Gentle Robbery

Sonnet 40 

Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all;

What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?

No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;

All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more.

Then, if for my love, thou my love receivest,

I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest;

But yet be blam'd, if thou thy self deceivest

By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.

I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,

Although thou steal thee all my poverty:

And yet, love knows it is a greater grief

To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury.

Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,

Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes.

- William Shakespeare

What do you have indeed? I love this sonnet. Every time you read it, you will think of it in a different way. Let go of your preconceived thoughts, blot out your emotions, imagine a big white empty canvas, then take your heart, and pour these words in gently. The feelings that will spill out onto the white sheet may surprise you. Don't force their direction, let them be. Then tell me - please, what chords were pulled and what music was formed, the beat that it moved to. 

Ramadan

It’s Ramadan on Wednesday inshallah.

I couldn’t begin to describe how much I had wished this year to spend Ramadan in Egypt. I’ve spent two years simpering over this idea, the idea of celebrating Ramadan in all its glory, the way Christmas is celebrated here. The lights, the festive atmosphere, the joy, the spirituality, I want it all. I want to see little children running around with coloured fawanees, hear the adhan going off in the early hours of dawn, the bustle of people as they wish each other Ramadan kareem.

Certain circumstances last year hinted that this year maybe my dream would come true. I would be able to spend Ramadan finally in Egypt, I’d be able to witness it myself as opposed to waiting for the pictures Nema promised me and has yet to take for me. Sadly, life doesn’t go the way one plans, and with Umrah, Lebanon and Jordan all planned this summer, I was able to calm the yearning that had overwhelmed me with the vague promise from my dad that next year.

Next year.

I don’t know what next year has planned for us. I try to be hopeful. But how? How, when I see flowers plucked before they bloom? How, when I see the blood flowing in the streets? How, when I see people silent to such inhumanity?

A beautiful sight. Imagine spending your Ramadan in the streets of Egypt, praying behind the shyookh, e3tikaf for the sake of Allah, and at the same time defending your land and your rights. Spending the month of worship worshiping - with every act. Ya Allah.

Just a last note: Don’t you dare tell me I can’t comment because I’m not Egyptian, don’t you dare assume just because we don’t live in the same country we don’t think and feel their pain. Don't.

Ramadan Kareem.

 

5 Habits Bloggers Need To Stop - HBBC [20]

As it was my turn to pick the new HBBC topic, I wanted to go for a light cheerful read after all those previous deep thought provoking ones, and chose 5 habits bloggers need to stop, which – instead of proving a light joking read turned into a session of personal reflection for the others. Great work guys.

What a long, long week. All I need to do is grip onto sanity for the next 3 days, and then hope that blissful release will come claim me. In the meantime, I shall once again flaunt my readers pass, and instead of critiquing my own blog (which perhaps should be more aptly titled Thoughts of a Depressed Maniac) I will point out actual writer habits which need to be stopped.

Without further ado, I present you with the first pet peeve of mine:

1. Over-Thinking / Over-Working

Sometimes, just sometimes, you try too hard. You want a perfect polished piece, you fashion the rock into a diamond, and then bring out the coarse paper to embellish it, attempting to smooth over all the jagged edges. Simple words no longer seem good enough for you, so you throw in the most complicated sounding words you’ve ever been taught and try to look for the word which combines the most number of the alphabet in it to use.

Relax. I promise you, short words can sound just as impressive, more so actually because they resonate quicker. Long words are cumbersome (see?) and they just don’t roll as easily on your tongue. Remember, no iron can pierce the heart with such force as a period put in the right place. A period, not sesquipedalian behaviour.

But then again, what do I know, I just suffer from hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia.

2. Jumping on the Bandwagon

We all love a free ride, who doesn’t? And on a bandwagon? Double the joy!

For those of you that haven’t seen one before, this is what it looks like:

Looks fun doesn’t it? That might just be the reason everyone decides to jump onto it; if everyone is talking about the elections, I must too. Controversy? Flaming? Consumerism? I’m in! Some go out of their way to talk about controversial posts merely to excite a reaction, others go out of their way to avoid falling into mainstream, that they end up forming their own mainstreaming group.

Talking about something current, something popular, or something in the mainstream is not necessarily something to avoid, the problem lies when you write out of expectation, merely parroting what everyone knows or thinks. Write because you have something to say about it. Write because you feel strongly about it.

