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!

Kolena Laila

This post is part of the Kolena Laila Campaign:

And you wonder who Laila is... Laila is a Lebanese girl, actually she's not sure if she should be considered a girl or a woman, she has her moments of indulging in childish behavior, with her own whims and silly laughter, which she secretly enjoys, maybe an opportunity to feel protected by others, maybe some freudian remnant, maybe just the need for innocent affection, some interdependence among a daily fight to be the liberated woman she strives to be. Yes, she also tries to be as woman as can be, sometimes in bed with the lights dimmed just so the right glow dances around her curves, sometimes she suddenly metamorphoses into a well educated young lady most probably at a family dinner to please her parents, and then at other times she's the comforting professional who deals with patients and physicians on a daily basis. Why patients you ask? Well Leila is a student in medicine, part of the reason why she hasn't been able to delve into womanhood just yet, yes she's still a student. With the anxiety of exams and grading and attendance.

Trying to define who Laila is depends on the situation she's into. Laila is not real, she's not a person, she's only the reflection of what those around her expect her to be. No she's not a hypocrite but did you honestly think that those around her were looking to understand who she is? Did you really believe that they might have thought just for a second that she might be different, that she might have her own perception of life, that even though she's talking to them, maybe right at this moment, and she seems so genuine, so accessible, so real, so transparent, she's actually still trying to find out who she really is. Yes Laila doesn't believe she fits the definition that she has come to be associated with.

So you failed to define Laila, can you at least try to find out if Laila is happy? What would make her fuzzy inside? What can measure happiness in this Lebanese life that she's leading? Laila wants to conform. Unfortunately she has come to realize that in the society she's living in, the only way to be happy is to please those around her, maybe you agree and maybe you don't. It seems like such a defeatist attitude coming from the girl who was once so independent, so free, so self-ruling. And it is. Laila has discovered that in Lebanon there's only one way to live, you're part of this herd and God forbid you try to channel your own path. And no Laila is not worried about what "people" might say, people being those complete strangers who will have something to criticize no matter the situation, Laila is mostly worried about how her actions might reflect on her immediate entourage, being her parents, her family, her friends. Laila is not an individual anymore. Laila is intrinsically unhappy. She says she's content. Why wouldn't she be? It seems that everything is going for her, her performance at Medical School, her dear friends who she has come to carefully select, her health, her parents' health. Something is wrong though. Something doesn't fit. Could it be the fact that although Laila considers herself successful, it still bothers her that at social gatherings, a histrionic, typical Lebanese woman, the one she secretly dreads to become, the overdone makeup and hair, the revealing, and in no way age appropriate, clothing, the pretentious attitude, that same woman living off her husband's money and yet putting him down in front of his own friends, that same woman comes up to Laila and tells her: "Haram, 3am ta3emleh Medicine? Nshalla nefra7 mennik..." Translation: "You poor thing, you went into Medicine? I hope you eventually find yourself a husband..."

Here it is, success measured in this society. But beware, for it is not by finding yourself just any husband. You needn't look for the love of your life, you needn't take too long at the risk of drying up your eggs, you needn't look for someone of another religion or another nationality no matter how compatible you might be. You need to look for money. Marry money. Yes, if you're a Lebanese woman, it's not enough to make your own. This can actually turn out to be a source of utmost pity. "Haram she's so career oriented, she's never going to find a husband!"

