So Hurry Down the Chimney Tonight

of funk

she says im not romantic.
i says she's too dramatic
--Ines Van Lamsweerde

Of Alcoholism and Pregnancy

Pseudocyesis-- 

Cases of pseudocyesis have been documented since antiquity. 

Mary I (1516–1558), Queen of England, was perhaps the most famous of western historical examples, who believed on two occasions that she was pregnant, when she was in fact not. 

Some even attribute the violence that gave her the nickname "Bloody Mary" to be a reaction to her disappointment on realising she was without child.

Take a Deep Breath

you don't appreciate the importance of the air you breathe until you're face to face with a patient fighting to die. yes to die. not to stay alive.

it's 2 am and the patient is gasping for air. every little breath counts. he wants to sleep but his body is not letting him. his brain is constantly aroused by human's most primal instinct to keep breathing. to compensate. to overcompensate.

and then with his puffy eyes, forgetting what it's like to fall asleep. fully awake. fully conscious. he begs you. let me die.

yours truly- Soon to be EX smoker.

Of Chocolates and Cigarettes

ils veulent me deporter. pour mon propre bien dit-on.
et toi
tu en dis quoi...
je suis captive. non pas clandestine.
juste captive. piegee.
on deporte les prisonniers aussi. tu sais.

et pourtant j'ai cette idee vague de ce que je veux vraiment.
et ils me disent.
ils me disent de prononcer les mots et je serais pas exilee. bannie.
mais j'y arrive pas. je connais pas encore les mots exacts.
la vie n'attend pas. tout de meme.
alors...

Of Seeming or being

"Et Puis il manque quelqu'un près de moi
Je me retourne tout le monde est là
D'où vient ce sentiment bizarre que je suis seul?" -Michel Berger

Come Undone

As one diminishes doing — here 'doing' means those intentional actions taken to benefit you or actions taken to change the world from its natural state and evolution — one diminishes all those actions committed against the Tao...and 'having arrived at this pointless point of non-action, there is nothing that is left undone.' -Wu Wei

il est loin le temps

there was no evidence. no witnesses. no sound. no image. no recording. just memories. lost in your head. ideas to drive you crazy. to drive you away from life. as you hold on...
as you hold in the anger...the uncertainty, the questions, the reckless abandonment...
and you keep dragging your empty carcass in the crowd
and you never forget to nod politely...

faut que ça saigne.

-- Edvard Munch

Bloodletting is the withdrawal of often considerable quantities of blood from a patient to cure or prevent illness and disease.

Of Time or Einstein for Dummies

Time is an illusion. It's always NOW. What varies are the circumstances.
Once Again, the 21st never fails to deliver...

Tic Toc or Life Will Not Wait Forever

a few months are ok to miss. but what about a lifetime? medicine is an extremely fast moving field with new responsibilities, duties and expectations every step of the way. speaking of steps... i decided i need time. time for myself. time for my dreams. for self fulfillment because i am not a career. i am me. so diverse or trying to be. and this idea, this living on a prayer is helping me hold and stay on hold for another month. dreams, wonderland, personal aspirations, here i come.

Philippe

People love tear-jerking stories... it must be too harsh to be realistic.

I never thought Philippe was supposed to get the transplant to begin with. 

It must sound unethical, inhumane, Oh Dear! But consider the debate, with advancing medical technologies, patients who were not to survive are now given a very slim chance of survival, on the expense of exorbitant utilization of medical and communal resources, which could be redirected towards multiple less complicated but equally life threatening cases, making up the bulk of congenital heart disease among other medical conditions.

Philippe had a very small chance of survival and with the current limitations, a heart transplant is not a miracle procedure, rather it is laden with complications and morbidity. 

So in the end, here you have it, Philippe is dead, the people have their story. We are reminded that we are humans who like to rally behind emotional causes. And mostly, we are reminded that we are but humans, not ready to deal with terminal illnesses and death as a natural course. And although we think we can save the world, yes we can, yes we will...Wake up call. No we can't.

A Little Slice of Heaven

The Garden Show at l'Hippodrome de Beirut


Catch Souk el Tayeb and over 200 exhibitors at l'Hippodrome de Beirut, Tayouneh, May 25-May 29

La Chance Tourne Tourne et Tournera Toujours!

dizzy yet?
gone is the age of innocence
behold the age of reason...

بلا ولاشي...

bala wala shi...