We read for you as you.

3. Feeling smart

You’re smart, I admit it. But there’s smarter than you. Quit the condescending behaviour.

Far be it from me to criticise another’s accent, but when watching for the Egyptian satirist - and I use the word loosely - Bassem Youssef, hearing him make fun of an elderly sheikh’s English as he says the word Titanic, and then following it up with his English interviews on the American T.V shows – all I can say is really? Please make sure you don’t live in a glass house before stoning others, it’s an unseemly sight.

Ok I couldn't resist - really Bassem really? Do you actually think you have nice English?

Ditto some blogs.

4. Clichés

Clichés, quotes, the whole shebang. Please use them wisely.

And the crème de la crème award goes to...

5. Requesting feedback to feel offended

This really is the icing on the cake. As a writer, you write for one reason – to please your readers. If you write for any other reason, namely, for yourself, you my dear friend, you’re ranting. Nothing more, nothing less.

Now that we’ve established who the writer is, it follows by continuity that who best to give you feedback than your reader? A writer doesn’t give you necessarily the feedback you require, because the writer will be assessing you based on their standards, their writing techniques, their individuality, all whilst forgetting to adjust the standard. A reader however, reads for the sake of reading.  

Writers are a decidedly insecure lot, they will often ask for criticism in order to hone their writing techniques, and try and lead you into believing they highly respect your feedback. Which is great, feedback is seldom given out of malice or jealousy, so garnering feedback is always a good pursuit.

But then, you take offence.

Someone sent me a personal statement a few months ago to proofread and correct, which I did without a second’s thought. I took the liberty of rephrasing many of the sentences with the author’s permission to do as it was an official document waiting to be submitted.

The person in question was very grateful, and loved the changes I’d made – in fact they even managed to get an acceptance from it. A few days later, upon asking me for my honest opinion on their English, I found 43 – no I’m not exaggerating, 43 messages waiting in my inbox for me, informing me that their English is impeccable, that I should not be so up myself, that in fact they studied in private American schools their entire life, have family in America holding the green card (impressive!), have visited English speaking countries a number of times, and that I should not be proud of my English actually because as a Palestinian I should go learn my own culture and language first.

43 messages. Why ask for an honest objective opinion if all you want to hear is praise?

See, I don’t ask for criticism, my only demands are reading my posts, laughing to yourself, and then indulging me with a comment.

Only ask for what you actually want.  

Letters [1]

Dearest brother,

It’s been some time now hasn’t it?

What do girls without elder brothers do? Where do they go for comfort? Who will wipe their tears and hug away their worries? Who will become angry when someone is the cause of their upset and pain? Whose hackles will be raised against a slight against them? Oh, poor them! They have no one to rush to, no one to hold and soothe them, no one to tease and cajole a smile onto their faces.

I wish I could tell everyone who has a brother to become his best friend. To go talk to him, start opening up to him, start asking for his advice and to let him in their lives. To squeeze herself into his life until he becomes close to her too and starts seeking her out for her help, for her to brighten his day.

And you tell your friends, tell the brothers you know if they have sisters to hug them every day. Tell them to only show them gentleness. Let them love their sisters, take them into their confidence, wipe away their tears, pull them into hugs and comfort them. Tell them to joke around with them kindly, to tease them, to smile brightly in their presence and spoil them.

Everyone must be jealous of us don't you think?

***

Isa died. He was helping out with medical aid by the Syrian-Turkish borders when the hospital was shelled. I don’t want to do anything. Too many people I know are dying. Too many.

The last time I spoke to him was probably when I was 8 years old. So why won’t my tears still? He died one of the best deaths, his family’s hearts are filled with love and acceptance, why is it so hard on me? I wish you were here. I wish I could cry to you. My throat is so choked up from stifling my sobs, my headscarf is brought so forward to shield my eyes and I’m so tired from hiding my tears. I’m tired of keeping everything in. I want to soak your shirt with my tears and not have to hide them. Why aren’t you here?

***

We’re getting the kitchen floor tiled, you saw how badly the last one botched up the job of wooden flooring, and when mama glimpsed a mouse she put her foot down and decided she couldn’t live in the same house as it. It was either her or the mouse. So she asked around, got quotes, and brought in the cheapest one.