And so, with all the holidays coming up, with my closest relatives wishing me the happiest of days to come, with them genuinely wishing me a happy marriage with the so called prince charming I haven't found yet, with the only thought in the back of their mind being for me to find someone to love, with them also prohibiting me from spending these holidays with the one I might find myself happy with, with them actively seeking my own happiness thinking they're of a clearer mind. With all this, with the nefra7 mennik at every sip of wine, Laila leaves the dinner table. She tells her parents it's time for her to go meet some friends, yes it's Christmas eve but Laila wants to get away. She gets into her car and she drives, she drives up to the closest mountain, she lights up a cigarette, although she promised her parents she'll be quitting soon. Laila turns off her car lights, it's 11pm on Christmas eve, rarely does she notice anyone driving by, she opens her windows, no radio, no sound, nothing. Laila finds herself far away, she escapes. She's gone. Only the time to finish that last cigarette. Laila dances. She imagines herself dancing her life away, twirling twirling and then some more, just enough to feel dizzy, just enough to have her thoughts all mixed up with nothing left to think about, cast away with a feeling of unexplained unjustified happiness brought on by a simple physical exercise. Dance Laila Dance.

Of Rain, Wine, and Duty

--Careless Summer.
And the living is easy...

Designing Women.

When Boredom is the Mother of All Inventions and Necessity the Root of All Evil.
My hairdresser decided to get me a present seeing how I must be one of his most loyal customers. Yes Hairy Sally, I've come a long way from them' days of salon hopping (?saloon should have been more appropriate in this instance?), I have found my hair mate, my soul mate. His brush glides like no other!

So Mr. R offered me this really nice blue bracelet as a token of affection. The bracelet in question is nothing fancy, a piece of flashy rubber with a hanging 60's peace sign, which I found to be really tasteful! And so being blessed with some extra time this weekend, and those seamstress genes that come with the XX package, I decided to make my own bracelets. And all it took is a few pendants and threads of colorful fabric.

-- Hair Affair.
-- Work In Progress on an Accidental Background.

Fashion is not something that exists in dresses only. Fashion is in the sky, in the street, fashion has to do with ideas, the way we live, what is happening. --Coco Chanel

What's in a WALL?

YOU, ME, Everybody Else or what's in a WALL?

Yes it's Friday night, Friday night lights, lights off. Maybe I was supposed to be sipping on that Strawberry Champagne with what I could only describe as goo at the bottom of the glass, as exhibit A of the failed attempt of that MYU Bartender to make a decent somewhat cosmopolitan drink. Maybe I was supposed to be having Dinner with close friends at Leila's. Maybe I was supposed to be talking to YOU on the Phone. And yet, I'm here, naying all above mentioned suggestions and all odds. SO what's in a WALL?

A WALL is something you build in a budding dysfunctional relationship, as part of passive aggressive behavior with your current flame, as part of the so called mating dance, more like a one step unfinished Waltz, unfinished Symphony, unfinished Sympathy of BitterSweet Symphony. (Thank you Beethoven, Thank you Massive Attack). Only to find out that the unfinished Wall will come crumbling on your uncoiffed, unadorned head of hair. Too many negations in one sentence, to let you know that NO, I will not be at MYU tonight.

A WALL is also a shield you build to protect yourself from unwelcome interactions. Only to find out that it is impossible to isolate yourself when you are part of a group. Only to find out that taking a distance DOESN'T actually entail isolating yourself or the "OTHER", taking a distance merely wants YOU to take more precautions. More of a Self Exercise. SO, be Selfish in your rapports, condition yourself to be Selfless with true friends, at least on a theoretical basis, maybe for better communication, but be Self aware of your surroundings and mostly be Self assured that you can be happier if you make those around you happy. SO, YES I'm sleeping a bit cheesier tonight, with a proud and slightly less crooked smile, but NO I will not be having dinner at Leila's. Yes, I AM taking said appropriate distance. This WALL is more of a Glass Door tonight.

A WALL is time and distance. And each day will seem like another brick laid over the previous one, cemented and strengthened by events on either side that are not visible to that other perimeter. And your field of vision narrows, even more, until I become part of your distant Imagination, and you of Mine. So, NO I will not be talking to YOU on the phone today, because, well because, I have traveled Away, because you must be sleeping, who knows in what bed, who knows in what country, who knows if that phone rang, will you be the one answering, will you have that special ringtone still assigned, will you put it on silent to let HER sleep some more?