The Start-ish of Something New.

the more you know the less you want to find out.
and thus begins the way that stops you from making your own truth. you believe that what is preset is set...
and you give up before even starting...
but don't you get it? YOU make it!
go ahead. make illusion reality.
go ahead. ask less. think less. judge less. analyze less. feel more. go! go with the flow as cheesy as it may sound.
and whatever may be... may be.

is a manic bipolar merely over tuned to his or her surroundings? living intensely every single feeling, reaction and situation?

Ma Dalide

Mais c'est fini
le temps des reves
les souvenirs se fanent aussi
quand on les oublie...

of Charlie, Milk and Solved Mysteries

Charlie, who the hell is Charlie?
--Got Charlie?

If you happened to stroll down Hamra, Abdel Aziz or Bliss street, or even those small streets that make of Hamra your very own east village, you might have noticed stencils of Got Charlie? or the less often seen, Charlie is in Da BLDG. and well you might have been wondering, Charlie? Who the hell is Charlie? ...

And this particular marketing strategy as it finally turned out to be, makes you wonder more than billboards because it's more underground, closer to you as a commoner walking down the street, rather than a giant poster that you know someone must have paid thousands of dollars for them to commercially market like who the hell is nesreena? but that's another issue. Here you might expect a play, a concert, a drug dealer? an ad, a graphic design project, anything. But mostly something really unique, because it's the effort of individuals and not that of a depersonalized industrialized company.

Turns out Charlie is a group of 4 talented young girls studying at AUB and designing accessories on a budget, so I'm assuming they don't have a store yet, one more reason behind the extra zealousness one might feel to support this creative endeavor. The girls tell you on their Facebook Group to

*please leave a message after the tone. 03 049461/ 03 361776

or send us cosmic vibrations on-

vivalacharlie@gmail.com

--Charlie's Designs

check them out. love them. call them. encourage them and well be unique!
Listening to : Parody of Living Next Door to Alice: Who the Fuck is Alice?

Jewish Monster In the Background

--Gefinor Center, Beirut

I have a vague remembrance of reading somewhere sometime that Gefinor was designed by Victor Gruen (aka the Mall Maker), of Jewish descent. And since then I've become proud of this architecture, not that I am affiliated to Gruen's ancestry in any way, but only by the mere mesmerizing fact that celebrates Lebanon's paradoxical diversity where we still treat far easterners who might conquer the world very soon as potential house maids, and slaves, and where we claim to have 18 different sects with the 18th being Jewish, taboo taboo on the wall who's the fairest of them all? definitely not the Lebanese government. So here we are, with a Jewish heritage we are not even aware of for the most part. To Gefinor, to Wadi Abu Jmil, to not losing any part of our Lebanese identity by concealing history and works of art!

On the other hand, the real reason behind this picture is the contrast with the small blue house that seems to have withstood the test of time and war, with scars and stories to tell nevertheless. It's tiny, borderline kitsch, on a background of what appears to be a monstrous Gefinor, standing so proudly and modern-ly (although built 50 years ago) ready to engulf it.

Of Jasad, Body and Soul

Here I was at Bardo Cafe, Hamra listening to Joumana Haddad, Lebanese poet, translator, journalist and editor-in-chief for Jasad Magazine. Joumana was launching the second issue of the magazine in a salon like setting where she engaged in a discussion about the Jasad or the "Body" along with topics that are mainly considered taboo in Lebanon and the Arab world such as sexuality, virginity, eroticism and relationships to name a few. Joumana started off by reading an essay entitled "I killed Scheherazade" because as she put it, Scheherazade was a master of negotiation, negotiation leading ultimately to male approval. She, on the other hand, was looking for her own approval in this jungle of machismo and penis ruling. And so she mentioned a few points that drew the crowd's attention and mine.

I will not be mentioning the fact that Joumana would have been more credible in her quest to abolish female attempts to seek male approval through the way they look, had she had less make up or less screaming clothes on. She claims it is for self satisfaction, and this just goes to show you how this dilemma is in the mind of every Lebanese woman, living in Lebanon. And I shall not be afraid to generalize, because we all want to be recognized for our intellect and our capabilities and abilities at work and in society, and we strive, and we try, and we do succeed, however we have got to look good. Women are more listened to when they look good. Whether they are taken more seriously is another issue. I will not claim to have a solution or an explanation. This is more of an observation.

