Help Victims of Pakistan

One of my friends in Dubai is organising this Suhoor event to support the victims of the floods in Pakistan. Please help us spread the word and raise funds for our brothers and sisters that need us. Let us make the best of the last days of this holy month, and help with this cause. Please take a moment to read the invitation, and tell all your friends and family.
Looking forward to seeing you there, inshAllah.
(Details are in the above placed e-flyer)

Parking M28

My fascination with parking lots grew more on the 21st April 2010, which incidentally happens to be my birthday. I had pre-planned it this year to be spent alone, there was this need to validate the last 27 years of my life, with a couple of hours of pure contemplation about the condition of it all.Naturally, and because of the weather I had to spend it indoors. Yes, I spent it in a mall. I remember walking for a couple of hours, I was just walking because I had missed it, and there was no better alternative for me at the time. 


It wasn't long after until I came across a door that was slightly open, the big sign of "no entry" didn't bother me really, I didn't want to think of any doors that wouldn't open for me on that day.And there it was, a roof-top parking lot that was under construction. No cars, no painted pillars and no numbers. I walked until I reached an edge, one of the edges. The chaotic concrete jungle facing me didn't stand a chance next to the deserted spaces behind me. It felt deserted though it was brand new. There was something so melancholic and real about the way it appeared to be, somehow at the moment it made more sense to me than the whole city.I thought of names, and numbers in one of my attempts to organise my space, but then realised that my attempt to rebrand what is raw was a mistake i often publicly criticise. I soon came to the conclusion that my space should only be named after me and my years, just like the old simple days when naming was purely for definition purposes.


I thought of names, and numbers in one of my attempts to organise my space, but then realised that my attempt to rebrand what is raw was a mistake i often publicly criticise. I soon came to the conclusion that my space should only be named after me and my years, just like the old simple days when naming was purely for definition purposes.I sat on one of the many pavements still waiting for the black and yellow paint, I then switched off my phone. I started thinking about all the cars that have parked in my life before, and all the cars that are parked still. I also passed by some spaces that are still reserved for cars that no longer exist.Parking M28. Yes, that is more like it, I caught myself smiling in victory with my little genius finding, after all I had to practise some sort of positive affirmation on my birthday.I took a quick glance at one car in particular that was parked in the shadow of my mind. It was so dirty and bare, the owner didn't even bother to cover it. It has been there probably for years. Such a waste of space, but soon I told myself it will be towed out. I took another look at my reserved spaces, and prayed a little for those who once occupied it, and continue to own it.I also couldn't shake off the pleasure that stemmed from the mere existence of cars that spent hours only in random spaces. Those cars changed the way this space functioned, and though they no longer had access here, I thought about how good it was to have them then.I made sure that the spaces allocated for my family members were the covered more "expensive" ones. And instead of randomly placing them around the space, I made sure they all go to the front, right next to the door.


At the far end, at the spaces that required quite a walk, there were only 3 to 4 cars parked there. It made sense, actually I was impressed, I expected fewer.It was starting to make more sense to me as I continued to draw the plans in my head. I thought of everything; the lighting, the lines and the covered spaces. I mapped the entrance and the exit, and made one much harder to access than the other. I thought of my space this year, and how different it looks. It is no longer filled with static vehicles, everything had to move, shuffle and change. I also considered the major changes I will apply on lighting, as there was absolutely no need for me to spoon-feed the drivers directions on the know-hows of this space. The plan is pretty direct, and those who get lost should not be entertained. I wanted to take immediate actions at that moment, but I hesitated because I knew that it would be a premature move. I needed to start thinking about costs, and with the way this mind was going, I knew more changes would come up in the next few weeks, probably days.

I am waiting for the final plan to realise itself before the end of the year, and the beginning of a yet another refurbishment plan to welcome M29. Until then, I made the entrance with special access cards, and put a time limit for free parking.

New Blog

This is my first post in this blog, I copied all my older posts from wordpress to this one. I had a blog on this website for as long as I remember, it was never active.
Now they are all here, minus the great comments I received on my older blog. I will add them as part of the posts in the next few days.

Tooth.

The weather is nice, which is a rare occasion in August in Dubai. And yes, I mean the nice that people from other parts of the world would agree on, the “nice” that is not wishful thinking, or the settling for the less.
The weather is nice enough for me to write on my porch tonight, no AC, no artificial air playing with my artificially shampooed hair. It is natural, its all real now.

I am drinking Pepsi, which has a strange foreign taste in my mouth during Ramadan. Pepsi in Ramadan is too western for me, it feels like cheating, do you feel the same? I never drink pepsi, coke or any other fizzy “western” drink in Ramadan, I don’t know why. It is always water, Vimto and other “eastern” drinks such as Jallab, Qamuriddine or Tamarind. I do know Vimto is an English brand, but we might as well buy the brand and call it our own, I doubt any other race enjoys it as much as we do, especially and only during Ramadan.

