As I sit her unraveled in my own thoughts, my hands crave for pen and paper. Why? I don’t know. I never did and probably never will; an explicable urge to decorate a piece of paper with random lines of ink that gradually transform into coherent words; words that will either be read and cherished, or ignored and forgotten. And, still I find no explanation. Until now.Reading Clive Barker’s book ‘Sacrament’, I cam across these lines:
“I am a man, and men are animals who tell stories. This is a gift from God, who spoke our species into being, but left the end of our story untold. That mystery is troubling to us. How could it be otherwise? Without the final part, we think, how are we to make sense of all that went before; which to say, our lives?So we make stories of our own, in fevered and envious imitation of our Maker, hoping that we’ll tell, by chance, what God left untold. And finishing our tale, come to understand why we were born.”
So, I realized the simple and blatant truth. I am a writer. I am a storyteller, and like others, we will spin tales and weave realms of imagination filled with hidden secrets and untold truths. We will unravel a world you only experience in dreams and soon forget while you open your eyes to the first lights of the morning. We are slaves to our pens, and the paper is our tapestry. If you allow us, we’ll dazzle your eyes in a painting of words, and, in time, lock you in a cage of melodic sentences forming a foundation of paragraphs that will soothe you, and give you an experience you will never forget.
Friday, March 28, 2008
On smoking and Freedom of Choice
I’m a smoker.
I’m a heavy smoker, and I admit that I have an addictive problem towards these sticks of cancer that I hope one day to overcome.
I’m a rebel.
I’m a heavy rebel, and I admit that I have an addictive problem towards this deep inner character that I hope to never overcome.
Tell me that I can’t do something, and if you don’t add a good reason to it, I’ll do it over and over again until you give up trying to convince me. Tell me that I can’t go somewhere without a valid reason, and it will be on the top of my to-do list. It’s how I am, how I’ve shaped myself to be, and I wouldn’t change it if my life depended on it. Tell me that I’m stubborn, and I’ll be flattered that you noticed…then ask you to mind your own business.
And that’s why ‘No Smoking’ signs make me want to light a cigarette and blow in everyone’s face. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I’m against people breathing clean air. But, there has to be room for us who want to breathe in nicotine polluted carbon dense air with a bit of that lovely tar tinged aroma.
Still, live and let live, right? Wrong.
What drove me up the wall was the decision for places to suddenly stop selling cigarettes due to the widespread notion that it was against the religion. No offense, but the reasoning for this should also be applied to butter, chocolate, candy, coffee and fast food. Cigarettes kill? How about cholesterol, which theoretically (and medically proven) causes more deaths a year than nicotine. I’m not even including car accidents and your every day stress-induced high blood pressure.
Add to that the places where you can’t smoke anymore, including prestigious malls and cafes. Want to know what their smoking section looks like? It’s either a balcony where no one in his right mind would sit during a winter day, or it doesn’t exist altogether. It’s like they’re trying to force us to quit, and, believe you me, it’s not working.
Let me take a second to remind everyone reading that you can’t force things on people. You can’t keep pressuring them and then expect them to do what you want. Life doesn’t work that way, because the usual response you get is a punch in the face or, if the pressured person is polite, the finger. Everyone has the freedom to choose what their habits will be, whether it’s smoking, drinking or simply picking their nose. Pressure them to stop, and you’ll get the exact opposite reaction. I, on one hand, am starting my own League of Freedom of Choice, where everyone is welcome as long as they mind their own business, and anyone against us will be bitch slapped ‘til they cry uncle!
I’m a heavy smoker, and I admit that I have an addictive problem towards these sticks of cancer that I hope one day to overcome.
I’m a rebel.
I’m a heavy rebel, and I admit that I have an addictive problem towards this deep inner character that I hope to never overcome.
Tell me that I can’t do something, and if you don’t add a good reason to it, I’ll do it over and over again until you give up trying to convince me. Tell me that I can’t go somewhere without a valid reason, and it will be on the top of my to-do list. It’s how I am, how I’ve shaped myself to be, and I wouldn’t change it if my life depended on it. Tell me that I’m stubborn, and I’ll be flattered that you noticed…then ask you to mind your own business.
And that’s why ‘No Smoking’ signs make me want to light a cigarette and blow in everyone’s face. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I’m against people breathing clean air. But, there has to be room for us who want to breathe in nicotine polluted carbon dense air with a bit of that lovely tar tinged aroma.
Still, live and let live, right? Wrong.
What drove me up the wall was the decision for places to suddenly stop selling cigarettes due to the widespread notion that it was against the religion. No offense, but the reasoning for this should also be applied to butter, chocolate, candy, coffee and fast food. Cigarettes kill? How about cholesterol, which theoretically (and medically proven) causes more deaths a year than nicotine. I’m not even including car accidents and your every day stress-induced high blood pressure.