Do you know how heavy tiles are? One packet weighs 25kg. I thought of you when I carried them from the car, how if you were here you’d refuse to let me carry one. I can’t say I would have objected too strongly, those things are heavy you know, and my inner feminist refused to show any weakness. Would you be able to have carried them without working up a sweat? Or would you also have been denying your weakness and living up to the macho man look? A part of me would be awed if men were actually strong enough to carry them effortlessly, and a part of me goes out to them if they merely have to act strong. Which one is it?

By the time I was on the third packet I felt my arms were ready to fall off, I tried picking up the fourth and my hands simply refused to exert any force. I simply couldn’t lift any more. Mama came to carry it instead of me, but that was even worse, so I gritted my teeth and walked away with a smile as though I was carrying the lightest feather around.

Damn those 25kg.

You should have been around today to do that hard work is all I’m saying. I mean, that’s the whole point of an older brother isn’t it? I’d have stood and watched with a smile while you picked them up effortlessly. In fact I’d probably have gone further, teased you and said that it wasn’t a struggle at all, anyone could carry them.

***

Having a builder at home puts me in a precarious position. Nobody is at home other than me, and I can’t very well be alone can I? The irony is the person that offered to stay over. Remember when it was said that I was the most important person and if I just spoke up everyone would stand by my side? Well I spoke out. Nothing changed. My biggest nightmare is now true. Now somehow, somehow, I have to live, not just with what happened, but with knowing it happened, with knowing that I wasn’t important enough, with being dismissed.

***

Do you remember the flour fight we had when we were younger? We left such a mess, nobody was impressed (I personally thought the white was a becoming colour on the sofas but for some strange reason nobody else seemed to think so), and we got into so much trouble. Well, you were in trouble the most, because firstly, you’re the eldest, and secondly because I pinned the blame on you. You accepted it all solemnly and admitted to erring even though it was my idea to start with. That’s another thing I miss, your protectiveness.

***

Your friend Ahmad is back from Syria. He’s badly wounded, and probably scarred emotionally after watching his cousin die in his arms. I’m going out with his sister in a few days, we have a pizza and cheesecake date actually (see what you’re missing out on!), and how am I meant to cheer her up when my heart is so tired from all the deaths? They’ve already lost hundreds of relatives.

I have so much anger inside me. If anyone in our family decides to give me a repeat of their nonchalance towards Syria this summer they will be getting an earful. Every single one of them is my brother. Every single one of them is my sister. Every single one of them is my child. How dare the world be so self centred?

Lie to me and tell me it will be ok. Tell me this horror will end soon.

Stay safe won’t you? 

N.B: Isa Abdul-Rahman studied Medicine at Imperial University and volunteered to help bring medical aid to the refugees in the Turkish-Syrian borders, where the hospital he was working in was shelled yesterday morning 22/05/2013 by the Syrian Regime and passed away. To continue his good work, donations to Syria are being made in his memory here. Please donate generously. 

Our Generation - HBBC [19]

Slightly overdue (ok more than slightly) but another post for the HBBC picked by Marwa Hassan – Our Generation.

Being the diligent student I am, when I was meant to be preparing for my Spanish exam (remind me again why I thought it would be a good idea to study Spanish whilst attempting a masters?) I vibered (the verb, to viber: the abuse of the Bell Invention due to unfavourable financial circumstances) an Egyptian and, as Egyptians tend to do, she spoke about Egypt.

What surprised me the most in our conversation was despite her being one of the most cheerful optimistic people I know, consistently laughing throughout the conversation (anyone guessed yet whom?) when the state of affairs came up, things took a turn for the sombre.

“I’m tired Noor, I’m tired”

I’m surprised at how disheartened the youth of today have become, most of all the Egyptian youth. These are the very people that endured hardship after hardship? These are the people that went about chanting erfa3 rasak fo2? This is the generation that brought change, the generation that stands a chance, and they feel disheartened! The hardest battle was fought and won – and yes, what is coming will be a long and difficult path, they will be rebuilding their civilisation, it won’t be easy, decades of traditions and insecurities will have to be thrown out and replaced, whole mentalities changed, and younger generations educated.

يا شباب، يا شباب و شابات المستقبل 

I have one question for you – was Rome built in a day?

