City of the merlion

Imagine that you are a young boy growing up in a fishing village. Your family is relatively well off and you are lucky enough you have access to education. You do well in school and somehow you find yourself at Harvard Business school studying law. You see a completely different world... a world of success and prosperity. You learn a lot. You see a lot. You like a lot of things, others you don't. Then it's time for you to go home and you are happy to go home, but you decided to bring back a lot of what is good in this place. You decide to create your eutopia.

Singapore is one man's idea of eutopia. It's a strange place that panders to one man's idea of what is and isn't right.

It has a strange mix of the traditional, the modern and the eccentricities of one person and one person alone.  It has all the prosperity that this young man wanted to bring back.  It is economically successful.  It is a model of what Harvard teaches.  Yet, it is a prison.  By virtue of being one man's dream, it belongs to him and only him.  Many do not find themselves in that place.  The choice that many face is either to pander to his dream, be a part of his vision, or cease to exist.  George Orwell never imagined this.

on the tram

I was on the tram headed home last Thursday night. It was around eight in the evening and the tram was full, but not crowded. I was carrying my laptop and some books so was glad to get a seat. I didn't want to stand all the way carrying the heavy bag.

In front of me was a young woman, probably in her early twenties. She was wearing black tights, white runners and a white coloured sports top. She had brown hair and blonde streaks, and was talking on her iphone. She was not quiet. It was hard not to hear every word in her conversation. A conversation that was not pleasant. I didn't want to hear it.

She was obviously talking to a work colleague. They were complaining about a third colleague, maybe a manager.

Lots of people don't like their managers, and many speak ill of them. Not many use such language to describe them in public. It was an appalling conversation. I felt every word penetrate my ear and burn. With every word I felt pain. No human being should be described in such a way, and one should be subjected to such a conversation in a public place. The tram was no place for this.

I leaned slightly over and said "excuse me, do you think we should all be hearing your conversation?"

"wait a minute" she said to her phone partner. "there is a lady here that doesn't want me to talk"

She didn't see a reason for my objection, as if it was her right to speak as loudly as she wanted, and she certainly didn't see anything wrong with the conversation itself.

"I second that" said another woman a few meters down the tram, then another agreed and a few other passengers were now smiling and nodding. I felt encouraged.

"well what do you suggest I do" she asked me sarcastically

"speak lower" I responded "stop talking on the phone, get off the tram"

"there is another one that agrees" she continued to her friend on the phone "and she's fat, you want me to put you on loud speaker? hang on..." she was continuing, other people on the tram were responding.

I stood up "I don't have to listen to this we're obviously not all civilised here" I moved the another section of the tram, put my ipod in my ears, turned it up and ignored the rest of the world.

The other passengers were continuing with the argument. The culprit continued to behave in the most appalling way insulting anyone that spoke to here and her phone partner, now on speaker, joined in. They behaved as if it was their right to behave this way.

I listened to my music.

The tram reached my stop.

I stood up. As I walked towards the door I noticed three inspectors sitting by the door. The large men in inspector uniforms were completely ignoring the events that had still been continuing on the tram.

I dismounted the tram with three thoughts: firstly that most people are decent. Most passengers were disturbed by the events and most, especially the women, were prepared to say something despite the very real possibility that they would become targets of this appalling behaviour. Secondly, that some people don't deserve the lives and opportunities they have, but still carry on in their lives as though they were right and they have the right to be abusive. They will probably not be able to continue in this way for long, because soon enough someone even more abusive will stand in their way.

The third thought supported an observation that I'd had for a long time. People in small positions of authority are not deserving of those positions. Policy officers, parking inspectors, ticket inspectors are the like are not deserving of the respect some portions of society afford them. Too often they deserve worse treatment than the 'culprits' that the system gives them power over.

bright

It is bright in here, there is no darkness.

There is light. There are hopes and dreams.

I have ambition and imaginings.

I dream of a future full of success.

I dream of peace and shelter.

I dream of warmth.

I dream of air and freedom.

I have ambition for success and legacy.

I want to give more than I take, more than I yet have.

I will not be thanked.

It will all be given in silence.

I will not be recognised.

I have anonymity.

That I want to keep.

I want to keep my light.

The more I give, the brighter it is.

I want to keep dreaming of warmth.

I keep dreaming of a future I will never have.

A future as bright as it is in here.

The world needs coordination

I'm on the move again. Travelling.

In fact I'm writing this from an airport.  I hate airports.  They are the only places in the world where the norm is to act like you're homeless.  People sleep on the floor, everybody smells and is grumpy.  I'm no exception.  At least I'm not in high heels and full make-up!

Travel is hard.  It's an ordeal.  Especially for long distance travellers.  But it's not made easier by those in authority.  Those who design the systems are either lacking in intelligent capabilities or derive pleasure in making people say 'how high'!

Tell me this.  You pack your bags and make sure no sharp objects are in your carry on luggage (why tweezers are dangerous I'll never understand, but apparently I have to spend the two days  feeling that one hair that I just can't quite pull out, and feeling very self conscious about it. I miss my tweezers).  You make sure that all your liquids and gels are in small bottles less than a hundred mills and all in a single A5 size plastic bag.  This, in my opinion, serves two purposes, firstly to generate a trade in the small and un-economic size cosmetic products that last only as long as your flight, and secondly to make you feel uncomfortable... people who have dry skin need to moisturise.  I should get exemption.