It is what has come to be expected from Lebanese women competing amongst each other, for whatever prize (and is it really a prize). To the point that, nowadays, in malls around the country, when you are walking nonchalantly, with your significant other or by yourself, as a female, YOU are the one being checked out by same sex vultures, trying to discern what it is that you might have as added potential, what it is they could acquire or maybe even get done. Even physicians, artists, scientists, those who are stereotypically not expected to look as good as models are now putting more emphasis on the way they dress or dress up, because, well, is it just not enough anymore?...

Anyways, this shall not be what this post is about. Jasad is your Arabic Language Magazine about social and private thoughts that might be inferred or mentioned out loud in Lebanese and Arabic circles, never to be put in words. Joumana sums it up by describing it as a "serious cultural, intellectual, literary, scientific and artistic project, which demanded a great deal of thought and thorough examination before crystallizing and becoming manifest. It is a project related to the Body, the body of life, the body of the mind, the body of the heart and the body of language." It is not a pornographic magazine, nor an activist one, nor sex ed, it is a social one as I most humbly gather, tackling serious subjects to reflect on.

However, what do YOU really picture when you read or hear the word JASAD. Do you really imagine a man, or a body of things coming together? No. "Shou hal Jasad ya Asad". Jasad is a woman, a sensual one. Ironically, just as I am writing this post and cruising through other blogs, I come across a JASAD as presumed by our culture on a fellow blogger's website PLUS 961.

Here it is, that JASAD is selling YOU a car! And who better to drive this car than a Wealthy Arabic Male Businessman? Of course, with his main (or not so main) squeeze on his side. He might even get the JASAD attached to the car as a complimentary bonus!


So here is my post, throughout the discussion, two main points were maybe personal enough to have me put my drink down and listen closer. When do YOU as an Arabic woman get in touch with your sexuality? And What about sexual language in Arabic?

The way I see it, an Arabic woman, whether liberal or conservative, will be learning (or used to at least when I was growing up) about her sexual identity through her male companion. My sex ed class was summed up as a one hour biology video about reproduction and mainly the microscopic aspect of it (and by microscopic I mean Egg and Sperm) sponsored by Always Hygiene Pads. Yes my teachers were afraid to get scolded for putting ideas in our heads, or maybe they did not know enough themselves, especially as to how to approach young innocent girls. However, sexual desire and appetite comes naturally, and I was thrown in the teenage world and its hormones, with no genuine education on the matter, to discover my identity on my own, through teenage boys who wanted to get intimate, going through said bases respectively. And holding hands, led to touching, to kissing... You get the picture.

I then started reading magazines and erotic literature, to discover how to please my significant other. But did I ever do it to learn for myself? Was this curiosity to learn about my own body instilled in me while I was growing up? Was I taught to respect my body and cherish it? No. It was a means to please males. It was not to be touched by me, or even asked about. At that time, my significant other was getting his own sexual education through porn movies, so you might imagine how this led to problems, seeing how, by instinct, and NOT by educated decisions or conscious choices, I said NO. Leaving me confused and perplexed as to what was right or wrong, as to whether I should trust him, and were all the other girls doing it?
Because, again, being a taboo subject even among girls who mostly claim to be virgins, being forbidden to even kiss or touch, feeling guilty about having a significant other in my twenties if we are not to be married eventually, getting physical with someone who I love but who I am not committed to officially, this brings about a feeling of blame and maybe even disgrace. So shut the hell up and do NOT mention it!

The other issue was about sexual language. Rarely do we use words in Arabic when talking about sexual behavior in a serious and legitimate context. Rare are the people who KNOW the words to use. Everyone can cuss using words like a woman's pussy or a guy's penis in Arabic. You hear it more often than not. But what if you want to open the taboo subject in a sensible and purposeful way? Are you comfortable using the word "2adeeb" which is the official written Arabic word for penis? NO. And why is that? Does this further prove the point that the lack of sexual education is at stake here? Yes. Yes it does. We need to be sensitized to sex, not as a dirty deed, or a taboo, or a means to please your man. We need to be comfortable with it, with our bodies, our JASAD. Because, here I am, in the medical field, embarrassed to ask a male patient about his "Adeeb", as he is embarrassed to answer me. And even more embarrassed to ask an unmarried woman about any sexual behavior because God Forbid I assume she is not a Virgin!

So here you go, this needs to be out in the open, publicized, in Arabic, not to lead to a more decadent and immoral society, because as mentioned, sexual desire comes by instinct and by nature, but to become more comfortable with our bodies, our identity or at least part of it. OUR JASAD. And Kudos to the Magazine for bringing this to the table.