What else, what else? Yes, I am going for a dental surgery on Thursday. Nothing serious, but guess what? I have a tooth that decided to come out now! Yes, now.
I have been waiting for it since I was 6 years old, I gave up at 12, and puff! here it is at the age of 28, signaling yet another beginning, and another end. It is so weird to run my tongue on it as we speak, it feels very first-grade. I am actually suffering growing pains, that is rare, and somehow nice.
I guess that’s nature’s way of telling me I am still a kid.

But I am not a kid, I said goodbye to my childhood long time ago. And I am not one of those who miss it. What to miss? The agony of going to school? of proving oneself, of your first crush and your struggle to fit in? Nothing to miss.
Did I mention I was a middle-child?

I am also worried about how much blame I put on the “Devil” during the regular non-Ramadanic days throughout the year. I blame “him/it” for many of my thoughts and my evil cravings.
“He/it” is supposed to be locked away during this month, yet I find myself still entertaining many thoughts I shouldn’t. I also wonder why is it that my life is sin-less in the most-humanly way possible, is it because I refrain myself? Or is it really because I don’t have many options?
It’s good to think this way, I once read that only the educated one questions his worth and being everyday.
I guess tonight I am highly-educated.

I know how to cook. This alone is a statement that will suffice without justifying it with a paragraph of my know-how’s.
From Dolma ( Iraqi Cuisine) to white rice, to eggs benedict.
I know how to cook.

Soon, I will be going away, not for long but not for a short while as well. Am I excited? I don’t know. Will I be leaving home? What is the definition of home really? I still have to renew my permit to stay at home every two years or so. Why am I not talking about it? I don’t want to jinx it, I am one of those Arabs that believe everyone is waiting for the chance to evil-eye me.
I am Iraqi that way, or “Dabbaghian” that way. It doesn’t matter I guess.

لا أعرف لم قررت الكتابة الآن

فأنا حالياً لا أشعر بحزن، ذلك الحزن الذي يلهب كلماتي دائماً، حزنٌ لا يعرفه سوى الكاتب الذي يعترف بقرارة نفسه أن آلية كلماته تنبع من الشعور بالجنون و القهر. و أنا لا أعيش أيضاً قصة حب، وهميةً كانت أو واقعية. ليس بي لوعة مشتاقة كالتي ألهمت ناظم الغزالي في أروع ما غنى، و كبريائي شافٍ تماماً من كل جرح. قلبي سليم و لا تنقصه أي قطعة، مرتاحةٌ أنا و الحمدلله

أستغرب هذا الهدوء في كياني، و ذهاب فورة غضبي التي لطالما اشتكى منها الجميع، شعورٌ بالسكينة لم أعتاده، هل هو هذا النضج الذي يتكلمون عنه؟ لا أدري

فحتى دفتري هذا، شهد منذ شهورٍ قليلة غضب قلمي تجاه فساد الحكومة و ضعف الرجل و قلمي الآن هادىء ، و لم أعتاده هادئاً

لا أعرف لم أكتب الآن و جل ما يدور بذهني خططاً لغدٍ لا يتضمن سوى مساعدة أمي في إعداد الإفطار و نيةً أن أقرأ جزءين من القرآن الكريم.. الحمدلله

الحمدلله، فهذه السكينة هي علامة المؤمن و ذلك الهدوء الذي لم أشتك منه حتى الآن هو جل ما يتمناه كل انسان. و لكني لا أخفي عليك يا دفتري شوقي للمرأة التي كانت أنا: لضعفها و دلالها، تلك المرأة التي عاهدت نفسها أن تغير العالم، و تقهر الظالم و توقظ النائم حتى و لو بأضعف الإيمان. تلك المرأة التي نذرت حنانها لأطفال لم تلدهم و قلبها لرجل لم تلتق به بعد. تلك المرأة التي هزّت دموعها الصادقة جدران غرفتها و ألهبت نظراتها قبائل من الرجال

أشتاق لها أحياناً نعم، و لكني أفضل الأيدي التي تكتب الآن، فهي أهدأ و أنضج و حتى التجاعيد الصغيرة التي بدأت بالظهور تحت أعين صاحبتها أجمل بكثير من بشرةٍ ساذجة لم تعرف يوماً الحقيقة المبسطة لعالم ظنته معقداً

هذا ليس بتشاؤم و لكنه الهدوء الذي أخبرتك عنه يا دفتري، هدوءٌ أعلم أنه يضايقك و يريحني

و تعلم ماذا أيضاً؟ سأتوقف عن التساؤل عن أسباب كتابة هذه السطور، فلربما هذه بداية لكلمات لا تعتمد على فنجان قهوة، قضية وطن مجهول و عنفوان امرأة لم تأب السكوت. و إن كانت هذه هي أمواج الهدوء التي تسبق العاصفة ، فدعني أيها الدفتر أستمتع بها فأنا لم أعرف قط لذة هذا الهدوء

Let The Whole Dictionary Burn

Needless to say how I felt as an Iraqi watching the Wikileaks footage of the Iraq strike killing Reuters photojournalist and civilians. It is really not even necessary to write down how I felt as a human watching how disposable we have become. This feels almost numbing because it resembles that video game I played with my brother that day, disposing also of figures and silhouettes , but the difference is: they were not real.