Anyway, so you take all your precautions and you jump through all the hoops to get into the international terminal.  Including a pat-down search mind you... randomly!  And you are finally on the plane.  They tell you to keep hydrated but don't give you any water or let you bring your own.  Who do I sue if I get deep vein thrombosis and extremely dry skin due to lack of water and moisturising?

You endure 15 hours in a seat smaller than you'd get on a bus, and avoid getting up so as not to disturb the other person who would have to get up every time you felt the need to stretch your feet.  You use plastic knives because that is all they trust you with.

Then you finally land and are herded onto a bus, then a terminal, then you go up some stairs, then some more stairs, all the while feeling like a rat in one of those glass mazes to test their intelligence and how long it takes them to find the food.  Before you know it you are in a long long line going through more metal detectors before they let you into the terminal to wait for your next connecting flight!

What is the point of that.  Is it just to make people stand in long lines carrying their luggage. Then make them all take off their belts, shoes and watches?  What security purpose is it serving? What could I have possibly picked up on the flight that would require this sort of precaution?

I finally get through into the international terminal.  I have no idea where I was before that!

I start to  think about the next four hours.  I try to call a friend who happens to live in this city.  Seems like catching up would be a good use of the four hours they are making me spend here.  Little did I know a single phone call was no small ask.  I have no phone card.  The public phones don't take any other form of payment.  And to top it all off it seems my new mobile network lied when they said I had roaming access.  I'm carrying a brick!

So I try to hunt for a phone card.  I ask the information desk with a big 'i' and the girl didn't know.  Am I really the first person to try making a phone call in this airport??!!!

I walk to the next information desk and I get pointed to a shop.  I stand in line at the shop, and as soon as it's my turn the shop assistant turns around and walks away.  Tell me, is it common practice for people to stand in long lines at registers only to leave as soon as they get to the front?  Why would I be standing there if I didn't have a question?

Anyway, he pointed me to another counter... eventually I reach the magic counter where they stock phone cards.  Supposedly I have to buy a 30 dirham card just to make a single phone call that would cost about 1 or 2 dirhams.  They don't make any smaller cards.

I ask if I can pay in Australian currency.

"yes maam"

"how much"

"nearly twoew dollar"

"what?"

"twoew"

"twenty?"

"No maam twoew"

I look blankly then the colleague comes to the rescue "twelve dollars"

Oh twelve.  

I hand her a twenty dollar note.  She says they can only give me change in the local currency.

Do I really want to spend twenty dollars just to make a fifty cent call?

I rummage in my purse and luckily find exact change.  I hand her twelve dollars exactly.

"I'm sorry maam we don't accept coins"

Are they serious? What sort of a policy is that?  Who thought up that rule and what purpose does it serve?  If you don't accept coins, don't charge me amounts that have to be paid in coins.  Come to think of it all I wanted was a fifty cent phone call.   I don't want the phone card in the first place.

I protest by walking away and blogging.  At least they have a wireless connection that can talk to my laptop.  Thank God for small mercies.  I now get to spend the remaining three hours on the web.... but some websites are blocked!

The world needs better co-ordination.  There are too many idiots at the helm.

The blaming soul

...To dwell at the stage of blaming oneself is to dwell in hope and trust. It is to turn oneself over to God, since only the awareness of God in the first place allows one to blame oneself. Rumi makes this point in answer to one of his disciples who was upset at the way in which people had to kowtow to the Mongol rulers of the time, who were not even Muslims:

"In former times [said the disciple], the truth-concealers worshipped idols and prostrated themselves before them. Today we do the same thing. We go before the Mongols and prostrate ourselves and show all kinds of respect to them. Then we consider ourselves Muslims! And we have many other idols within ourselves, such as greed, caprice, spite, and envy. We obey all of them. Hence, outwardly and inwardly we act the same as the idol-worshipers, but we consider ourselves Muslims!"

The master answered: "But there is one more thing. It enters your mind that 'This is bad and cannot be approved of.' Hence the eye of your heart has certainly seen some ineffable, indefinable, and tremendous thing that shows these to you as ugly and shameful. Salt water appears salty to someone who has drunk fresh water. 'Things become clear through their opposites. Hence God has placed the light of faith in your soul, and it sees these things as ugly. After all, they appear ugly in comparison to that light's beauty. If not, why don't others have this pain? They are happy in what they are doing and say, 'This is the thing." God will give you what you seek for. Wherever your aspiration lies, that you will become. 'The bird flies with its wings, and the person of faith flies with his aspiration.' "

(Taken from Sachiko Murata and William C. Chittick, The vision of Islam, Paragon House St. Paul, Minnesota, 1994, p316, the quote is referenced as: Adapted from Chittick, Sufi Path of Love, pp. 152-53, 212)

On the fall of Adam

Ahmad Sam'ani, one of the great sufi Persian poets, wrote Rawh al-arwah fi sharh asma' al-malik al-fattah, (The Refreshment of the Spirits: Explaining the Names of the All-Opening King 1368/1989).

This is an extract taken from William C. Chittick, Sufism A Short Introduction, 2000, Oneworld Oxford, p132.

On the fall of Adam:

"O dervish! On the day when Adam slipped, they beat the drum of good fortune for all human beings, God set down a foundation with Adam at the beginning of the work. He gave him a capital from His own bounty.

The first example of bounty that He gave Adam was that He placed him in paradise without any worthiness and without his asking. And the first example that Adam displayed of his own capital was his slip.