Add to that the places where you can’t smoke anymore, including prestigious malls and cafes. Want to know what their smoking section looks like? It’s either a balcony where no one in his right mind would sit during a winter day, or it doesn’t exist altogether. It’s like they’re trying to force us to quit, and, believe you me, it’s not working.
Let me take a second to remind everyone reading that you can’t force things on people. You can’t keep pressuring them and then expect them to do what you want. Life doesn’t work that way, because the usual response you get is a punch in the face or, if the pressured person is polite, the finger. Everyone has the freedom to choose what their habits will be, whether it’s smoking, drinking or simply picking their nose. Pressure them to stop, and you’ll get the exact opposite reaction. I, on one hand, am starting my own League of Freedom of Choice, where everyone is welcome as long as they mind their own business, and anyone against us will be bitch slapped ‘til they cry uncle!
On driving, jay walking and work deprivation
Beep! Beep! Here I come!
I’m a born speed racer so you’d better run!
Driving in Cairo has become a skill. Not so much the ability to melodically shift gears at the right times (even though most people have converted to the religion of ‘automatic gear shift’) as the talent to avoid ramming your car into one of the several drivers out there whose licenses should have been revoked years ago. Let’s reminisce on the common lane shifting without signals, sudden remembering that you were supposed to turn at the last right and have to reverse in a one way street, people taking their cars out for a walk while listening to abhorring music, and the ever present double and triple parking, preferably in a no parking zone. Just to mention a few, of course.
Beep! Beep! Watch me fly!
If you get in my way then I’ll watch you die!
The one thing you have to wonder about most is whether avoiding jay walkers falls under the same category of skills needed to call yourself and Egyptian driver, or not. Sidewalks are obviously ignored as useless blocks of cement vendors illegally use to increase their sales surface area. Even if the sidewalks are free, the majority of the population would rather have near death experiences than safely find their ways home. And God forbid they use a pedestrian bridge or tunnel to cross a busy road! No, no, no! Dance your way between the cars in a way that could get you an act with the cirque du soleil, and hope you don’t get hit by a bus.
Beep! Beep! Here I roam!
Work is overrated and I won’t go home!
But, let’s be honest, the majority of the time, you don’t really get the chance to show off your unique formula one driving skills. Rush hour has become a 24-hour phenomenon (or, to be fair, you could probably drive above 10km/h after 2 am). If you remember, work around the city starts at 8 or 9 am and usually ends between 3 and 5 pm. Putting that into consideration, what the hell are all those people doing in the street during working hours? Don’t tell me they’re all on vacation, unemployed or running work errands, because quite frankly that would be an acute and ludicrous explanation. It’s not only bewildering, but deeply aggravating. And then we wonder why things never get done.
Beep! Beep! You’re out of luck!
I drive the way I want and I don’t give a fuck!
I’m a born speed racer so you’d better run!
Driving in Cairo has become a skill. Not so much the ability to melodically shift gears at the right times (even though most people have converted to the religion of ‘automatic gear shift’) as the talent to avoid ramming your car into one of the several drivers out there whose licenses should have been revoked years ago. Let’s reminisce on the common lane shifting without signals, sudden remembering that you were supposed to turn at the last right and have to reverse in a one way street, people taking their cars out for a walk while listening to abhorring music, and the ever present double and triple parking, preferably in a no parking zone. Just to mention a few, of course.
Beep! Beep! Watch me fly!
If you get in my way then I’ll watch you die!
The one thing you have to wonder about most is whether avoiding jay walkers falls under the same category of skills needed to call yourself and Egyptian driver, or not. Sidewalks are obviously ignored as useless blocks of cement vendors illegally use to increase their sales surface area. Even if the sidewalks are free, the majority of the population would rather have near death experiences than safely find their ways home. And God forbid they use a pedestrian bridge or tunnel to cross a busy road! No, no, no! Dance your way between the cars in a way that could get you an act with the cirque du soleil, and hope you don’t get hit by a bus.
Beep! Beep! Here I roam!
Work is overrated and I won’t go home!
But, let’s be honest, the majority of the time, you don’t really get the chance to show off your unique formula one driving skills. Rush hour has become a 24-hour phenomenon (or, to be fair, you could probably drive above 10km/h after 2 am). If you remember, work around the city starts at 8 or 9 am and usually ends between 3 and 5 pm. Putting that into consideration, what the hell are all those people doing in the street during working hours? Don’t tell me they’re all on vacation, unemployed or running work errands, because quite frankly that would be an acute and ludicrous explanation. It’s not only bewildering, but deeply aggravating. And then we wonder why things never get done.
Beep! Beep! You’re out of luck!
I drive the way I want and I don’t give a fuck!