The more I read on twitter, the more I’m saddened by the state the youth have let themselves fall into. I for one am highly optimistic. What is there to not be optimistic about? Please, take a step back and just think. When I was growing up in London and people would ask me where I come from, the answer Palestine was far too complicated, hardly anyone knew where that was geographically and the ones that did assumed I had mistaken it for Israel. In fact, more oft than not, I would save myself the trouble and say Lebanon (Currently I'm embracing the world is my home ideology and informing people whichever mix strikes my fancy first, last I heard I was half Palestinian, a quarter Greek, an eighth Malaysian and the rest Turkish)

When I compare it to now, the amount of English people that not only are they educated in the Palestinian – Israeli conflict, but that they fight for justice, simply astounds me. Who knew what Palestine was then?

It’s the same with Egypt, while I respect all the criticisms flying about, it seems to me they’ve forgotten the one most vital fact – they can criticise now. If I could just tell two things to the youth of today, the first would be, observe and reach your own conclusions – don't let the media and those around you influence you, and the second would be – never give up hope.

Remember – we are the future. We can, and we will change and make this world a better place. 

Cooking Clean

I’ve found a new distraction. Trying to make healthy food taste good. No, wait, really, I’m not being ironic. This June is full of weddings, one for each weekend booked so far, and in one months’ time I will be a bridesmaid. So, time for detox!

Now I picked up this 28 day detox programme, and first look, it looked easy. Carbs and fruit first two days, protein and veg next two days, and then delicious healthy fat the last three days. The final effect? Beautiful, glowing skin and hair, radiant complexion and a clean flushed glossy inside. Or so it was promised.

There was a slight problem though, one which I discovered a few days in. No wheat, no sugar, no dairy, no corn, no white rice – wait what will I eat?! Giving up wheat these past two weeks was quite difficult, it’s not unhealthy per se, but agriculturally speaking, wheat is reared up to withstand the harshest of conditions, thunders, lightening and rain, and yet we expect our bodies to digest it.

Having exams could only mean one thing – procrastination. Given a list of permissible ingredients for each phase, into the kitchen I went and like any good engineer, innovation was the key.

Please note that all of the below are wheat free, sugar free, dairy free and practically fat free. The healthiest foods on the market!

Apple and Oat Muffins

 This experiment didn't work out as well as I hoped, but with oat flour, a touch of  cinnamon and nutmeg it was good to go. They didn't rise much - but they were edible and gave me plenty ideas for a fruit loaf.

Great for a morning breakfast, fruits and grains - maybe I'll introduce strawberries and other fruits to it.

Carrot Cake Crepe

Now these were a delight, they were in so much demand, and they were scrumptious! First time I added baking powder and made it into a pancake, but I decided that crepes were really my type of thing.

Sweet Potato Chocolate Cake

Oh God. I shall let the picture speak for itself. This was absolutely delicious. 

Sweet Potato Baked Crisps with Sea Salt

One thing I really missed was crisps. Lovely ready salted crisps. Sweet potato was listed as a vegetable on this detox programme, and that officially made them unlimited. Sliced thin, lots of sea salt, and baked. Mmm delicious to snack on.

Almond Chicken Curry

Things only got better. 

Stir Fried Noodles

What can I say? NO FAT. NO WHEAT. NO OIL. 

God these were amazing. Oh God. My cooking is amazing. 

15 days down, 6 meals a day, too much time in the kitchen, no wheat, no sugar, no dairy, no fats. Impressive. Oh my is that ba2lawe? I think my experimenting days are over! Ba2lawa here I come.

Why We Lie - HBBC [18]

Welcome to another HBBC post, where the question of discussion is Why Everybody Lies, chosen by the delectable Nema.

Early April I took part in a children’s educational camp, one which combines outdoor scout activities and Islamic knowledge together - four days where the children can leave the house atmosphere, have fun, whilst also learning discipline and infuse more Islamic values. The theme this year was Islamic Manners, (أخلاق الطفل المسلم) and the girls I was responsible for were a feisty bunch ages ranging from 11 – 14.

