in class, savoring her subject on her behalf. There's an undying eagerness there, a constant yearning for tomorrow's challenge. No walk has ever been mundane. All feelings have been christened here. The sounds have been chiseled with the care of a master sculpture; I kick the crunched can, and it reverberates through the stillness. A dog yaps from a distance. A leave emits a different tune, when kicked, and, pregnant with rainwater, it won't travel far. And the conifer scents are all true. No breath ever smells the same, as we inhale the black, damp air.

I part the company of my friend and keep on walking home. It's few miles away, but there is no option of transport at this hour. No worries there, no concerns, not a single pause. As I walk and replay the words. And the conversations. The challenges. I am light-headed and sprightly. I've got nothing on me but heavy winter clothes. And the keys. My shoes scuff at the old steps, yet another ingenuity of sound. I open up the door and walk in. There is no home like your own. And I'm the owner of the night. But the night is about to excuse herself to give way to sleep.

I yawn as I give my mother a silent salute, she's drowsing on the sofa watching muted TV. She asks me why I'm late. And return to the TV before she even completes the question. Why I'm late? I ... I don't know. I'd never known. But I'm always late. I never timed my rounds around the block, never counted them. I change clothes in the dark and insert myself in the bed.

The proprietor of the night is about to be put to sleep, may we play the highlights of the day for him? Thank you.

And here they come, shadows on the ceiling, cast by the neon streetlights. Refracted by the damp roads and a million other detail. My demands are met with diligence, and the images play themselves for my benefit. I don't need to urge tomorrow to be good, or better, or to behave. Tomorrow is when I excel. Tomorrow is up to me. Tomorrow never lies. Tomorrow is made true by tonight. And the image of her, on the wooden seat-- sitting through her favorite subject, with grace and due attention-- is the last thing I see before an invisible hand draws the curtains closed with gentleness. And I feel them, I hear their hissing and chafing, and I smell their softness and their promise, for when they'll draw open again. And that's the last thing I do, before I close my eyes and hand over the keys of the night, to yet another happy, wandering soul.

Emirates Airlines International Festival of Literature (photos and comments)

From the fringe events: art, dancing, acting and debates.

(Photo by Shruti)

Suzzane Hussieni (a Canadian gourmet and gastronome)

(Photo by Shruti)
Paul Plezard (left) being interviewed. Best thing about this festival is the publicity (through photographs, interviews, and blogging) that was done by volunteers.

(by Wajiha)

Hisham Wyne. (a Huff Post writer and trouble maker)

(by Wajiha)

Aren't the kids adorable?

(by Wajiha)
Alexander and Eman.

(by Wajiha)
One of the acting groups on a fringe activity. (brilliant shot!)

(by Wajiha)
(Photo by Shruti)

Volunteers were live-tweeting the event on twitter.

(by Wajiha)

(Photo by Shruti)

A brilliant shot of the instant translator.

(by Shruti)

The social media session.

(by Shruti)

The social media session.

(Photo by Shruti)

The obligatory shot of officials. (during inauguration ceremony)

(Photo by Shruti)

Jeffery Deaver, one of my favorite crime writers of all time ( the "Bone Collector" movie was based on one of his novels). He describes himself as an illusionist.

(Photo by Shruti)

(by Wajiha)
(by Wajiha)

Visit Wajiha's and Shruti's albums for more photos!

A Letter to my Mother

Dear mom,

There are those prudes who regard Mothers Day as a heresy. I really don’t care about them. I’d rather seize every opportunity to wish you a happy, healthy and a content living.

But there is more to this that just wishing, isn’t there, mom? I’ve got so many things to say that can't be articulated through phone calls. So I decided to make my confusion official, I decided to put my concerns in writing.

Life’s good mom. It really is. But I doubt if this is the case for the thousands of men in uniform I meet everyday. There are those whose souls had hardened into faces of perpetual pleading. “They toil under the sun all day“, we kept saying, on and on. Until it was decided that that saga had gotten old. And thus toiling under the sun was outlawed. Now only toiling under a benign sun is permissible. And when the sun isn’t benign, then “laboring in the confines of concrete infernos” is the alternative.

Oh mom, the disparity of income is appalling. Social injustice is appalling. I, as you know, grew up in the protective shell of our household. In an egalitarian society, where everyone was entitled to tastes and colors. (Do you remember the cakes that your students used to give you as gifts at Teachers Day? They were the most delicious.) An egalitarian society that, for all its other ills, allowed everyone a modicum of dignity. Money making, mom, seems to be the archenemy of dignity these days. And we’re not egalitarian anymore. We are going corporate. We’ve joined the trend. And this is why I don’t recognize my hometown anymore. It’s a jumble of indeterminate socio-economical experiments. It’s probably a world-wide ailment; that money-making. The morning drive to work is almost surreal, mom. It’s like a form of liturgy. Where we all end up prostrating before the impotent gods of money.

