Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Given to by anak Tahir
“Hello,” I say. I hold out my hand. Ali does not take it. He only stares. His smile falters slightly. He looks puzzled. I wonder why.
“You shake hands with your right,” Ali points out. He extends his right hand. I take it.
I don’t understand the difference.
Ali asks the time. I hold up my left wrist. My watch is there. I tell him the time. Ali looks puzzled. I can only ask why.
Ali holds up his left wrist. I see his watch. He fixes the time.
“Everyone here wears it like this,” he says.
Ali is boring. He keeps telling me I do things wrong. I am tired of that. So, I go away. I go somewhere else.
I see Sally. Sally is coloring. That looks fun. I go join Sally. I pick up a pencil. Coloring is fun.
“Weird!” Sally exclaims. I look around. Nothing is weird. I look at Sally. She looks at my hand. My hand holds the pencil. It is my right hand.
Sally holds up her pencil. Sally’s pencil is in her left hand. I move my pencil. Now I use my left hand. I do not understand the difference. Coloring is fun.
Ali comes by. He wants to join. He looks at our pencils.
“Left hand!” he exclaims. Ali uses his right hand.
Now I am angry. I pick up another pencil. I color with my left hand. I color with my right hand. I color with both. Coloring is fun.
“Left hand!” says Ali.
“Right hand!” says Sally.
“Weird!” say both.
I ignore them. I do no care. I want to color. Maybe I should use my feet. I ponder that thought. Just to be really different
“You shake hands with your right,” Ali points out. He extends his right hand. I take it.
I don’t understand the difference.
Ali asks the time. I hold up my left wrist. My watch is there. I tell him the time. Ali looks puzzled. I can only ask why.
Ali holds up his left wrist. I see his watch. He fixes the time.
“Everyone here wears it like this,” he says.
Ali is boring. He keeps telling me I do things wrong. I am tired of that. So, I go away. I go somewhere else.
I see Sally. Sally is coloring. That looks fun. I go join Sally. I pick up a pencil. Coloring is fun.
“Weird!” Sally exclaims. I look around. Nothing is weird. I look at Sally. She looks at my hand. My hand holds the pencil. It is my right hand.
Sally holds up her pencil. Sally’s pencil is in her left hand. I move my pencil. Now I use my left hand. I do not understand the difference. Coloring is fun.
Ali comes by. He wants to join. He looks at our pencils.
“Left hand!” he exclaims. Ali uses his right hand.
Now I am angry. I pick up another pencil. I color with my left hand. I color with my right hand. I color with both. Coloring is fun.
“Left hand!” says Ali.
“Right hand!” says Sally.
“Weird!” say both.
I ignore them. I do no care. I want to color. Maybe I should use my feet. I ponder that thought. Just to be really different
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Honour
Where has it gone?
the innocence of courtship?
Where has it gone?
The honour of being faithfull
Where has it gone?
Sex being an intimate relation between two faithfull lovers
Where has it gone?
The honour of playing the role as a father
Where has it gone?
Women being the hand that rocks the world
Where has it gone?
The respect towards the elderly
Where has it gone?
Where has it gone?
Where has it gone?
the innocence of courtship?
Where has it gone?
The honour of being faithfull
Where has it gone?
Sex being an intimate relation between two faithfull lovers
Where has it gone?
The honour of playing the role as a father
Where has it gone?
Women being the hand that rocks the world
Where has it gone?
The respect towards the elderly
Where has it gone?
Where has it gone?
Where has it gone?
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Who do you want to be?
Last June I went back to Jordan to really tour the country. Lawrence of Arabia style, Well, with a bicycle rather than the old fashion camel and I was only able to cycle from Aqaba( south of Jordan) up to Irbid ( north) which took me six days. Camping out in the desert, eating breakfast ,lunch and dinner with the locals.
It was an experience cycling along the desert highway in Summer. I was cought in a sand storm, dust blew into my nostrils and i felt chocked.It was extremely hot,halusinatingly hot, and halusination I did experience. It was around 2 pm on our third day,from Petra we were heading to Amman. There was no shelter, shops or anything along this streach of highway, I had only a bottle of 1.5 litres of water left and i had to stop.As there was no shelter to sheild us from the heat we decided to pitch the tent while the wind was blowing hard.We managed to put it up eventually and when we got in , it was hotter than it was outside. I could feel my brain start to boil, and as i sat beside the highway , i pointed at cars and lorries shouting out to them " are you a bedwoin" over and over again. I realized what i was doing but didnt know why I was doing it.i recalled the action but didn't recall the purpose of this insane act. it was over after about an hour.and at 4 we moved on.