Sunday, March 23, 2008
On Reading and the new Hype
A year ago I came across a 13-year-old boy in Diwan holding a book by Terry Goodkind (if you don’t know him, he’s an author of the fantasy genre) who was approached by a ‘fellow reader’ in his 20s, claiming that the boy should read ‘Lord of the Rings’ or try someone higher on the bestseller list like Dan Brown. The boy replied with this: “I hate Dan Brown, and do you even know who wrote Lord of the Rings?” The older one couldn’t reply, walking away with a frown, and the little boy had the biggest smile on his face I have ever seen. I have never respected a 13-year-old more.
His comment got me thinking on how we, as Egyptians, are prone to a disease called ‘Follow-the-herd’ syndrome. We do whatever everyone else is doing, whatever is currently cool, or whatever will get us recognized. We praise who everyone else praises, we love whatever everyone else loves, and we refrain from having our own opinion that might get us shot in broad daylight. Reading has become one of those trends, and it’s incredibly noticeable when everyone seems to be reading the same books by the same authors, and acting all sophisticated about it, forgetting that the world doesn’t revolve around authors like Dan Brown and Paolo Coehlo.
When you think of Dan Brown, he’s an author who had a great idea, which everyone knows wasn’t his to start with, and knew how to surround it with a decent enough story. But, when it comes to writing, his words are like nails on a chalkboard, with over-explanations, hardly any back-story, and a less than poor attempt at suspense. And Paolo Coelho? Great guy, simple enough stories to follow, but is nothing when compared with Franz Kafka, Milan Kundera or Fyodor Dostoyevsky (just to name a few). It makes you wonder if people are reading now because it’s the new hype, or because they actually appreciate the words that emanate from the modern scholars who spent years of their lives perfecting a craft most of us take for granted. And if they really are doing it for the sake of reading, why is it limited to the few authors that everyone else is supposedly enjoying and claiming as inspirations?
So read…please, read! And don’t just do it because everyone else is or because it somehow makes you look more sophisticated (although, admittedly, it does look sexy). Do it because of the realm the author takes you to; the immense world of imagination and the colorful tapestries of words that enchant. Let your mind roam wild and free. Tolkien was a genius and the first of his kind, but don’t be scared to pick up Terry Pratchett, Terry Brooks or Robert Jordan. Forget Dan Brown and read Michael Crichton, James Patterson or even Dean Koontz. Appreciate J.K.Rowling, but don’t ignore C.S.Lewis. Hell, even a Stephen King fanatic like me will try Dougles Clegg, Anne Rice or Peter Straub for a change.
So read!
Read for the sake of imagination.
Read for the magic of the words.
His comment got me thinking on how we, as Egyptians, are prone to a disease called ‘Follow-the-herd’ syndrome. We do whatever everyone else is doing, whatever is currently cool, or whatever will get us recognized. We praise who everyone else praises, we love whatever everyone else loves, and we refrain from having our own opinion that might get us shot in broad daylight. Reading has become one of those trends, and it’s incredibly noticeable when everyone seems to be reading the same books by the same authors, and acting all sophisticated about it, forgetting that the world doesn’t revolve around authors like Dan Brown and Paolo Coehlo.
When you think of Dan Brown, he’s an author who had a great idea, which everyone knows wasn’t his to start with, and knew how to surround it with a decent enough story. But, when it comes to writing, his words are like nails on a chalkboard, with over-explanations, hardly any back-story, and a less than poor attempt at suspense. And Paolo Coelho? Great guy, simple enough stories to follow, but is nothing when compared with Franz Kafka, Milan Kundera or Fyodor Dostoyevsky (just to name a few). It makes you wonder if people are reading now because it’s the new hype, or because they actually appreciate the words that emanate from the modern scholars who spent years of their lives perfecting a craft most of us take for granted. And if they really are doing it for the sake of reading, why is it limited to the few authors that everyone else is supposedly enjoying and claiming as inspirations?
So read…please, read! And don’t just do it because everyone else is or because it somehow makes you look more sophisticated (although, admittedly, it does look sexy). Do it because of the realm the author takes you to; the immense world of imagination and the colorful tapestries of words that enchant. Let your mind roam wild and free. Tolkien was a genius and the first of his kind, but don’t be scared to pick up Terry Pratchett, Terry Brooks or Robert Jordan. Forget Dan Brown and read Michael Crichton, James Patterson or even Dean Koontz. Appreciate J.K.Rowling, but don’t ignore C.S.Lewis. Hell, even a Stephen King fanatic like me will try Dougles Clegg, Anne Rice or Peter Straub for a change.
So read!
Read for the sake of imagination.
Read for the magic of the words.
On Eid, Vacations and BS family life
I sit here on the eve of the first day of Eid, frowning, smoking and cursing, trying to remember when the last time I had a decent vacation was. Being a student in one of the most overrated and extremely ludicrous universities in this city (the faculty of medicine, Ein Shams), the whole notion of ‘vacation’ never really exists for 45 of the 52 weeks a year.