Invisible

Mes pas dans cette rue
Résonnent
Dans une autre rue
Où
J’entends mes pas
Passer dans cette rue
Où
Il n’y a rien d’autre que la brume.

--Octavio Paz

Si Le Ciel Existe

--Si Le Ciel Existe, Nathalie Simard

La Marelle ou Comment Arriver Au Ciel

Et si le Ciel n'est pas le Ciel? Et s'il s'enfuit? S'il joue a cache cache?

Marelle redeviens. Enfance. Indifference. Saute Marelle vas-y Saute donc!! Epuise toi, essoufle toi.

Saute toi qui croyais que le Ciel etait a portee de main, toi qui l'as vu a l'horizon, si proche.

Mais alors, il est ou? Il est parti ou? Tu le perds de vue Marelle?

Le Ciel n'est plus.

Inseparables Separes

Inséparables mais...

Intouchable mais touché
Inavouable mais avoué
Imprenable mais pris
Inséparables mais séparés

Impénétrable mais pénétré
Inconsolable mais consolé
Insaisissable mais saisi
Inséparables mais séparés

Insoupçonnable mais soupçonné
Impardonnable mais pardonné
Inattendu mais espéré
Inséparables mais séparés
Séparés mais inséparables
--Arthur H, Inseparables Mais...

Coitus Wal Tayyara

Grounded.
--pertaining to the ground.
--reduced to fine particles or dust by grinding.

To M. with Love, Carbs, and Icing

Quickly Come Quickly Go

Recueille Toi

Et, comme un long linceul traînant à l'Orient,
Entends, ma chère, entends la douce Nuit qui marche --Charles Baudelaire.

Of Clouds of Smoke and Ghosts

Sometimes you lose people and thats ok?... Sometimes nice dates and memories become bittersweet to the point that you expect others to understand. you expect that radio show to stop wishing happy mother's day or happy everyday-day... and yet they're all oblivious, all around you. they expect you to be a-ok... by default. and how come you aren't? huh? they never wonder whether they might be triggering a flood of bad memories associated to said event. And you're left alone... the odd one out.

Maybe it's better to keep it as your own private journey... your own recollection.

And it's true. Unforgettable... that's what you are...

Half Goos Half Fraba

Of Apples And Oranges

Sphinx

The Barber Shop

What's YOUR Going Rate?

Peek-A-Boo

Taking the Chinese out to AUB

Of Existentialism And Eggs

The Start of Something New

I'm studying for my Steps exam, part of the Board Accreditation for Medical Students or Doctors to be. So here is an exam that you have to study for, for at least 4 months, going on 7. The first of My "baby" Steps or Giant Leap, depending on the outcome, will be on June 31st. The decision has been taken. Awaiting Amideast Confirmation for available places.

Anyways, so here you are focusing your life around one thing and only for at least 4 months, in my case let's set it at 4. This is what you see, what you think of when you close your eyes, what you breathe. It's not enough to pass the exam you need to score high, actually with the current competitive spirits becoming highly more competitive, you actually need to score in the 99th percentile so you need to do better than 99 percent of the people taking the exam. How do you say does everyone aim for this? Don't ask. Don't tell. Don't mention it. Don't remind me that others are taking that same exam and that my score will depend on them just as much as on myself... Where were we?

Your life revolves around one book really, the First Aid for USMLE Step 1. And yet does it really stop there? What happens to life when you start seeing it through one and only perspective? Does it wait for you? Does it keep moving? Does it move faster? Or do you move slower?

I want to document every day, during these four months, with a random picture taken on my lousy 3.2 megapixel camera phone. Yes, gone are the days when 3.2 megapixels were enough. The idea though is that I know that in these four months, while I would be looking at this one book, my own background, my surroundings will be changing, as if life will be revolving maybe even spinning around this book, this one-on-thing relationship and I have but this camera to document it.

And it's not just about the book. It's also about how settings change, how the unexpected that I might actually be expecting seeing how I am anticipating to take pictures of it, this unexpected will be something to remember eventually. In this 4 months period, I already know that I will be moving from Hamra working with kids, to some random house away from civilization, some kind of detoxification from urban life, some better and more efficient way to study, some time out... I will be coming back to Beirut in May, to the Psychiatry ward, then to Family Medicine. Along the line, I will be attending weddings, birthdays, maybe even funerals but those are unannounced as of yet because, well, we plan our future to feel optimistic about our present, so live forever, and forever young...