But I’m different, mom. You know me. I give them a hard time. I ain’t going down without a fight. I’m a prick in the office. Me and the other guys, we’ve got different drives. They’ve got beards and expecting wives, mom. And they are losing. Their commuting ritual is performed with excellence. Not a single diversion from the grand plan. Me. I’m a prick, mom. A prick to them. I’ve got other drives. I’ve got different plans and differing routes. And they know this, but they don’t know what those plans are. So they steer clear. Moral clarity is empowering. Nothing beats a prick with moral clarity.

We have the tallest building in the world now, mom. Or I should probably say the highest. Since tall things are measured in their abstract. While the building we have here must be taken in context. Do you remember how I used to be scared of heights, mom? You instilled this in me. (please, I’m not blaming you, I just need to get this off my chest). I was 18 months old. Out on the vast verandah. My tiny body stuck out over the handrail from the waist up. I was probably about to travel the 15 meters journey into our neighbor’s garden if it wasn’t for your intervention. From then on, I was constantly admonished about balconies and high perches. About roofs and window shutters that open outward. The fear had become real. I don’t know if I told you this. There was a period when I was constantly having nightmares about falling off the balcony. (not the vast verandah fronting the apartment, but the kitchen balcony where I had my first erection watching our neighbor’s daughter peg the laundry on strings to dry.) But the nightmares weren’t always dry, mom……. (I probably shouldn’t tell you this. It feels awkward). Anyway… I’ve overcome my fear of heights, mom. I don’t fear them anymore. It seems pointless from the rational point of view. A thirty storey building is as dangerous as the thirty-thousands-feet-high airplane up in the stratosphere.

Perhaps I shouldn’t complain a lot, though. There are things that had turn for the better. I’m no longer superstitious, mom. I’ve shed all my superstitious clothing. Science have won mom. It’s really over. It’s a matter of time before the dust clears and everyone realizes it. Science took over everything. It even teaches people how to love now: “Want to feel closer to someone, try secret swapping, you both write secrets down on cards and exchange!” !1!one!. Ain’t that amazing? I should probably be thrilled. But why am I not, mom? Why the moral struggle continues to haunt people? Why emotional conflicts continue to wreck havoc on individuals and institutions alike? We’re a flawed specie, mom. Having discovered the amygdala, we’re still under its spell. A quick look at the number of armed conflicts and the volumes of military budgets would tell you this. We’re still lead by the enzymes. The primal forces are still within us. And this is why certain individuals, (not to be confused with the prudes) would stop talking altogether and go seek solitary in nature. They ache to connect with our primal ancestors. They yearn to reverse the mad sequence of evolution and to discard intellect.

But life’s good mom. It really is. Remember when you caught me talking on the phone with a girl when I was thirteen years old? We didn’t have cells at the time, mom. Not even caller’s ID. Oh, how easy and fun it was; phone harassment. Anybody could ring anybody up and say whatever the hell he or she wanted. I’d built my street lingo through these conversations, mom. Until that day when you caught me. Then I promised I wouldn’t do it again. And I kept the promise until this very day.

I don’t talk to girls on the phone anymore, mom. We just text. Everyone is texting these days. Bet you didn’t think of that when you made me pledge. Technology made an end run around justice for us. Although in fairness to technology, we’ve also been screwed by it a little. We can’t phone-harass any longer. Don’t get me wrong mom. I don’t want to harass anybody. It’d just be nice to build up that street lingo once again.

To be continued.....

Secularism, Resistance and Schizophrenia (translation)

(Since I love my English-speaking readers who are all awesome, here's a rough and discretionary translation of my yesterday's post in Arabic.)

There’s an ongoing and evolving debate in the Syrian blogsphere these days. And unlike in the past, where insults were hurled and there were plenty of polarization between the Secular and Islamist bloggers, this time around the tone is much more polite and civil. So I decided to pitch in with my two cents.

The subject matter is vast and complicated. My friends Anas and Yassin had addressed most of the questions put forward by the instigator of the debate. There are, nonetheless, few points that I’d like to touch on quickly.