God made a contract with Adam at the beginning of this business. The stipulation of the contract was that whenever someone buys something, or sells something, he has to give a taste.  Adam gave a taste of his capital when he disobeyed the command and ate the wheat. God gave him a taste of the cup of bounty when He pardoned that slip.

No sin is as great as the first sin. This is especially true when the person was nourished on beneficence and nurtured through blessings. The angels had to prostrate themselves before him - the throne of his good fortune was placed on the shoulders of those brought near to God. He was brought into paradise without any worthiness. God gave him a home in the neighborhood of His own gentleness. Since He pardoned the first slip, this is proof that He will pardon all sins.

After all, we have a thousand times more excuses than Adam had. If the darkness of clay is necessary, we have it. If the weakness of earth is necessary, we have it. If the impurity of stinking mud is necessary, we have it. If some confused bites of food are necessary, we have them. If the times should have become dark with injustice and corruption, we have that. If the accursed Iblis has to be sitting in wait for us, we have him. If caprice and appetite have to dominate over us, we have that. At the first slip, Adam was excused without any of these meanings. Since we have all these opacities, why should He not forgive us? In truth, He will forgive us."

Ahmad Sam'ani died in 1140.

PS. (added 4 March 2009)

I came across this the other day which brought the point home for me:

"...the Prophet said, "no time will come to you which will not be followed by one that is more evil until you encounter your Lord." "

Sachiko Murata, William C. Chittick, The Vision of Islam, Paragon House, St. Paul, Minnesota, 1994, p332.

Diary 3-11-2007

The woman spoke about the housing market, prices and interest rates. It's worth paying more in todays money for a parking spot.
I opened my eyes. I've acquired a new piece of knowledge that I won't be able to attribute later. It's hard to get oriented when you've had so little sleep, and the radio often incorporates itself into my dream. The intrusion is at its worst when it's the news. Images of war and death are quite unpleasant in my dreams.

It was half past eight and I'd snoozed a few times already. Sleep should not be this scarce, but there was a whole new day waiting and I could no longer delay facing it.

Groggily I dragged myself out of bed, I have an appointment with the hairdresser this morning and need to shampoo. I always spend more time in the shower when I shampoo my hair. It's impossible to have three, four, or even ten minute showers when shampooing. I feel guilty about it, but there must be another solution. Whoever came up with these figures cannot possibly understand what it entails to deal with long, thick curls. They just have no clue.

It's ten and I'm still chewing breakfast. Having breakfast is a weekend novelty, I don't want to give it up. I need to make a phone call before leaving. I have this day planned almost to the second.

Ten minutes past ten and I'm on my way. It's all going according to plan. I remembered how much I'm enjoying driving a manual. Apart from the pure enjoyment of it, it's a great show off factor. Girls don't drive manual, usually. It has shock appeal. I like that.

Traffic though was not helping. I suddenly remembered that I was taking the worst possible route. I was going past the race grounds on cup weekend. I'm still enjoying the drive, but I'm running late. I was supposed to be there early, but now I'll be late.

It gets worse, there is no parking. I spend a full twenty minutes looking for parking and finally arrive forty minutes late for my appointment.

Midday, I'm stuck in traffic again. It's raining now and I actually do a burnout in front of the dozen or so cops directing traffic. God I hope they're not feeling cranky today. It could get interesting.

I get home just in time for a very quick check of my email. There are disadvantages to being a social node. It's time consuming at times. A lot of time is spent trying to maintain relationships. Each in its own way and each in its own medium.

Three in the afternoon and I'm already receiving a message informing me that my next catchup is stuck in traffic and will be late. I didn't bother replying that I too was stuck in "yucky traffic" and am running late. Finally we find each other and find where we were supposed to meet.
This is a friend I had not seen in six years. We had emailed every once in a while and rarely spoke on the phone. Actually I think it had been a few years since the last phone conversation. Our lives are dramatically different now.

Her father was dying and she was coping in her own way. She was planning. She has no control over her father's death, but she has control over what she would wear to the funeral. So she enlisted my help in hunting for appropriate clothing. I think I am the only rope some people have to link them to Islam, or Muslims. She was wanting to find trendy scarves to wear to the funeral. I didn't think it was morbid, just practical. I would probably do the same thing if I were in her shoes.

The shop we went to was quite the discovery. I think she loved it more than I did, but I wasn't going to tell her my criticisms. I've learnt how my words can sometimes affect people in ways I had not intended. I remained silent. She was very enthusiastic. I was once like that. It seems like a long time ago now.

We caught up over coffee and a hot chocolate later. We've both moved on a long way, but were still the same people. She told me how she was tired of people in her lives trying to control her. That she was too busy to notice if she was happy or not.

It's seven already and I'm still changing in and out of my jeans. I like wearing them, but this may not be an appropriate venue for them. I don't want to feel under dressed. I'm running late again. It's raining.

I finally decide to be comfortable. It was never about the jeans. It was about the scarf. Did I really want to stop wearing it? How strong would I be? How confident am I?

Seven thirty and it's me this time that is sending a message that I would be late.

I'm meeting with some friends tonight that I have not seen in ten years. That is a long time for someone my age. I don't have many ten years behind me. I'd done a lot of growing up in this decade, but I'm still the same person. I'm just living in a very different life.

I can't find this place. It's raining, I don't want to keep looking any more. I simply ask one of the other restaurateurs. He smiled at me and said "come this way"
I was surprised, I apologised for asking him directions to his competition. "No" he said "we're only happy that people come to this area, the owner is a good friend of mine. Say hello"
"And who am I saying hello from?" I asked
"Rob" he responded as he pointed to my destination "enjoy your night and come by have a coffee after your dinner if you like. You are a very beautiful woman"
I was flattered. It was small, probably inappropriate, but it gave me that bit of confidence I was looking for all day. I didn't regret keeping the scarf.