Who do you want to be?
No I'm not talking about that insane guy calling out for bedwoins. It was the people that struck me the most and got me thinking about the person I want to be.
During the 6 days we stopped several times at numerous places. Sometimes in front of an old run down house, where twice we were invited in and asked to have meals with the family. Not just that, they even( those two incidents) offered us water and some food supplies for our journey.
Those humble men just wanted to help us and felt happy as we walked in their homes, a sparkle in their eyes welcoming an unknown guest.
Another incident was when we stopped to rest at a wealthy housing area.We were tired and stopped in front of a big house with fancy gates.We were there for less than 5 minutes to catch our breath and have a drink when a man walked out the house, out through the fancy gates,straight to us and asked, "what are you two doing here?".With a very unwelcoming gesture, we had to explain ourselves as if we did something wrong.
who do I want to be?
that humble man that has little and gave everything or the wealthy guard of the castle that made us fled?
It was an experience cycling along the desert highway in Summer. I was cought in a sand storm, dust blew into my nostrils and i felt chocked.It was extremely hot,halusinatingly hot, and halusination I did experience. It was around 2 pm on our third day,from Petra we were heading to Amman. There was no shelter, shops or anything along this streach of highway, I had only a bottle of 1.5 litres of water left and i had to stop.As there was no shelter to sheild us from the heat we decided to pitch the tent while the wind was blowing hard.We managed to put it up eventually and when we got in , it was hotter than it was outside. I could feel my brain start to boil, and as i sat beside the highway , i pointed at cars and lorries shouting out to them " are you a bedwoin" over and over again. I realized what i was doing but didnt know why I was doing it.i recalled the action but didn't recall the purpose of this insane act. it was over after about an hour.and at 4 we moved on.
Who do you want to be?
No I'm not talking about that insane guy calling out for bedwoins. It was the people that struck me the most and got me thinking about the person I want to be.
During the 6 days we stopped several times at numerous places. Sometimes in front of an old run down house, where twice we were invited in and asked to have meals with the family. Not just that, they even( those two incidents) offered us water and some food supplies for our journey.
Those humble men just wanted to help us and felt happy as we walked in their homes, a sparkle in their eyes welcoming an unknown guest.
Another incident was when we stopped to rest at a wealthy housing area.We were tired and stopped in front of a big house with fancy gates.We were there for less than 5 minutes to catch our breath and have a drink when a man walked out the house, out through the fancy gates,straight to us and asked, "what are you two doing here?".With a very unwelcoming gesture, we had to explain ourselves as if we did something wrong.
who do I want to be?
that humble man that has little and gave everything or the wealthy guard of the castle that made us fled?
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Leaving Karak
Experiencing Karak is like embracing a new religion; the barely standing castle in ruins atop the hills of Karak attracts a groping soul like no other experienced before. Its countenance is so conspicuous yet seems so capricious, even to a cynic like me. My presence may lead to my own detriment but the attraction is so overwhelming that it clouds my judgment. Heading to the castle, I walk through an alley, tricky but exciting. I see glimpses of a new culture. Blooming wild flowers growing gracefully on the side of the pavement, tempt me to pluck one of them, but my conscience stops me, telling me not to disturb its beauty. Then giggles detach me from my revel. I see a girl fully veiled in black walking side by side with another wearing blouse and pants. Their gait blows the crumbs of bigotry out of my heart and I regret having abstained from plucking that flower. All of a sudden the narrow alley leads me to a wider road. My senses are poked to a higher gear and a piquant smell of fresh “Taboun” (a form of bread) beside a shop selling “Falafel” and “Mutabbal” tickles my nostrils. I see the statue of “Salaheddine” on his rearing horse and “pick-up” trucks parked near a butcher shop with sheep hanging at the door. All around is dwarfed by the castle, this symbol of Karak, which seems to demand awe and reverence from its surrounds. I continue my walk, the gem on my mind, when out of nowhere two gypsy girls appear. From their physiognomy I see a free spirit, something I yearn for. I am under a spell and in love. At this point I am fully covered with local dust, disguised, as if I am one with Karak. It’s a blissful risk that I take, anything to reach the castle. As time passes by, the castle becomes visible, and I stand at its peak looking at the hills around me under a clear sky; they whisper a challenging inviting voice. At last I realize that I am just an earthly visitor and time is running out. Departure brings out melancholy that sweeps through me, and I pray that my newfound religion would keep me forever attached to this haven.
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