Another Anas, a Syrian blogger who’s apparently an avid opponent of secularism, had pointed out what he believes damning evidence that Arab Secularists are sick with schizophrenia. (for the record, my friend Kate, a psychiatrist, tells me the usage of ‘schizophrenia’ here is erroneous). The thing that had exposed the ailment of Arab secularists is that they, in overwhelming majority, are supportive of Islamic resistance movement in Lebanon and Palestine (namely Hezbollah and Hamas). Our friend Anas offers two reasons to explain this dichotomy:

- Arab Secularists are the cultural byproduct of a long-living and glorious Islamic civilization that had ruled most of the world at a certain point in history. Thus, subconsciously, they know that there will be no progress and revival without resorting to (political) Islam. (Honestly, I won’t even bother responding to this nonsense).

- Arab Secularists will have a pact with the devil if the devil decided to fight Israel. And thus, when Islamic resistance movement decide to take up arms, there is no objection on their part.


First, let me assure you that the devil would never be my ally in the struggle against Israel, quite the opposite. If groups like Al Qaeda had proposed themselves as an alternative to the Palestinian struggle they would have been rejected straight away. Also, a white supremacist anti-semite like David Duke isn’t a friend of the Palestinians. I have great reservations about Holocaust deniers posing themselves as saviors of the Palestinian people. The Palestinian cause, in my opinion, is just and whole and complete in its humanist perspective. And it could do without supporters who are racist or extremist with hidden agendas.

What I support (I don’t speak on the behalf of others) is the unalienable right of occupied population to resist occupation and aggression in all forms possible. This is a right guaranteed by the international law. It is, as I like to call it, a state of political whoredom that makes the international community (in parts) acquiesce to Israel’s (and by extension, the US’s) labeling of resistance movements as terrorist organizations. That doesn’t at all mean that they are. The international law relies on humanist and moralistic principles, and it doesn't deny an oppressed population the right to opt for violent resistance as a mean of a struggle for freedom.

I’ll digress here further just to point out the hypocrisy of the US foreign policy (and the western 'bloc' in general). It’s certainly not wrong for any country, let alone a superpower, to look after its interests. Or to adopt policies that are expedient. But to assume high moral grounds while doing so is the ultimate act of skullduggery. Examine for instance the position taken towards the Russian invasion of Afghanistan in the 80s. Then, armed resistance was the way forward. Invoking MLK, the non-violent protests, and civil disobedience methods of the civil rights movement was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the CIA had supplied the Afghan Mujahedeen with arms and high tech Stingers and money and logistics worth billions of dollars. Political whoredom? The least you could say about it.

At the same time, we shouldn’t forget that there are leftist and secular movements around the world that support the Palestinian and the Lebanese people right to resist.

And to make the distinction clearer: supporting resistance doesn’t necessitate supporting the religious rhetoric or creed that may come along with it. As Dr. Azmi Beshara (the dean of Arab intellectuals) said in a speech once; We don’t support resistance on the basis of what’s religious and what’s secular. And if the conditions were better and milder, I’d be severely critical of the way Gaza is being governed.

Do you still call that schizophrenia? I call it the epitome of moral and intellectual clarity.

Let me reiterate my reservation, and rejection, of the religious rhetoric that is usually shoved in with the resistance speech. I refuse to “elevate the word of Allah” through the force of weapons. If your ultimate vision is to liberate land and obtain your usurped rights, then by all means do that. But if your vision is to persecute Jews, the enemies of Allah, then I can’t at all be supportive (I’m here not at all claiming that all religious rhetoric is that extreme, however, there are few wingnuts who possess such disturbing ideas). If you intend to ‘elevate the word of Allah’ on earth, then you better do that through calm and meaningful dialog. Peaceful, non-coercive proselytizing is also acceptable in a free secular society. When you speak of minds and convictions, the use of force becomes irrelevant, unlike when in the case of oppression or persecution, where you have material rights that have been taken away from you (and accordingly, the use of force becomes somewhat understandable). Coercion has never been a healthy way to win people’s hearts and minds. On the contrary, intellectual repression is repulsive and insulting to the endowments that makes mankind an assortment of intelligent beings.

علمانية و مقاومة و إنفصام شخصية (Secularism, Resistance and Schizophrenia)

(To my dear English readers, there's an ongoing debate about Secularism and Political Islam on the Syrian blogsphere. You can read an excellent translation of the highlights of this debate here. In the meantime, I'll try to translate this post myself, whenever I find the time and energy.)