Dinner was great. These were the people I liked back in school. We posed for lots of pictures. Will be posted in our facebooks soon no doubt. My other friends will see this part of me. It's all me but they see different sides.

There was a male belly dancer at this restaurant. The food was quite bad, but the belly dancer was a novelty. It was a guilty pleasure watching him gyrate so professionally. He was good. All the women flocked to him. Was it the dancing or was it the pheromones mixed in his sweat?

We were all single at the table. I remembered why we'd lost touch a decade ago. Out of high school everyone of them found a boyfriend, and our outings turned into me feeling quite uncomfortable and left out. So I simply stopped coming and they stopped inviting me. We'll never admit to that of course. 'We just lost contact', 'we moved' lots of excuses, none really true. Our lives moved on and here we were. All single. They've come round. They finally understand.

It's not about finding someone, one friend said. If I wanted to, it's the easiest thing to walk out to that club over there and pick up as many as I want. The problem is we're picky.. and the guys are intimidated because we are independent. I laughed on the inside. I thought this was just a Muslim problem, but apparently not.

I heard news of other friends. One, a close one who had helped me through a rough time, was not in good shape. She had acquired a disability. I was saddened. This could never happen to "us". This happened only to other people who appear on tv, not in real life, to my real life friends. But we were living in the real world, some more real than others. We all get what we are meant to get.

Eleven o'clock and I'm stopped at a traffic light. Two men, probably intoxicated in some way, are stopped to my right. It's a warm night and our windows are down, trying to feel some of that rare breeze. "Hey" they yell out at me "what's with the scarf? why are you wearing it"
"It's a religious thing" I answered despondently.
"what are you?"
"Muslim"
"what nationality are you?"
"Australian" I was in defensive mode by now
"yes but where are you originally from?"
"Australia"
"originally, where are you originally from?" they were getting frustrated by now
"my parents are from Australia, I'm not from anywhere else"
"can you get that?" they asked
"yes you can" I said and was thankful the light had turned green and skidded off at speed.
What I should have said was " yes, anyone can choose to be Muslim regardless of where they are or where they are from", but I was too defensive and caught off guard by then. They will never remember anyway.

I picture myself giving advice to a child. 'child' I say in my imagination 'you just be what you are, everyone else has their problems behind this facade. You just be what you need to be. You don't need approval from anyone'.
I wished someone had told me that as a child.

It's almost two in the morning. I'm ignoring another male. He's shocked that I've rejected him and he's behaving in quite an immature way. It's easier to just ignore him than to deal with it right now. I need to rest.

I will now retire this day. Put it past me and wonder. What will tomorrow bring? What could possibly happen? Who will I be?

special effects

I sit here with my laptop on my lap, an old film on tv and the sun about to set on another Ramadan day. I don't know what to say. There is so much I want to talk about, so much that is simmering inside of me, but I just can't release it. I'm afraid. I don't want it all to boil over one day, but I just don't know how to release it.

I want to tell you about how strange life is. I say that a lot, but I don't think you really grasp what I mean by it.

I want to ask why people do the things they do? What motivates someone to think so little of someone else's life? How could they not grasp the enormity of it? But they don't. Ever. Constantly.

Yet in the big scheme of things it doesn't matter. We only choose to be affected by others. We choose the way we react to what is around us. We choose how we change the world around us. Some of us have more recognisable impacts than others, but none have a smaller impact.

We all have big impacts in our own little ways. We never realise how easy it could be to shake someone's being by a simple gesture, a smile or even a glance. We are oblivious to it but we turn other people's lives upside down everyday.

We are constantly fluxing about, trying new things. Making new discoveries. Excitement comes and goes. We spiral about edging closer and closer, narrowing the circle until, if we're lucky, we reach our destination. The centre of the circle. I want to go there, but I don't know what it looks like. I will find out soon. I feel myself getting closer.

I'm in love!?

I came across this quote the other day, have a read and tell me what you think.

"We're all lonely for something we don't know we're lonely for. How else to explain the curious feeling that goes around feeling like missing somebody we've never even met?"
David Foster Wallace

It made me reflect back on something that's been with me for a long time now.

For a good number of years I've been hopelessly in love. A lot of people use the phrase lightly, but I really mean it. The kind of in love that makes you blind to everything else that goes on around you. For years I let the world pass me by without really participating.

As an adolescent I never got into trouble, never caused my parents pain, never got into teen relationships. Not because I'm risk averse or too scared. I was too busy being deeply in love.

As a young adult, and even till now in my late 20s I am still yet to experience the real world. Sure I've traveled and seen a lot but I've never really experienced any of it. Things have happened, and I can tell you stories of events in my life that you would not believe. I defy any human being on earth to have gone through half of what I've gone through, but it was all external. I never really experienced those events. They were merely stories that happened around me and I happened to be the central character in them. I went through them almost with a narrator in my head, reminding me that none of it was real.

I've never done anything irresponsible in my life either. Never spent too much money, never drove dangerously (well mostly anyway) and I certainly never tried to impress anyone. I was too busy being in love.

Sure I've wasted plenty of time over the years, but eventually, it didn't matter. It was time spent daydreaming, contemplating. It was time spent being in love.