I’d gone in the hope of being able to help as much as I could, to give back as much as I can and provide support. I’m an organised person who likes making to do lists and allocating time slots for everything, even if I end up easily distracted, I like being prepared mentally. Needless to say, even though this camp came during exam season and I needed to write up 20,000 words for my research project and my parents were away - I agreed to it. I had to play house, make sure my sister was looked after, look after my grandmother who incidentally fell ill this precise time, pack our bags, study, model my pressure drop, write up the report, humour guests who kept dropping by to check up on my grandmother, and research and plan for this camp. Outdoor activities, treasure hunts, icebreakers, and most importantly Islamic manner lessons. I sat down, and one of the manners I’d chosen to research was honesty. I planned and worked, listening to lectures, and writing notes. I went to the camp, fully prepared, with a strict schedule worked out, wanting to teach, but I came back with lessons learnt from them too; innocence and pure love, how it’s ok if things don’t go exactly to plan, how to be flexible and how to think on your feet.

When we sat down to talk about honesty, the girls were pretty insistent on asking one question, “so when can we lie?” They wanted to know if they could give compliments, if they could say they’re ok when someone asks, if they could decline something an aunt offered them even though they craved it out of politeness. When was it ok for them to lie?

We probed these questions, and we tried asking, why do people lie? What is the top reason for the lies being told? Take a minute and think, what is the primary reason behind lying?

Fear.

That is why we lie. A mother asking her child if he ate the last biscuit. A friend asking you if you thought the dress looked good on her. A brother asking if you’re ok. An aunt wondering if you liked her food.

We fear repercussions. Consequences of saying the truth. Sometimes the fear is tangible, a child doesn’t want to be punished, a person doesn’t want others to think badly of them. But at other times the feeling of fear is so far buried we don't recognise it. We’re scared of opening up. We’re scared of looking too deeply. We’re scared of boring them with our troubles. We’re scared of sounding like a downer all the time. We’re scared of having nothing else to say. We’re scared of offending them. We’re scared of being judged. That is what it all boils down to, fear. We don’t have the strength to deal with our truthfulness on a daily basis.

It’s really interesting to wonder why this fear controls us. Consciously, you’re not afraid, you have nothing to hide, but yet, the lie always comes easier, the first thing that falls of your tongue.

We don't want to be understood, we don’t want to believe that all humans are identical and that they face similar emotions. We want to stay unique, we relish feeling misunderstood, we enjoy feeling unique, that no one could possibly understand what we’re going through – and yet there is a slight fear that if they did understand, they would reject us. A bundle of contradictions, we try to muddle our way through life without thinking too hard.

“Be honest for one day and see how many friends you lose”

“The average fib rate is three for every 10 minutes of conversation”

Try it. Let’s all try to be more honest, with ourselves, and with others. I’m not saying to go hurt everyone’s feelings, I’m saying to choose your words carefully. Don’t want to say you’re miserable? El7amdulah. Don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings? Find a way around it. But let’s pledge that from this moment onwards, we’ll all try to be more honest people. 

Waking Up

I feel I owe myself an apology.

For letting myself fall and not bothering to get up. For looking upwards and believing that that was all the action required instead of standing. For giving out false smiles and letting the nightmares haunt me when I’m alone at night. But most of all, for not throwing myself completely in the trust of Allah and letting trials weaken my faith instead of strengthening it.

I miss words. Not the words and derivations I have staring out at me from textbooks, but the good kind word that will take you by the hand and take you on an adventure. I haven’t curled up with a good story for a long time. I haven’t had the time or the patience. I've neglected my blog, because I grew tired of my depressing thoughts, I bored myself with the same thoughts, with my repetitiveness and because the spark that let words flow couldn't be started again. I was asked to write a leavers article for my university and I felt the words were being clawed out of me.

I came across this tweet a few days ago, and well, I hope its owner will forgive me for borrowing it, but I wanted to share it:

Reading your own work can either be too revolting or too enjoyable. Nothing in between.

Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Sometimes I reread my words and I laugh out loud as though I am reading someone else’s work, I praise their humour, their wit, admire their language and flow, the ease of reading, and then remember modesty. Other times, I read over – whether articles, essays, tweets, blogposts, facebook updates – and I’m revolted, wondering who allowed this person to garble such rubbish and butcher language. I like to hope that not everyone is as harsh a critic as me, otherwise I would never share any drizzle, I’d keep it marinated for a few nights, over-read it a few times, and if I can bear it still, then it would be deemed worthy of sharing to the world.