هنالك حوار مستمر و متطور في الفضاء التدويني السوري جارٍ حالياً, و على غير العادة فإن الموضوع, رغم حساسيته و شجونه, قد نوقش بطريقة راقية و مهذبة حتى الآن. و هذا ما يشجعني على الخوض في غمار النقاش غير عابئٍ بما قد يؤول إليه في ظل المماحكات السابقة بين العلمانيين و المتدينين من المدونين. و التي وصلت إلى حدود تبادل الإهانات و السخرية لا بل و الشتيمة أحيانا (معاذ الله)..ء

الموضوع بالطبع طويل و متشعب. و قد قام صدقاي أنس و ياسين بالإجابة على معظم التساؤلات المطروحة. و لكني أريد هنا أن أمر بسرعة على أفكار معينة تستحق الاسهاب.

كان المدون الأخ أنس (غير أنس المذكور أعلاه), قد طرح تساؤلات مهمة في ما يخص العلمانيين العرب و واقعهم الحالي و قناعاتهم. و بطريقة درامية قام بتسمية بعض الظواهر الفكرية و الميول لدى العلمانيين بانفصام الشخصية. و الظاهرة الأهم التي لا يستطيع الأخ أنس أن يجد لها مسوغا أو مبررا في البنية الفكرية للعلمانيين العرب هي أنهم في الغالب (90% أو أكثر) يؤيدون حركات المقاومة و التحرر الإسلامية في فلسطين و لبنان. و يمضي أنس في محاولته لتبرير هذه الظاهرة و يطرح لها سببين:

أولهما يكاد يكون أقرب إلى السريالي و اللاشعوري, و هو أن العلمانيين العرب هم وليدو ثقافة و تاريخ و حضارة إسلامية عريقة كانت قد سادت العالم في حقبة معينة. و أن هذه الثقافة قد تشربت إلى حامضهم النووي, فهم غير قادرون على التخلي عنها رغم رفضهم الظاهر لها, و بسبب قناعة موجودة لهم في العقل الباطن أن خلاصهم الوحيد هو الإسلام (أنا هنا أعيد صياغة ما كتبه الأخ بغرض الاختصار).

ثانيهما أن العلمانيين العرب سيشجعون الشيطان لو أنه وقف في وجه إسرائيل و تصدى لها. فلو أراد الإسلاميون ذلك, فأهلا و سهلا.

أولاً, دعوني أؤكد لكم أنني لا أقف مع الشيطان في مواجهة إسرائيل. بل على العكس. فلو أن عصبة مثل القاعدة طرحت نفسها كبديل مقاوم نيابة عن الشعب الفلسطيني لتم رفضها. كما نرفض أن يدعم قضيتنا شخصيات أمريكية و أوروبية معادية للسامية (معادية لليهودية) , و كما نتحفظ بشكل كبير على كل من يطرح نفسه مخلص للشعب الفلسطيني و لكنه في الوقت نفسه ينكر المحرقة النازية. القضية الفلسطينية, في رأيي, قضية عادلة و كاملة بمنظورها الإنساني البحت وغنية عن أن يغذيها و يدعمها أي من العنصريين أو المتطرفين من أصحاب الأجندات الخفية.

و هذا يقودني إلى الفكرة التالية و هي أنني شخصيا (لا أتحدث بالنيابة عن الجميع) أدعم من حيث المبدأ حق الشعبين الفلسطيني و اللبناني في الدفاع عن نفسيهما و تحرير أراضيهما و استرجاع الحقوق. خيار المقاومة المسلحة هو خيار تضمنه القوانين و التشريعات الدولية. و كون المجتمع الدولي يتصرف بطريقة العهر السياسي فيما يتعلق بالقضية الفلسطينية , و يرضخ لتصنيفات اسرائيل و الولايات المتحدة لهذه الحركات بأنها إرهابية, فهذا لا يعني أن القانون الدولي, و الذي مرجعيته الأخلاقية انسانية بالأساس, لا يبيح لهذه الشعوب المظلومة أن تتخذ سبيل المقاومة العنفية إذا لم يعد لها خيار.

من أكثر ما يثير الغيظ و يكشف مدى نفاق سياسات الدول الغربية و اعتمادها مبدأ المنفعية و الجري وراء المصالح, هو موقف أغلب هذه الدول من المقاومة الأفغانية للإحتلال السوفياتي في الثمانينات. حينها, لم يكن لدعاة اللاعنفية و لمحبذي الاحتذاء بطرق و أساليب حركة الحقوق المدنية التي قادها مارثن لوثر كنغ في أمريكا, لم يكن لهؤلاء صوت يذكر. لا بل قامت الاستخبارات الأمريكية بتسليح المقاومين و امدادهم بمليارات الدولارات. عهر سياسي؟ هذا أقل ما يمكن قوله في هذا السياق.

و هنا يجب أن نذكر بأن هنالك حركات يسارية و علمانية على مستوى العالم كله, و ليس الوطن العربي فحسب, تساند حق الشعب الفلسطيني في المقاومة المسلحة.