The only problem is, I don't know who it is that I'm in love with. I always thought it was my future life partner. The one I hadn't met yet, but would someday meet and recognise instantly. I always, thought that to be involved with anyone else would be a kind of cheating on the one true love, the one I'd share the rest of my life with. My heart was never tempted.

Lately though, I'm starting to change my mind about that. Maybe it's not a human being that I'm in love with at all. Not Mr right. Maybe I'll never fall in love with Mr right. Maybe I'm already too in love with a much more deserving someone. Maybe I'm in love with the one, we're all supposed to be in love with. Maybe that is why my heart has no more room in it for another human being.

God is too great.

So where to from here? Where do I go from here?

Purity

I try as much as I try, to keep my heart pure
but it's harder than you imagine
to keep the darkness at bay
for it has already been corrupted, infiltrated
the darkness that surrounds my external, my world
thoughts knock on my mind's door
they try to enter any way they can
sometimes they seep in, more than I like
I can't keep them out
thoughts darker than even
the devil can imagine
I am not an angel
I am not pure of thought
I try hard as I can
because I am merely human
I need all the help, that You will give me
all the forgiveness that You will bestow upon me
and then I need some more.
I lack the strength to keep these thoughts at bay
please let me have the strength
to keep them out of my heart
for I only have one heart
for I am only human
walking blindly in darkness
I ask not for revenge
I ask only for happiness
I ask not for a sacrifice
I ask only for purity
I am selfish that way
let those who have transgressed on my heart
feel no guilt nor pay my dues
let me only know You, enough
to expunge the darkness from my heart
let me make room for the light.

Endings

They say that all good things must come to an end. That is in fact true, but is missing a huge piece of information. You see all bad things also come to an end, so do all mediocre things and so on. Everything eventually ends. That is really a blessing that we often mistake for a curse. Can you imagine if your childhood never ended? or your exams, or dental visit, or... ugh, I shudder at the thought.

No I'm eternally grateful that my life is really composed of a series of endings. It is the endings that I will remember, not the beginnings and certainly not the middles. It is at the end that we gain understanding and, more often than not, regret the beginning. I can't tell you how many memories I have where I cherish the ending but try to forget the beginning. I'm looking forward, with great anticipation, to the ultimate end... the time when my greatest understanding will occur. I only hope that my hindsight then will not be too hurtful. That my regrets won't be as big as my learnings and that there will be at least one memory where I cherish the beginning as much as the ending. That memory is yet to come.


Eventually, once we learn enough, our endings and our beginnings become memorable. Like nature has learnt to set the sun just as majestically as it raises it... no matter where you are.

Travel – Part II

Travelling is an obsession for some people. It’s an addiction, a need to see what’s on the other side, be anywhere except home. I have that illness, I need the distraction. The more stamps on my passport, the more I want. I’m still a novice traveller, but I’ve already learnt a few things.

I learnt that people always behave the same, no matter where you are. I learnt that a common language is not essential for meaningful communication. I learnt that sunsets look just as beautiful no matter who you are. I learnt that souls recognise each other, that bravery is needed for the world to go round and that we are all thinking the same things.

Maybe I could have learnt the same things if I’d stayed at home, but seeing is believing, and you’ve never really travelled till you’re alone in a place you don’t speak the language. It’s the perfect escape, complete anonymity. It’s priceless and it’s fleeting, because very quickly people will get to know you and you loose your hard earned anonymity. Then the choices come back, more confusing and more overwhelming than ever before.

abstraction

I must be one of the most ungrateful people in the world. I keep being saved from myself and I never realise it until it’s all over. By then of course there is inevitably some other obsession, something else to dream about and wonder. Yet deep down I know none of this will matter in the end. There are other things hidden away even from my own dreams.

Let me ask you something: Do you ever wonder what’s in the future? Of course you do, silly question. Everybody does. But do you wonder with hope and expectation or do you dread what the future will bring? Are you afraid of it?

I often imagine that I’m watching my own life from outside. If I weren’t in it, feeling it, what would I think? Would my choices be any different?

Eventually we will all look at our worlds from outside. Our past is already unreachable. Yet it makes us what we are. If I knew what was to come. If my decisions were always informed, I wouldn’t have any of the experiences. I’d miss out on the learning.

I thought about that as I walked away, knowing this would be the last time. I hadn’t said everything. I didn’t explain and I doubt I was understood. But I walked away. Another chapter had ended. It didn’t have to end this way, but this was one thing not in my hands. No amount of explaining would have been enough. People can cross paths but experience the same things very differently. Sometimes we are at different places in our lives and can never see other than inside ourselves. Eventually, some of us can look back on distant memories and see what had been invisible. I wonder what will appear for me. Yet I’ll always be fond of this memory and I’ll always be thankful that I got away. I had escaped with my life.

The next chapter has already started. There is always overlap. I walked away wondering what will the future bring. I wondered with curiosity, as if I’m not in it at all, for I know I’m only briefly visiting.

Gateaux

Our fridge is full of this stuff. It's one of those things I associate with Egypt, because Egyptians seem to love it. Or at least I always thought they loved it. Personally I can't stand it. It's a dessert that I can't find one single redeeming quality for. It doesn't look good, is extremely fattening, makes the consumer nauseous and on top of that tastes really bad. Yet every single visitor we've had so far, without exception has not failed to produce a box of the stuff. One uncle brought the identical box twice!

The real irony is that the visitors, the same ones who bring the stuff, refuse to eat it themselves.

There must be a reason for this absurdity.