The HBBC is starting up again, but I wanted to ease myself back into writing first. I wanted to catch up on my thoughts, become more accepting and make new resolutions. I haven’t forgotten my promise to you Engi. You’ll get yours soon inshallah. And you Hibaq.

I was caught up in a discussion with someone, and they shared a lesson to a sheikh, and intentions came up in it. The sheikh mentioned something, which regardless of his point, shook me. He was discussing something completely different, but I still want to share it.

النية الصالحة لا تصلح العمل الفاسد 

 Now, if we were to speak in fiqh terms, what the sheikh was talking about was that a bad act cannot be justified with the “oh actions are but by intentions” excuse we justify ourselves with.

But, I didn’t think of that. What struck me suddenly was, my عمل فاسد was simply, waiting around. My good intention, was me sitting around asking Allah to guide me, to help me, to show me, to assist me, to make everything bad go away, to make every pain dull, to make every insecurity fade and to make every shred of doubt torn. I was sitting around, praying for faith, for guidance, for belief. I wanted to be guided – but what did I do to find the guidance? Asking for it is not enough. No matter how good my intention might have been, no matter how genuine I may have been in seeking to be guided to the right path – my 3amal – or lack of it in my case, was batel, fased, wrong. You pray, you fast, you give up things you love, you try to improve, you obey Allah, you do everything, and then you hope for guidance and thabat. Not ask Allah for guidance and conviction and then believe that acts of worship and obedience would come to you easily.

Maybe my analogy is wrong. Maybe you disagree. But maybe, just maybe, someone else might come across this and benefit from this trigger. 

Aspirations of Pain

This heaviness has settled upon my heart, despite everything. Despite the smiles I try to sprinkle, the feeling of goodwill I try to project and the kindness I try to filter my tone with, despite them all, my heart is heavy.

I don't want a heavy heart. I don't want to keep a mental list of all the things that you've hurt me with, I don't want to have pride as my ally nor do I want to remember every tear I cried for you. With my whole heart, I wish I could forget every sadness inflicted on me by another and simply be a rose without thorns in their life. To drift in quietly, offer them beauty and joy, and silently leave. I'm tired of reproaching you, vocally and in my heart. I'm tired of dying to talk to you but being hesitant because of our past.

I wonder, are there people like that? Those that can give and give and give, ones that never tire of giving, that don't hold up misguided impressions of their importance.

I'm not sure of who I am exactly, or at least, I know but refuse to believe it. I'll refuse to believe it, and I'll work so hard to prove myself wrong. I thought I had an immeasurable amount of giving, that I could keep giving without draining myself, but everything has caught up with me. I thought if I loved everyone hardly enough my heart would soften and I would know selfishness no more.

Would you believe me if I told you I try every night to forgive? And I think I've forgiven, but the memory is still there, the pain never goes, the silent reproach is always there. Do not ever think I enjoy it, don't ever think I wouldn't happily give up this trait if I could, that I am trying, trying so hard to do so.

Forgive me for painting you in such an unforgiving light, the flaw doesn't lie with you, it lies within me. I will forever play the martyr unknowingly no matter how hard I wish I could change, inside, I will always feel a sense of injustice, dealt by you, dealt by experience and dealt by the world. I feel wronged by humanity as a whole, but even if I have been, how blissful would it be to simply accept it as your destiny and move on?

Some view forgetting a weakness, the phrase, "fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me" uttered right and left, but really, forgetting is a strength. You know the friends that you always reach out to? That you're always the first to initiate conversation with? That everytime you tell them hello - you mentally list all the times you've reached out and the meagre times they've remembered you. Could you stop your subconscious doing that? It takes strength to do so.

You know صلة الرحم? A companion asked the prophet pbuh, "even if they cut you out oh prophet?" He replied gently that is when you reach out - you reach out to those that cut you, el sela doesnt happen with those that you're already connected with.

See, we should forgive and forget. May Allah forgive us all, and help us to achieve this, and let us be like the man who was guaranteed heaven purely for making sure before he slept every night he forgave everyone and didn't hold the slightest ill will towards anyone.

I will try to forgive you fully, despite it all. Forgive me.