A WALL is finally the cherished, off white four corners of my bedroom Tonight. SO, YES I shall sleep with the feeling of safety and comfort these cold pieces of lifeless, austere, 24 years old, stones bring me. Goodnight WALL.

And when they've given you their all
Some stagger and fall, after all it's not easy
Banging your heart against some mad bugger's wall.
--Outside The Wall, Pink Floyd.

Food for thought. All this Hummus talk got me Hungry.

We first invented the Alphabet. We saw it was good. And behold it was very good.
So, We invented Hummus.
And then, We invented Tabbouleh.
Nevertheless, We still can't form a government.
But hands off our Hummus and Tabbouleh or as God is our witness we shall make the biggest dish and get into Guinness for such amazing feats!
--Zeit Baladeh 2assil.

Thank You Delirious.

True Story.

Breaking News: A 5'11" foreigner was just run over in Gemmayzeh.
So how random is random? Here I was driving back home, trying to look in all directions, ok maybe not, but driving back home nevertheless, and suddenly out of nowhere, or maybe out of the sidewalk an American lady decides to cross the street. It's Gemmayzeh, it's dark, not that I'm trying to find excuses (well maybe I am), I hit her with my car, very gently I must add since being the SAFE driver that I am, I was doing about 20mph. She starts shouting, I apologize profusely, she picks up her scattered belongings and yells yet once more: How could you not see a 5'11!!!!
I'm sorry. I am. I'm sorry for that woman I almost injured. I'm sorry for my car that she kept slamming and beating. I'm sorry for Lebanon because I'm pretty sure one less tourist will visit our country next year. I made a difference today. I changed the natural course of things. (Not that there's anything to be proud of! :)

The New Man. Four exercises in Utopian Movements.

Here it is, my new life. Well into the medical internship and comfortably installed, maybe a bit too comfortably, seeing how I have become accustomed to do nothing BUT Medicine, I decided to change. Yet again. The circle closes once more and it's about time for rebirth, or just recycle.

It's amazing how much I enjoy the simple things in life, how much I can stand at awe just observing them, describing and analyzing them, try it, NOW, just the fact that you're reading this, you're reading something somebody else was writing, can you picture them typing on the keyboard? Can you see them tilting their head to one side and then a tad backwards, as if pleased to what is coming out at their fingertips, can you see them following the typed letters one after the other and being amazed at how quick they can go, faster, faster! Anyways, Here I am, in front of the screen, this is not a laptop, not this time, this is a PC, in my room. In my field of vision lay a picture, a necklace and a book. The book in question is Pathology 3rd edition of the Board Review Series, an indication that I started studying for my steps (the Board Exam in Med School), TODAY! I read three paragraphs and decided to move on. But an indication nevertheless, something more of an incentive and so the book shall remain in my field of vision.

Just about now, a friend interrupts my line of thought, I interrupt back, there's a roll and I'm on it!

So what is this about? Other than Carpe Diem over and over again? Other than the fact that I believe that just because the wind is high it blows my mind. Other than I LOVE the Moment, this MOMENT! Taking time to observe the most futile things in life make my thoughts rush in, one after the other, and then in complete and utter chaos, I start questioning the meaning of every action, its impact on subsequent ones, its display in front of an audience if there ever was one larger than life itself, than yourself. Think of it, at the hairdresser's, during the morning rounds, when stuck in traffic, what if someone is watching the scene unfold, what if this someone is you detaching yourself and enjoying the show.

Noting people's trivial moves as if in a play, as if aiming to recount them later makes you focus more on details. She was on the phone complaining about how her maid is being demanding. How dare she ask to talk to her family back in Africa? How dare she take advantage of her extreme kindness? And so she's advised to giver her away, to return her as if exchangeable merchandise, but no she wouldn't, she has worked hard to train her like the slave she wanted her to become for 9 months, 9 months! She will not falter or break in front of mere whims and capricious behavior, goddammit she will MAKE her stay! But how dare she take advantage of her extreme kindness? How dare she put a damper on her day and her time for self indulging at the hairdresser's. Anyways...