So, with my limited research opportunities here on my dial up connection I did what every self respecting researcher would do. I looked it up in the dictionary. It said:
noun ( pl. -teaux pronunc. same or |-ˈtōz|) a rich cake, typically one containing layers of cream or fruit. ORIGIN mid 19th cent.: from French gâteau ‘cake.’

Makes sense, it does seem like one of those overindulgent atrocities Egyptians are so good at copying from the French, like the furniture. I doubt the French themselves are as obsessed with it as the Egyptians. And why do Egyptians call it gateaux in the first place? It seems to be a theme. They love anything that comes from abroad, no matter how ridiculous it is, and they have to call it foreign names that most people don't even understand.

A pair of slippers are apparently called "sabeau"... or something I can't spell. What exactly is wrong with shibshib? isn't that a perfectly meaningful word? Menus say hot chocolate written in Arabic script... and here I always thought the original word for the drink made from coco beans was cacao.

Why swap the original for a fake? Why are we so proud of anything that comes from outside and treat this place so badly. Why replace the farmers' fresh produce markets with French chains of supermarkets and then smoke in them? Why is it people here think it's acceptable to open a can of drink and without a thought just drop the lid on the ground where they stand?
Doesn't that sort of behaviour hurt them? It hurts me.

Just once I'd like to meet someone who appreciates this country for what it is and respect it. Someone who calls things what they are, in the language they are speaking in... and just once I'd like a visitor to bring some nice Egyptian desserts instead of fake French cakes that I didn't even want to try in France.

Now

It’s not a secret that in the first week of my holiday I regretted coming at all. There is no shortage of other things to do or places to go. But then I woke up one morning and made a decision. I decided I was going to live in my present and make the most of it. I’m not sure how much difference this decision made, if any at all… but here I sit. Everything in my past is exactly the same. Everything surrounding my present is exactly the same, but I’m somewhere completely different. I really feel like I’m in a cartoon. I SWEAR people are speaking to me as if in script and I hear applause after each sentence. I still haven’t decided if I’m in a bizarre place, or if it’s just my own frame of mind.

Let me elaborate. I’m staying in what can only be described as a retirement village (although they call it a resort)… but you know what I like it. So what if I’m hanging out with a bunch of 70 somethings telling stories of how things used to be and how things used to work. It’s actually entertaining. I’ve learnt a lot about some incredible people. I’m learning about my own family history, and I’m appreciating life. I don’t know if those same people will still be around the next time I’m here, but for now this is right. I doubt if these people had planned or could imagine they would be here now, but they put their all into their lives and here they are. Who wouldn’t dream of this?



Then there is the place itself. I’m at my uncle’s summer home on the north coast of Egypt, west of Alexandria. The Mediterranean has the best swimming I’ve ever seen in my life. The water is warm, salty and just feels good. We have a salt-water pool. The sunsets can only be stolen from heaven. The weather is not too warm, not too cold. A bit humid, but the breeze carries dreams of worlds that float in fairy tales. In a word it’s beautiful.

Late yesterday afternoon, I went for a swim in the sea. Throwing yourself at frothy waves in salty water is a wonderful game. It’s the closest anyone can ever get to playing with angels here on earth. Then I went for a dip at the pool. Watching a red sun sink into the sea from the safety of a pool is indescribable. I don’t know if I’ll ever be here again, but I can appreciate it while I’m here… now.

This morning, it was a women’s session at the pool. Old women exercising, in this heavenly setting… talking about recipes! Recipes will never leave me alone…. But never mind. I’m going to enjoy this slice of heaven. This is my present and I’m going to live in it. The future will take care of itself, if I just live in the present. I did a few laps. Then a most brilliant thing happened. A group of six year old kids ran, excitedly towards us and jumped into the shallow end of the pool. They were orphans! It’s the best thing in the world to realise that someone out there devoted enough thought, effort and planning to make this possible. A group of orphans are taken care of well enough to place in their memories regular trips, I am told, to such a wonderful piece of heaven. Very few people are able to come here. Yet it is precisely because these kids were orphans that they can come here. If they had been living with their parents, chances are they would never have been here. Sometimes the worst thing in the world is really not so bad at all.

There is a palm print on our ceiling

There is a palm print on our ceiling.

Really, it’s there in the middle of the kitchen ceiling.

Before I start about the palm, I believe an explanation is overdue. You might have guessed already from previous posts (or conversations!) that I am on holiday. I am in Egypt on holiday, and I’m finding it a little bit unsteady, but more about that later, no doubt.

So back to the palm, the first interesting thing is that I noticed it in the first place. I don’t usually walk around inspecting ceilings, especially not in the kitchen. It’s not a room where I’m likely to have a lie down. Usually I’m peering inside the fridge looking for something to eat. Although all I keep finding today are some cakes, and I don’t like cake, so I stick to bread sticks. They have these great crispy bread sticks with sesame seeds on top.

Anyway, I digress, getting back to the palm print on the ceiling. It’s a fully formed print of a perfectly average palm. I’m guessing it belongs to the guy who installed our natural gas. This brings me to a great aspect about this country, and I use the word great because at this point I’m trying not to use too many negative words. Everybody thinks they are right and nothing else could possibly matter. When this guy installed our gas, he did a good job. We have natural gas and it works. Of course in the process he broke a multitude of the tiles my dad had so painstakingly picked. He forcibly rearranged our kitchen so it’s quite uncomfortable to use now. He installed a huge ugly looking meter on the wall, and wrote a phone number on it by hand. He connected a pipe through our living room, with a gapping hole around it, just above my dad’s antique mirror. This hole is about six times as big as it needs to be and is surrounded by white mortar that stands out so much it’s extremely difficult to ignore. Then there is the mess they left in the bathroom.