It is that simple really, our distorted logic refuses to believe that this was not a video game. Yes, we are all raged by the audacity of those soldiers and the humiliation of our silence, however, we tweeted a bit, updated our FB statuses later on, spoke to our friends and families about it and possibly used creative curse words in the process and then jumped into the next trending topic.

But this particular video took away something from me.

The words which the soldiers had the impudence to use while aiming to kill those journalists and civilians shocked me. I was expecting of course the profane language, but to have the nerve to use words that are otherwise beautiful and meaningful as synonym to kill was also very demeaning and telling on the double standards american soldiers live by. They are in Iraq to “save” us but all they were really doing was “engaging” with us on a completely different level.

To engage with a man you intend to kill is ironic, and a part of me believes it is not just a random selection of words. There is irony intended, sarcasm noted and most importantly hatred felt. It is like saying “I love you” when all you feel is hate, and “trust me” as you remove your knife from his back.

Please don’t get me wrong, this is not what shook me about the video, nor do I care about which words are dead to me now. Let the whole dictionary burn for all I care if it means saving one soul.

As an Iraqi, I have witnessed loss of life and pride several times in my short-lived life. I have lost members of my family to war, lost my family’s savings in the staged looting directed by america during the invasion and witnessed the demise of my beautiful country. As an Iraqi I am so accustomed to pain that suffering becomes optional. I have become so used to bad news, that good ones are almost humorous to the ear.This video didn’t make me angrier at the “americans” but rather furious with our state of nothingness. We have become our worst nightmare; nations that unite under the skirt of a dancer and divide when the music ends.

Note: I refuse to capitalize america and/or american. This is not a grammar mistake, it is intended.

Bugün beni Türk sayin

I want to write something, and yet all i come up with are scattered thoughts and meanderings. Yes, I am in a state of shock, and awe at the human condition, and at israel’s continuous audacious existence in this world. A state of crime. That is what it has always been.

I want to write something legitimate. Perhaps a full analytical article of the Flotilla massacre and the crimes committed against our brothers and sisters in Occupied Palestine everyday. An article that would begin with explaining exactly what happened in the infamous conference that was held in Bal city in Switzerland in 1897, when the Zionistics agreed to make Palestine their national state. The Article would then chronologically take the reader through the time line of events leading to the establishment of Apartheid isreal. You know: the Balfour Declaration in 1917, the 1936 till 1939 revolting of Arabs in Palestine against the slow but steady silent invasion of their lands, to the 1948′s war, to our loss in 1967, our temporary victory in 1973, of course not forgetting Jamal Abdul Nasser ( God rest his soul), and all his efforts in fighting for Arabs.

I would also write about the famous saying by HH Sheikh Zayed Al Nahyan, the late president of the United Arab Emirates ( God rest his soul): Arab blood is more valuable than Arab oil. Outraged by the Israeli expansionist policies and the humiliation of Palestinians, he joined King Faisal of Saudi Arabia and the Emir of Kuwait in unleashing the oil embargo weapon against the United States and the West even as war raged on in the Suez Canal and around the Golan. The UAE which was only 2 years old nation defied a super power to defend the Arab Honour.

I would then move to the first Intifada, the second one, Qana, Southern Lebanon, Gaza, Qana Again, Jenin, Baghdad, Golan, Afghanistan, and and and.

I want to also write about the failure of the Arab Nationalist Movement, the demise of Arab bravery and opposition, the death of Abdul Halim and Fairouz songs, the irrelevancy of our blood.

I want to write about other things as well, Like for example how some Arabs are now busy dialing all sorts of numbers, and spending all kinds of money to support Star Academy, while being really upset and angry at the Flotilla because ” they asked for it, why would they poke at isreal?”

There are so many things to write about.

The illusion of twitter yet the comfort that at least we can tweet, the “approved by officials” one day late protests in Arab countries, the continuous futile debate about why we should not support Lev Levive and Starbucks, and oh yes the cool Arabs drinking coffee at Starbucks.
The death of our dignity, the absence of our intelligent minds, the demise of our civilization.

I want to write about so many things, but I won’t.

I want to be on-board of the FreedomFlotilla to write about other things that matter, to stand once and for all in the face of the oppressor, to say NO to everything that is wrong in this world, to perhaps gain the “Shahada” and leave this world in the best way any human could possibly ask for; fighting for justice.

Also in other words, I am not an Arab today, nor tomorrow for all I care. Recep Tayyib Erdogan restored my faith in humanity, Turkey is now protecting my dignity. So please, allow me to consider myself Turkish today.

Bugün beni Türk sayin : Today consider me a Turk.