So I amuse myself, I observe, I think, I exist :)
Why this rant? I've pulled myself together, that's why. Yes, this is me actually pulled together. I decided there are just about enough hours in the day to life live full throttle. From Medicine, to Ballet, to Friends, to everything in between, Hello World, I'm not ready to hibernate just yet!


Speaking of new things, new people, new personalities, multiple personalities, here's an event that took place tonight at the Beirut Art Center. It follows the Ligna Art Works (Focusing on the reception side of radio, LIGNA looks for ways to turn the situation of reception into a performative intervention in a place. Listening to the radio thus becomes a collective production, which bears uncontrollable results.)

So, basically each individual had a walk-man with pre-recorded instructions and short existentialist truths and questions about society, utopia and oneself. Much like an improv' everywhere scenario but a bit more philosophical as to what Utopia is, to suit the artsy antsy.

You listen to the voice in your head telling you to move across the room, to punch someone in the face, to run with fear, to lay on your back and look at the ceiling, just admiring IT. Yes, the ceiling, why the hell not? It's an exercise in conforming and non conforming, an exercise in trusting those around you and sharing new experiences with complete strangers, an exercise in letting go and finding yourself, an exercise in listening and watching.

It's a delight to go through the motions, a delight to watch the others, the ensemble, the individual. Your adrenaline is pumping by the end of the interactive play, especially that most of the participants came in without any preconception as to what awaits them. And then you end the exercise with a dance, with the lights off, under a disco ball and you party like it's 1973! So what if it's an art gallery? What if it's Monday Afternoon? What if you don't know who you're dancing with? Have you ever wondered as to why it is socially acceptable to dance in a Club? Have you ever wondered as to what the owner of said Club must be thinking? For him he created a space, he knows the space when empty, with the lights on, and then he turns them off, he puts on some music and he watches these hordes of people just dancing, moving, laughing, and then all of a sudden, flash forward and the lights are on again, no one is left but the janitor cleaning up the mess, the show is over for the night. What was that? Really, what was that?...


Synopsis of The New Man. Four Exercises in Utopian Movements:

The poet Bertolt Brecht develops the Lehrstueck for a state without classes, where gestures, social positions and by that society as a whole come into play.
The dancer Rudolf von Laban proposes Bewegungschoere, choirs of movement, in which collective vibrations disperse power itself.
The director Wsewolod Meyerhold experiments in the young Soviet Union with biomechanical exercises for his actors to renew their bodies and by that shape a new kind of subjectivity.
And the comedian Charlie Chaplin stumbles across all of these utopian visions and their promises.

Obladi Oblada.

How am I ever going to be able to explain life to my children? How am I ever going to relate these experiences that I went through at one time or another? Will I have to give up this urge to have them share existence or its background as I see it, with every event that adds to and builds on it?

How will they understand that Tante May was not always this lonely, she actually had a husband, Maroun, and boy did he love her! Did he pamper and cherish her! I could only remember them together, her with a radiant smile, him always so cheerful and playful, him who they will never get to meet.

Obladi Oblada Life Goes On!

Silence. Qu'en faire. Enfer.

Ca y est, le blog prend un tournant encore une fois, un peu plus intime comme même. Il se peut que j'efface ces mots-ci dans les jours qui viennent, mais ce soir je veux que toi tu t'exprimes. Et donc, je ne fais que copier la lettre que tu viens de m'envoyer, parce que vraiment que vais je dire? Comment devrais je répondre? Est ce que je suis supposée savoir? Est ce la vraiment ce qui manque? Est ce le silence dont tu parles? Le silence n'est beauté que parce qu'il laisse libre cours à ta propre imagination. A ton propre monologue. Et peut être c'est la raison meme pour laquelle je ne trouve plus de reponse. Et voilà alors, je te laisse inconditionné:

Je comprends le silence et sa force. La clarte de l'esprit, du corps. Dans la jungle de l'intoxication sociale, ou le poignard de l'envie est l’alter ego du fourreau de la compassion, la vie est non seulement devenu polluee mais lourde, compliquee, socio maniaquo systematique. La loi de la jungle sociale du 20eme est une religion hypnotique. Elle preche l'inconscience, l'amadouement, elle opere en silence. Quand au souvenir quand regne le silence, il possede un sentiment, une excitation, une peur, une verite, un battement honnete et pour un millieme millieme de seconde ou l'adrenaline est liberee dans ton sang, ton corps bat, ton coeur bat la chamade, l’excitation te dechire, l’adrenaline te marque, elle explore ton cerveau, elle est la... L'adrenaline marque. La peur, le sursaut, les idees irrecevables des instants de bonheur intense, chaque phenomene qui te stimule a l'adrenaline, qui te retourne a ton souvenir. Je te laisse avec ces mots; encore au silence.

Of Megane or Spectacles.

Meganekko-moe, 眼鏡っ娘萌え, "glasses-girl moe", describes a person who is attracted to fictional characters with eyeglasses...
--Kichiku and Megane.

Ingenue...

For example, if you order me not to die, I will not die, no matter what.

Of Jediism and Religion.

I try not to question religion or faith, I try not to disturb the almighty, myself or the seemingly natural order of things with such existentialist issues. Besides, why would I or anyone for that matter want to annoy HIM? I don't play with fire, I live in positively undeniable denial, and I'm fairly comfortable so be it.
But then I go over articles like this one, and I find myself laughing at the object of my reading. And yet, in the middle of all this rather pleasant commotion, between laughter and nodding in disbelief, I find Daniel Jones' actions bearing an uncanny resemblance to, well, my own...

Single Life.

The worst part must be the drive back home. alone...

Of Concepts And Conceptions.

How does one look like himself if he is only to be perceived by others? If his own definition, his being, are to be determined by how society conceives him? You might tell me all you care about is what you think of yourself. You might say you don't need an audience to judge you, to praise or condemn you, but what about those daily rituals that have become YOU?
Who are you to your lover? Who are you to your parents? Who are you to your grandmother? Who are you to your students? Who are YOU? Aren't you merely a mix of what those same observers think and expect? Aren't you passionate at times, respectful at others, and then cold and inaccessible all of a sudden. Aren't you going to perpetuate the stereotype because maybe just maybe if you don't conform to expectations, you will be nobody? Nobody you can define...
Don't you materialize when you project your image?...

Of Quiet Emergency Rooms.

So what happens when you decide to overnight? Nothing. Being a med student, my duties at the ER end at 9pm, but tonight was different. Tonight, I decided to spend my night at the ER, partly because I was deprived of sleepovers as a child, being the offspring of overprotective parents, partly because I wanted to get the full medical experience after focusing a bit too much on academics during Oral Exam period, and partly because he was there, granted in a different building, but he was...
And so now, at 5am, when I just figured out that my first overnight experience will be nothing more than a sleepover with a medical student, an intern, and a resident who spent the better part of it actually sleeping, while poor me, pillow and adequate space deprived, will have to spend it awake and wired. When I just figured out that the hands-on experience will have to be postponed since "fortunately?" not one single patient showed up, not even an ankle twist. When I just figured out that when he wished me easy duty at 11pm, it was because he will not show up again during the night. When I figured all this out, I decided to write this little blurb and take my car down to corniche.
I have become much more isolated and schizoid than I ever was, I have become fond of spending more and more time alone, and this is one of those rare moments where I can tell you that I am happy despite the apparently bland if not frustrating circumstances. I am happy I'm alive, I am happy I feel content. I am at peace. And I shall set sail.

خليك بعد شوي

مش مطلوب منّي صدّق كل شي بتقول
ولا مطلوب منّك تفهم كل شي عم قول