That pretty much describes everything else. There are holes everywhere. All of them too big for what they do and all of them surrounded by abstract formations of grey cement that stands out against walls. There are too many air conditioners hanging out of people’s walls. All of them dripping water on the street… on people’s heads... but that doesn’t matter; you shouldn’t be walking on the street anyway.

And another thing, how long does it take to install a dish on a roof? They’ve been welding, really loudly for the past three hours. It’s loud and it’s annoying, but no one cares. No one is complaining. I don’t think anyone has even noticed. People are so used to being abused that they don’t even register anymore. Pedestrians on the street accept that cars always have the right of way. Walking is not something people do and if you dare try to cross a street, then God help you.

The truth is this is a great country. It has so much to offer, but people don’t care for each other. Or they do but in other less visible ways. They don’t bother to be considerate of each other, even when being considerate is someone else’s right.

Then again, maybe I belong here more than I think… I’ve just rambled on about how I’m right and they’re all wrong. Isn’t that a very Egyptian thing to do?

Home

So I don’t like to complain. I genuinely appreciate that I have a lot, and am very thankful for it. I’m very aware that I am the object of many people’s envy. However I am also human and humans are never satisfied with what they have.

So here I sit on the 13th floor in a beautiful sea breeze while others are making do in the heat below on the street. I have a view, I can see sky, while all others can see are brick walls and washing lines. I sit starring at 300 channels with nothing on. I sit at home with a dial up connection. I traveled for two days and paid a fortune so I can sit here with a dialup connection. I could have saved a lot of money if I’d just turned on the heating at home and sat doing the same thing with my wireless ADSL. I probably would have spoken to more people than I’ve spoken to so far. Everyone is being extremely considerate and “letting us rest”. The result is it's my second morning and the only people I’ve seen so far were my 16 year old cousin who brought us milk (I do like the milk here, it’s much nicer) and our door man and his family. His wife, whose name I’ve never known, took me by the hug and was very interested in how we were going and was really nice. She’s always been really nice. I remember as a child I would play in the car parks and little reserves in the street outside our building and 3am Ga3far and his wife would always be keeping an eye on us. She was always the arbitrator whenever there was an argument amongst the kids. Yet those days are gone. I’m now worlds away from that old life and I’m a stranger in my own childhood home. None of those friends are here any more. They’ve all moved on with their lives. I have too, but for some reason I keep coming back expecting things to be the same way they were when we were 12.

I can see my old school yard from the balcony. They put up another building in the garden behind the school’s convent. I remember that garden. It had swings that we were never allowed to use. On my first week at that school we were taken there to play one morning and kids started telling me stories of dead things and blood buried underneath. Kids can have the strangest imagination. Why on earth would five year old girls think of something like that?

Anyway, there is no more garden. It’s now another block of flats with satellite dishes on top. Kinda like the one we have on our roof receiving the 300 channels with nothing on.

I’m afraid to go for a walk. I’m afraid to see what else has changed and left me behind. I’m afraid to see how else this place is telling me that I don’t belong here anymore, because eventually it will sink in and I will believe it. When that day comes, I will be a stranger forever. I will never be home again.

Travel -- Part 1

I love travel.

I really am addicted to the travel bug. The smells, the sounds the journey. It's all in the journey. Being free to behave in ways you wouldn't normally at home, like taking random photos in the street. Getting lost and asking for directions. Somehow there is a wonderful satisfaction in all of that. Dreaming about it, planning it, doing it. The flight. It's ecstasy.

But there are things I hate about traveling. One of those is the week leading up to the start of the journey. I really hate the days leading up to the journey. I hate the packing. I hate the insecurity and the separation. I hate the interruption to my life.

I hate that I'll forget to take things I need. I hate that I'll miss my life and my small comforts when I'm there. I hate that I'll lug around things that I won't need or use. I hate that I know all of that but can't change it. I hate that I won't take care of my life at home. That I'll let it go, that I'll have to trust others to look after my home. I hate the thought that I won't be home when I need to be safe.

The last night in my own bed is always a restless anxious one. A lot of disturbed dreams, uncomfortable ones.

Then the time comes. I step outside and the journey begins. All my fears and all my worries are forgotten. The excitement begins. The rush is here.

Deception

Today three people were shot point blank about two minutes walk from where I work.

Not here! Not in my safe haven!

They got shot because they came to the aid of a woman being harassed in the street. They did not know this woman, nor did they realise she knew her attacker. They were simply coming to the aid of a complete stranger and one of them paid for that with his own life.

As I walked to my office in the morning, I was ignorant of these events. I was simply doing what I do everyday. Yet something felt different. There was an ominous feeling about and I distinctly remember saying to myself that this would not be a good day. None of the people walking around me could have known either as this was at the same instant it happened. Yet I could feel it. Something was different.

You see a lot has happened these last few days. There is an unusually high concentration of onion this week, the really potent kind. I'm trying to find something profound to say about it, but just can't find sense in any of it.

The theme has been hospitals and funerals, and they're creeping ever so much closer.

I'm again at that point where I remove myself from everything and it's as if I'm watching from outside. Watching some sort of perverted film. The plot twists and turns and I just can't look away. I'm too curious. I want to find out what happens next. How will it all turn out?