And here comes Eid, knocking on our doors, promising relaxation, a compensation for a ridiculous social life, and a few days where a guy can actually do whatever he wants.
But, there’s obviously something wrong with parents’ perceptions on what holidays mean. After you’ve spent most of the year following inexplicable rules and living up to what they expect you to do (studying, studying, and maybe even…no, just studying), you count the days to when you’ll be free of the strings attached to you; to when you can go and come by your own decrees. What you end up with is a list of chores, schedules and never ending requests that ironically make you crave for the new school year.
And here comes Eid, knocking on our doors, promising chores, bullshit perceptions of what family life should be like, and a few days where you’d rather grab a gun and shoot everyone around you than hear one more person wish you a happy whatever.
I’d like to think that there are solutions for all this. Finish up as much as you can in one day so you can take two or three days all for yourself. Maybe even spend the first day of Eid at home. But what’s the use really, when in the end it’s a ‘family holiday’ and you’re required to devote four days to people you try to avoid most of the year anyway. So, I suggest we all stand together in one massive voice saying “If we’re required to do whatever you want on OUR vacations, then you have no right to tell us what to do for the rest of the year!”
And here comes Eid, knocking on our doors…and for some reason, I really don’t care.
And here comes Eid, knocking on our doors, promising relaxation, a compensation for a ridiculous social life, and a few days where a guy can actually do whatever he wants.
But, there’s obviously something wrong with parents’ perceptions on what holidays mean. After you’ve spent most of the year following inexplicable rules and living up to what they expect you to do (studying, studying, and maybe even…no, just studying), you count the days to when you’ll be free of the strings attached to you; to when you can go and come by your own decrees. What you end up with is a list of chores, schedules and never ending requests that ironically make you crave for the new school year.
And here comes Eid, knocking on our doors, promising chores, bullshit perceptions of what family life should be like, and a few days where you’d rather grab a gun and shoot everyone around you than hear one more person wish you a happy whatever.
I’d like to think that there are solutions for all this. Finish up as much as you can in one day so you can take two or three days all for yourself. Maybe even spend the first day of Eid at home. But what’s the use really, when in the end it’s a ‘family holiday’ and you’re required to devote four days to people you try to avoid most of the year anyway. So, I suggest we all stand together in one massive voice saying “If we’re required to do whatever you want on OUR vacations, then you have no right to tell us what to do for the rest of the year!”
And here comes Eid, knocking on our doors…and for some reason, I really don’t care.
Intro
I’m a guy…
In a country where backstabbing and backbiting has become the norm; the passport required to fit in with the majority of a population that watches your suffering with the eagerness of a child watching cartoons. Where diversity is unwelcome and creativity is falsely encouraged by methodically breaking down your aspirations. Where your mind is caged in a cell in your head, and any escape is welcomed with hissing and spitting. Where you’re asked to stay positive while simultaneously standing knee deep in the sewage of this country’s negativity and hypocrisy. Where patriotism means nothing and whining seems to be the only habit more widespread than smoking. Where inspirations and efforts to change things to the better are crapped upon and thrown back into your face. Where the leaders of tomorrow are womanizing alcoholic hash-smoking momma’s boys who only get anywhere based on how much daddy’s willing to dish out. Where thinkers are ridiculed and called outcasts, while the thieves of their ideas are labelled genuiuses and revolutionaries. Where good morning means nothing, because no one really cares.
I’m a realist who dreams and believes in a better tomorrow. I’m a pissed off cynic who would rather slap you and tell you to make a difference than listen to who you slept with last night. I’m a naive life-lover with a gun to my head and a knife to your throat.
I’m a guy...and these are my blogs.
In a country where backstabbing and backbiting has become the norm; the passport required to fit in with the majority of a population that watches your suffering with the eagerness of a child watching cartoons. Where diversity is unwelcome and creativity is falsely encouraged by methodically breaking down your aspirations. Where your mind is caged in a cell in your head, and any escape is welcomed with hissing and spitting. Where you’re asked to stay positive while simultaneously standing knee deep in the sewage of this country’s negativity and hypocrisy. Where patriotism means nothing and whining seems to be the only habit more widespread than smoking. Where inspirations and efforts to change things to the better are crapped upon and thrown back into your face. Where the leaders of tomorrow are womanizing alcoholic hash-smoking momma’s boys who only get anywhere based on how much daddy’s willing to dish out. Where thinkers are ridiculed and called outcasts, while the thieves of their ideas are labelled genuiuses and revolutionaries. Where good morning means nothing, because no one really cares.
I’m a realist who dreams and believes in a better tomorrow. I’m a pissed off cynic who would rather slap you and tell you to make a difference than listen to who you slept with last night. I’m a naive life-lover with a gun to my head and a knife to your throat.
I’m a guy...and these are my blogs.
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