The idea is rather simple. Life doesn't stop. So bring it on.
And maybe as a tribute to the book that defines my next 4 months. My everyday. My ambitions. My journey.

Here it is, my binoculars, my vision of the world, my blinkers.

--The Book

Of Observations and Observance.

It's been a week or so that I'm silently observing the people around me. A way to reassess maybe. A way to let the world know that I have nothing else to add... for now... and so I'd rather see what other people are adding to this world... to my life, and well, to theirs... Mostly because the period that everyone around me, including me, seem to be passing through cannot be described any better than being in a rut. Yes a rut.
rut, /rʌt/
noun, verb,rut·ted, rut·ting.
–a fixed or established mode of procedure or course of life, usually dull or unpromising: i.e. to fall into a rut.

So here I am sipping drinks at L'Osteria, them' sips of white wine that the waitress kept recommending, although I had never heard of it before... Talk about taking chances! The white wine was a rather delightful "Chateau Khoury" chardonnay if I'm not mistaken, come to think of it, it must have been pretty good since we ordered a couple more bottles. So...here I am sipping drinks at L'Osteria, observing the people around me and gauging their happiness. Not that I have named myself a judge of good standing, but these are people whose lives are transforming right in front of my eyes, some get into relationships, some make mistakes with ex-es, some are unhappy with their jobs and wonder where is this life taking them... And this seems like a recurrent theme, as if, men especially, who appear to have had wonderful, over-the-top-out-of-this-world ambitions, are now left with a regular 9 to 5 job, only to be overworked from 9 to midnight, without any significant gratitude from their colleagues, their bosses, nor the people around them. And so their dreams are crushed... Time to readjust, time to think smaller but steadier... Time to think of starting a family, the last resort to prove that YES you're a man GODDAMMIT!

FlashBack To the day before when we decided to go skiing only to get to the middle of nowhere right before Faraya Village and have the car break down on us. And so what was planned out to be fun in the sun, ended up with me taking part in some voodoo religious ritual to get the car fixed. If this sentence has you lost, dazed or confused, imagine me observing a godsend? mechanic fixing the timing belt, with godsend being the right choice of words seeing how the said mechanic initiates his task by burning incense over the car, saying a little prayer, and insisting that God is working through his hands. The car got fixed eventually. The misadventure turned rather funny incident to remember, showed me how some people, even if living in the middle of nowhere, are grateful for their lives and whatever God sends them. And oh how true it is, when the guy was earning money for his hard work, as we decide that it wasn't worth it to go skiing anymore "Le malheur des uns fait le Bonheur des autres."

FlashForward to Today when I was sitting with R. at Ramlet el Baida for some much needed timeout, for staying at home two days in a row can be a recipe for disaster, and wallowing in self righteousness. So here I am, sipping on a fresh cup of coffee since drinking alcohol at 11 am is frowned upon, but what about Sunday Brunch?! Anyways, here I am observing the sea, the landing Air France Airplane, the Down syndrome child who comes up to say Hello, the rather ugly faced hot bodied 20 something making her way through Corniche with heels, and as of yet intact clothing and makeup. And finally here comes the highlight of my morning, the little boy who made me laugh, the -as R. put it- "Psychomotor Delay"... A seven-ish-year-old boy, learning how to ride a bicycle, falling every once in a while, laughing at his clumsiness, persevering, hitting the garbage can, the rail, the sidewalk, hands and head forward. And laughing... He was a rather fast learner... I'm not sure what he'll end up to be. A mechanic maybe? An engineer? A bum?

It didn't matter then and there, he was learning how to ride his bicycle, and this achievement by itself was ENOUGH!... Unlike my friends who seem to have their great expectations crushed, unlike my own self, dreading the day I will have to settle for a job and so continuing my never ending, rather life consuming, medical education, unlike those who have come to be disappointed by this life and its treacherousness, and so they decided to find fake comfort elsewhere, be it in relationships, in God, in writing, in drawing. Life is not to be trusted. But you are. Trust yourself. And nothing but.

Of Wigs, Battles, and Breast Cancer.