و بالمناسبة, مساندة حق المقاومة لا يعني مساندة الخطاب الديني المرافق لهذه الحركات في مجمله. فكما يقول الدكتور عزمي بشارة (عميد المفكرين العرب) , أنه لا يدعم المقاومة على أساس من هو ديني أو علماني, و أنه لو كانت الظروف أحسن و أخف وطئة, لكان له حديث قاسي في الطريقة التي تدار بها غزة.

أتسمي هذا إنفصام شخصية؟

و هنا يبرز موضوع التحفظ على الخطاب الديني الذي يتم زجه مع الخطاب المقاوم. فأنا بصراحة أرفض إعلاء كلمة الله في الأرض بقوة السلاح. نعم, إذا كان هدفك النهائي هو تحرير الأرض و المقدسات فأهلا و سهلا. أم إذا كان الهدف هو إبادة اليهود اعداء الله فإنني أختلف معك في الرأي و لا يمكنني أن أدعم هذا التوجه (أنا هنا لا أدعي أنا كل حملة الخطاب الديني يدعون بهذه الدعوة, و لكن بعض المتطرفين بالتأكيد يسوقون لها). و إذا أردت إعلاء كلمة الله في الأرض فمن الأجدى أن تمارس ذلك عن طريق الدعوة السلمية, لأنك بهذه الحالة تتحدث عن قناعات في عقول, و ليس عن حقوق مادية أخذت بالقوة يجب استرجاعها. و لم يكن الإكراه في أي وقت من الأوقات وسيلة لكسب عقول الناس بل على العكس, الإكراه الفكري منفر و مهين لملكات الإنسان العقلية التي وهبه إياها الخالق.

و للحديث بقية...

The Heiress

The daughter of one of our company directors came touring the office today. I remember meeting her few years ago when she joined the school of architecture. Her father had sent her to the then manager (who, sadly, is no longer with us) to get his feedback on her preliminary works at the university and to get a feel for engineering in general. I had a healthy relationship with authority at the time, so I was called in to meet the young talent and give her tips about basic rendering of architectural drawings, and how to present them, etc…

Needless to say, she’d gotten instantly intimidated and never came back. At least she sailed through school undeterred and had not needed to consult or enlist the help of her father’s employees. (Especially that scary looking architect……)

Fast-forward five years and in she walks; much more mature and confident than her timid self in earlier rendition. With an authority in her stride (she’s a local Emirati); the slow purposeful walk, punctuated with modesty, like she owns the place (which she kind of does), yet she’s embarrassed at having so many talented and decent people (ehm, ehm) hovering in the pens, toiling to amass wealth into her dad’s bank account….

So why am I writing about this at all? The reason is that in a couple of year’s time, the big boss (her grand dad) is going to retire. Two strong candidates are getting their backsides warmed up to carry the torch forth afterwards. But, given what I’ve seen today-- the determined eyes, the faint, almost undetectable triumphant smile— the big boss will have a worry-free retirement. While on the other hand, the incumbent office manager will have a few sleepless nights ahead of him as he obsesses over the new set-up of the office, taking the young princess into account…

And… if I’m at all given the chance, I will help and support her to see the full blossom of her career. Which I'm hoping will culminate in the ousting of the incumbent manager.

Syria's Got Talent

Syrian School is a series of BBC documentaries. Following the lives of Syrian students in various schools for a year, and documenting their struggle for excellence and their pursuit of (relatively) unconventional hobbies in a 'conservative' society.

The BBC has also produced similar documentaries about schools in Uganda and India.

Many thanks to our star, Yazan and to Shadi. Who had collaborated to upload these documentaries so that they can be viewed around the world. (The BBC iPlayer is only available for those in Britain.

I picked this episode in particular for reasons that I hope are obvious (especially in light of my previous post In Soviet Russia). And for other reasons that I will, for the time being, keep to myself. Suffice it to say that I was pleasantly surprised
to see very familiar faces.

Ward is an adorable kid. He stutters because his lazy mouth can't keep up with his brilliant mind. His a mass of positive energy. In a way, he reminds me of my younger, much younger, self.

(disclaimer: I by no means to claim to have achieved anything near what Ward achieved and could, hopefully, achieve in the near future. A chess Grand Master at the age of 14? you've got to be kidding me. This talent should be nurtured and encouraged by all means possible.)

Enough of my nonsense. Here goes the video. Hope you enjoy it.

Syrian School - Part 4 - Syria's Got Talent from Yazan Badran on Vimeo.