 والكاظمين الغيظ والعافين عن الناس والله يحب المحسنين

 [ آل عمران : 134 ]

Wet Ink

I miss you.
Words I've written so often that the ink didn't have time to dry.
I miss you.
Words I've whispered to myself in the quiet of the night.

I miss you, yet I can't tell you. I miss you and I miss you, and then I miss you some more, I miss you until I no longer know what a state that doesn't miss is anymore. I miss you with all the colours in the rainbow, with all the snow frosting the fields, with all the sun scorching the sands and all the rain pelting the river. I miss you and you don't know. I miss you and you don't want to know. I miss you, despite myself, despite my pride, despite my hurt. I miss you while very much disliking missing you.
For pride is our downfall. But if the last vestige of pride is taken away, what else would remain?

I miss you, but I won't tell you. I miss you, yes, but I won't say it to you. I miss you, but I'll just have to hide my tears from you.

For I miss you.




Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

الذكريات

 Incomplete. Rough. Unpolished. Whatever.

تساقطت علي أوراق الذكريات
أمطار صور متقطعة تجلدني

ظلام الليل الكاحل يغمروني
و صوتكِ ينزف و ينادي

وعدٌ كتب

حبرها دمع العين
محال النسيان

Senryu

Your words
So like home
Again

I wish
Time would go
Back

If only
All the hurt
Goes

Harry Potter and The Casual Vacancy

Written for the UCLU publications - Book Review 

Let’s cut to the chase, no book will ever be as good as Harry Potter. No book will ever surpass it, nothing J.K Rowling or another writes, will ever match up to it to any diehard Harry Potter fans (and there’s a little bit more than a few of us out there).  Apprehensive excitement greeted the news of another book by the nation’s most loved author, all wanting to gleam a little more Potter-magic, but already knowing it to be irreplaceable.

I popped into Waterstones last week to get hold of a required textbook for one of my modules, and after a half-hour long workout session with a lot of tiptoeing stretch exercises, heavyweight - hey books are heavy you know - lifting and neck craning, I had gone through the entire section to no avail. Undefeated, I decided I’d indulge myself in a book simply for the effort in actually planning to get a textbook for potential future studying.

Looking around, “The Casual Vacancy” was displayed all over; I picked it up and proceeded to engage into a two minute monologue worthy of a Shakespearean theatre where I mentally argued for and against the merits of indulging oneself. Being the poor (gullible) student I am, the “shiny £6 off!” sticker screamed out to me and had me believe it was a worthy investment at a bargain.

The garish red and yellow covered book begs to be judged by its cover; lacking fashion subtlety if nothing else, it comes in a large awkward size heavy on an aching students arms. The font is too large for an adult fiction and chapters are short and disconnected, weaving individual characters into a typical village gossipy petty war not dissimilar to that of Maeve Binchy. Set in the seemingly idle fictional town of Pagford, Rowling slowly begins unearthing its true face and we get caught up in village politics as the councillor Barry Fairbrother leaves a place on the council with his sudden death. This incident then fuels the remainder of the novel and provides the catalyst in unveiling the facade Pagford has hidden behind.

A story of drugs, racism, rape and domestic violence, this story is definitely as far removed from magic as possible, where the darkness of muggles is portrayed broadly. Ambitious and tackling a number of interesting concepts, Rowling attempts to cast a window in the darkest parts of society, where greed and power dominate, however she lacks finesse and poise in doing so. The characters, interesting in themselves, are broad and underdeveloped, often shallowly bad. There is no subtlety, no contradictory human nature and ultimately no hope for humanity – however the political overtones are frightfully clear.

Unveiling the middle class snobbery and the waywardness of the lower class war, a novel fraught with teenage problems, highlighting the deep chasm between them and adults, the narrow-mindedness and the liberal thinking, a place where different worlds clash and can never meet, it seems Rowling has stretched herself with an ambitious undertaking to deal with them all.

One can see where Rowling aims to take this novel, and a grudging admiration should be given to her trying her hand at something completely different. The clear political ideals can be seen, as well as her insistence in portraying the ‘real’ world and removing all disillusionment. Perhaps if a more expressive view were adopted and not the clinical detachment it was written in, readers would have been more appeased and felt themselves transported, instead of shuffling along slowly waiting for the momentum to build up. The topics, whist ambitious, lack the heartfelt emotion that would make the readers grow attached and empathise more.