There's a wig stand going around from Breast Cancer patient to Breast Cancer patient in Lebanon. The story started when a friend's close relative was hit with Breast Cancer in July 2006. Fortunately, the woman in question has been cured, since the malignancy was caught relatively early, and chemotherapy led to a successful recovery. However, chemotherapy is a rather unpleasant treatment with side effects such as nausea, vomiting, GI problems, hematological problems and hair loss. The latter is definitely one of the most vicious repercussions, since a woman's mane is a defining feature. However, the patient in question was stronger than the disease itself, and even stronger than the treatment and its atrocity! I remember seeing her, fashionably combing her wig into different hairstyles, she was and still is a source of inspiration to me and to every woman in her surrounding, be it her daughters, her friends, or those battling the same malignancy who now draw strength out of her own experience.

Which brings me back to the wig stand. The wig stand, as my friend explained to me, is traveling from one woman's home to another, wherever needed, to be adorned by wigs being used to complement women on chemotherapy who are suffering from hair loss. The wig stand thus enters each woman's bedroom or powder room, with a different story to tell each time; all to be compiled, to raise Breast Cancer Awareness, and to provide support for the patients and their families.

On the other hand, part of the project as well, there are wigs wandering from one event to another, to raise awareness on the ground by having people wear them after mentioning to them the importance of Breast Cancer Awareness. Thus, you will be hearing about Breast Cancer in Gemmayzeh, in Hamra, or even in the comfort of your own home. Maybe this small difference would remind you and push you to have your own breasts examined, or to incite your family members and your loved ones to do so. You can check the One Wig Stand Website HERE.

You should also take the opportunity to take a look at the American National Breast Cancer Website on how to get one's breasts examined,what symptoms to look for, what are the risk factors, how to deal with the diagnosis and the disease, and what are possible treatments, along with success stories of people who overcame the malignancy.

Don't forget to check out the May Jallad Foundation Website about Breast Cancer Awareness in Lebanon! Hoping to have more alertness in Lebanon, and to be able to eradicate this disease in the years to come. Cancer is not taboo, it is not that "unnamed disease", as sometimes referred to in the Lebanese society, and one should not fear examining herself, and acquiring knowledge.

Remember: EARLY Cancer can be CURED!

Of Inhumane Vocations.

"But that's medicine, the art of prolonging disease."
"Jesus", I said, with a laugh. "Why would anyone want to prolong it?"
"In order to postpone grief."

--Peter DeVries, The Blood of the Lamb. 1969

La Confession...

--La Confession, Lhasa De Sela
Je n'ai pas peur
De dire que je t'ai trahi
Par pure paresse
Par pure mélancolie
Qu'entre toi
Et le Diable
J'ai choisi le plus
Confortable
Mais tout cela
N'est pas pourquoi
Je me sens coupable
Mon cher ami

Je n'ai pas peur de dire
Que tu me fais peur
Avec ton espoir
Et ton grand sens
De l'honneur
Tu me donnes envie
De tout détruire
De t'arracher
Le beau sourire
Et même ça
N'est pas pourquoi
Je me sens coupable
C'est ça le pire

Je me sens coupable
Parce que j'ai l'habitude
C'est la seule chose
Que je peux faire
Avec une certaine certitude
C'est rassurant de penser
Que je suis sûre
Se ne pas me tromper
Quand il s'agit
De la question
De ma grande culpabilité

Je n'ai pas peur
De dire que j'ai triché
j'ai mis les plus pures
De mes pensées
Sur le marché
J'ai envie de laisser tomber
Toute cette idée
De "vérité"
Je garderais
Pour me guider
Plaisir et culpabilité...

Reste Encore Un Peu...

--Cary Grant, Only Angels Have Wings, 1939

Quand les annees nous quittent, quand le monde accelere. Reste encore un peu. Donne moi l'illusion du temps qui s'arrete. Laisse moi oublier ces heures ephemeres. Juste pour une minute. Juste pour un chateau de sable. Juste pour retarder le jour. Peut etre meme pour le vaincre. Pour bousculer le provisoire... Le perissable.... Reste encore un peu.

Fresh.

--Happy New Year, 01/01/2010.
A roundup of 2009 would seem trivial now. It's been erased. How big a difference a day can make! I'm all full of hope and excitement for the year to come just knowing that we started a new year! It's psychological, this feeling that as the clock turns so tritely from 11.59 to 12.01 just like every other day, you feel a burst of life in you as if you let go of all the worries and problems of the past year and you started looking ahead. again... I'm happy though. I'm optimistic. I'm ready! Happy New Year! And years to come. Here's to a breath of fresh air, here's to getting your head out of the waters, here's to good health, here's to good luck, here's to new beginnings!