I get these flashes of insight, where for a split second it all makes sense, and I see things with such clarity. I almost see the future. Those moments are so pristine, so desirable, but I can't hold onto them. They soon wear off and the onion reappears.

Why do people do this to each other? Why must we have so many faces?

Part of the problem is that I know too much. I've been told things that I wasn't supposed to hear, and then told to keep them to myself. I have to let this horrile knowledge silently destroy me from the inside.

I know that this wife, who is looking so desperate, so miserable and trying everything she possibly can to save her husband, is secretly hoping he doesn't make it. She loves him so much but at the same time resents him. I know that she blames him for her deprivation. It wasn't his fault, but she saw him standing in her way. Only a few months ago she broke his heart with talk of divorce. It's not her fault either that she feels this way. She has her instincts blindly pushing her.

Then there are the admired ones.

She holds a position of integrity, trust and honour. She has power and others look to her for help in their most desperate times. They trust her with their worst secrets. She is known to be honest and proclaims to speak for us all. Yet I know that she is hypocrisy personified. I know that those powers are abused. I know that the image of honesty and sincerity are nothing but a facade to hide the darkness inside. The darkness that once in a while boils over and devours all who surround her.

She's not the only one, there is the educator who speaks such beautiful words. He makes sense and he works so hard for all of us. His dedication is unprecedented and his abilities closely follow. Yet I know he does the very things he speaks against. He does those things in proportions and with intentions none of his students could even imagine. He closes doors for his students, traps them with his words only to clear the field for himself. So he can have full rein in his paradise...and not even his victims see it.

I don't want to know these things but they are in my head. I want to forget them and many more pieces of information infused in my consciousness.

Had this man known his life would be the price would he have stepped forward? had he known she was not as innocent as she looked would he have even bothered? Would he have judged her?

There is too much deception in the world. Too much indecision. Why can't we all just be direct and honest with each other? Why do we have to lie so much? Why is honesty punished?

I don't want to take part in any of this. Apparently I'm supposed to learn to play "the game". You know the one where you hold your cards close to your chest and deal them at the opportune moment. Well I can't do that. I'm incapable of it and why should I learn? Why should I force myself to learn such a vile and hurtful game? No I'd rather stay as innocent as I can manage in such a cruel world. I'd rather keep my conscience clear even if the price is that I am always the one to loose out. I don't want to exist in a world where this is the only road to a happy life.

I can't help but walk this earth but I refuse to participate. I know I will loose but in my heart I'll always be the winner, because I'll have kept my soul. There will come a day when that is all that matters and I can only try.

Saturday morning TV

For the first time in a long time, I have a relatively free weekend. I have a lot of chores to do but no actual plans with anyone other than me. This should be grrreat.

So as I wondered around the house trying to avoid doing anything productive I got a great idea. I haven't watched TV in a very long time, I thought to myself. I'll turn it on. So I did what I thought was a fairly benign activity that many many people would routinely indulge in on a lazy winter weekend.

I started surfing the channels. We don't have many of them so choice can be fairly limited.
There was an interview with some crusty old man. I didn't wait long enough to figure out who.

There was news in a foreign language. It's funny how all the reporters look the same, use the same tones and practically the same footage. I wondered if they were saying the same things. My wondering, however was short lived as I quickly got bored and moved on.

Oooooh cartoons. How exciting! After about three minutes of that I decided that my age had long passed double digits and this was not as entertaining as it once was.

Next!

Oh look something is just starting, it was only the warnings. It was odd. The warnings included sexual references and mild coarse language. This grabbed my attention, but for all the wrong reasons. I was wondering why on earth there was a show like this at a time like this. It was mid Saturday morning. How many kids would be watching now? It must be a mistake. Like that time they accidentally put on an after hours add during a children's show.

The show began. I had to see what this was about.

There was a puppet! It was a cross between a monkey and a hippo with a bit of Krusty the Clown thrown in. This show was AIMED AT CHILDREN!

I hadn't been off Saturday morning TV for that long! I'm not that old! Things couldn't have changed that much.

The show was a mix of puppets, cartoons, a guy dressed in a panda suit and music clips, which I assume were the source of the "sexual references and mild coarse language". In between segments the hosts, 'Asha' and some guy whose name I forget, would talk about celebrity gossip. I now know that Christina Aguilera is pregnant because she was spotted coming out of a maternity hospital!

I guess you can throw fact verification out the window.

Then the adds came. I really didn't know what to make of this. Had I been someone else I would have thought it was a conspiracy to indoctrinate early teens into the arts of following trashy gossip, having sex too early and generally growing up too soon... but hang on... It can't be that bad. I've just been out of it for a while and am thinking like an old fuddy duddy. There is nothing wrong with a few song clips with provocative dancing. Is there? I've gotta snap out of it.

Then it got worse. An add for hot.gozzip!!!! girls call free and boys call for a charge!!!!

This was the most interesting thing on television at the time and no wonder STIs are on the rise among youth.

But I did find solace in something. Our resident teenager was actually still in bed. Doubtless most other teens were also still in bed. They were instinctively avoiding this. I felt a swell of pride come on. Teenagers are smart enough to know what's not good for them and avoid it, even if their parents keep making it hard by constantly trying to wake them up. (Red, you can stop now... stop trying to wake up the kids... let them save themselves).

Yes life was safe after all. The kids were not watching this. Instead they were probably exposing themselves to the web! What could their innocent young minds possibly be doing when they lock themselves in their rooms with a computer and an ADSL connection?