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