The first half of the book is a bit heavy handed and slow to work with as the reader is buried under details and paltry politics, however if you have the patience to trudge through the first three hundred pages, to engross yourself with a stark reality, your fortitude is awarded later as the tale picks up. Whilst reaching the end of a book is typically dissatisfying for an avid bookworm, most endings are let downs, in The Casual Vacancy, the ending surpasses the book itself and leaves you with a feeling of contentment towards its satisfying ending.

The most enjoyable aspect of this book was the curiosity it arouses out of people; random strangers stop you and ask how you’re finding the book and what it’s like. The last time such a book provided this euphoric sense of bookworm unity was Shantaram – the most exotic 950 pages of autobiography you will ever chance upon. So for all the lost 1^st year freshers in need of a serious icebreaker, walk around campus holding The Casual Vacancy. A shout out to a girl called Zahra whom I know nothing about except that she studies psychology for telling me that I’m awesome and she’d like to read the book next. If my review hasn’t put you off the book (and it shouldn’t!) – come find me.  

HBBC [17] - Social Obligations

Welcome to another post by the HBBC, where all the members (other than me obviously – please take a minute to touch wood) are slacking and so this is an indirect plea to tell them to please pull up their socks. Or else.

When I hear the words, ‘social obligation’ my mind goes to two common questions, the first: “El nas sho bada t2ool?” (What will the people say?) and its rebuttal, “w ana mali bel nas?” (What have I got to do with the people?) Life will often put you in a position where you are doing one of either; worry what will people think, or do it regardless and say I’m doing nothing wrong, I can’t live my life for the people, they will always talk.

Both have equal claim on us I believe, in one way we will never be able to please everyone, and social taboos and constraints will always apply to us but we shouldn’t let it control and dictate our lives. Society is not always right, for instance, staying stuck in an abusive relationship because of the stigma of divorce is not a solution.

I remember a story we read in Arabic lessons for Jo7a. At that time we didn’t really know anything about Jo7a, he was just the name of the character, and I still remember the colourful pictures. Jo7a and his son were walking to the market, but they only had one donkey. Jo7a told his son to ride the donkey and they headed into the market. People started pointing and whispering, muttering, “look at the disrespectful boy, a lazy youth letting his poor old father walk!”

The son then got off and offered Jo7a the donkey and they carried on walking. Soon they passed another group of people who began commenting angrily, “What a selfish dad! Letting his poor young boy walk while he rests comfortably!” Of course by now they could only think of one other solution, both to ride on the donkey together. As they carried on towards the market, they passed another group who began hurling insults about the cruelty of the two men, “Have they no heart? The poor donkey burdened by the weight!”

By now you can imagine poor Jo7a was at his wits end trying to figure out how best to react, so feeling sorry for the donkey, he and his son carried it. Needless to say you can imagine the laughs that were directed at them. The end of this tiring story (you think you had it bad? I had to read it in Arabic!) was that Jo7a tells his son some wise words, “ارضاء الناس غاية لا تدرك”

(By the way aren’t you guys impressed I actually remembered that phrase? I know I am. Actually I only remembered the first three words, I googled the rest. Go on, you know I deserve a comment just for that beautiful effort. Yallah don't be stingy!)

The point of that long winding story is – don't try to please everyone, because you won’t be able to. Lord knows I try, I go round in circles and circles trying to make sure everyone is happy somehow...and really, there is nothing more exhausting and tiring. Yes sometimes some people deserve an effort to please them, but on a constant basis? Do what you feel is right.

But, and this is a big but, I want to end on a slightly different contradictory note. We do have obligations to society, even if we resent it at times. You’re not living alone, you live with people, you need to accommodate these people, and frankly, if you’re not willing to – I hear there’s space on the moon.

Someone once told me they remember every face that attended the funeral of their mother, but not a single face in her daughter’s wedding. Because, cheesy as it may sound, people need you, - الناس للناس

So, final words of advice – don't let society dictate your every move and the way you live. Do what you think is right, but remember, as long as you share oxygen with some other mortal beings – you have obligations towards them.

It will be nice to see how many of you guys ignore this whole wise chunk and comment something like oh btw Noor you spelt something wrong in Arabic. Apologies in advance!