Dear God

Dear God:

Can you hear me? Can you read me?….. Are you there?

Today I heard the news from Sasha, I will avoid the trivial question of why, I will avoid all the hopeless mourning of how, but I need to know where, God I need to know where. I need to know where is the sense and logic of crossing her life with mine and Sasha’a like this, and then changing her direction like that, in a road, where neither me nor Sasha will be able to follow.. Where can I find her now? How can I tell her “it’s okay” and at the same time realize to my self that, indeed, it is okay for people like her do exist, and that I am not alone, and that my experience and hers are of one color? How can I find her, take her hand and show her my secret places in the womb of Damascus, where when those dark days came once, I found shelter? She would have shared these small spots with me, and neither of us would have felt alone.. How can find her and laugh with her now, tell her my small details of adventure, and ask her about hers, and laugh, just laugh with her? Why did happen this way? Why did she come and go from my life so fast, untraced, uncolored, and unshaped?

Where is she now?

How can I tell her that, without having spoken to her, she became a close figure?

I know you will remain silent, dear God. I know my questions are non of your specialty, but in a moment of weakness, my sudden shock and need for answers retained my primitive belief in you. Where else should I go with all this unexplained pain I feel.

 

And.. Dear Nathalie,

Can you hear me? Do you read me? I am sure you do..

It is in such strange way in life that me and you orally met, I’m just a name to you as much as you are to me, but more over, this name had a body, and it was reflected in my own mirror. I have no clue, maybe it’s the fact of art, and maybe it’s the fact that you are in Tunis right now, that I feel what I feel at this moment, but further than that, I cannot explain such shock the news about you caused, and then the news about your departure, also caused. Why didn’t we have the chance? Why didn’t you tell me the story of that day, when you were shocked with how art rejected you? Or that story of the other day, when your sacred privacies were violated, and you had then to stand for your self, and feel alone for the rest of the world? You know, you wouldn’t have needed to share these with me, I was there, and by the moment I heard these stories uttered by someone else I felt that, I shouldn’t have felt alone, you shouldn’t have.. I felt that I wanted to tell you about all the other stories, all the other days, even those dull and empty details of my most senseless days.. I felt I wanted to seek your advice in most trivial matters and choices, but also in my deepest, you think I should go on? I should leave? You maybe wouldn’t have given the answer, but surely have given the relief of listening. I wanted to ask you about Tunis, about your favorite color, about your favorite sort of art, I wanted to ask you about you, and about me. I feel desperate and broken, not having known enough about you to tell now, to tell the world, and to tell to my self, why was it so fast Nath? What can I say to my self now having hoped I found a sister the day I meet you? A true sister?

Rest in peace now, I just… I just nothing

 

 

Sasha, you’re the only one I know to exist…… why did this happen!

لحظة الساعتين

أن يطول بك العمر دون أن تعرف أبداّ أن كياناّ هناك، موجود. دون أن تدرك ما معنى ذلك.. دون أن تدرك أي معنى.

و بلحظة واحدة.. ستخبرك السماء عن هذا الكيان.. و ستفسح جناتها لأجل أن تدرك هذا الشرح. لأجل أن تدرك دفئه. إنها ذات اللحظة، التي تتضاعف فيها حواسك الضامرة و تصبح عشراً.. فتشعر و تشعر و تشعر، كما لم تشعر من قبل. و هي ذات اللحظة التي تتراص فيها حياتك الصغيرة فيصبح كل ما فيها ممتلئً و ذا معنى، فتفيض نفسك إلى نفسك لتحب مدينتك و أعياد ثقافتها، تحب حياتك و الحياة.. وطنك و كل الأوطان.. كل شيء.. أن تحب كل شيء. إنها اللحظة التي تجتمع فيها كل دندنات الطفولة التي ظننت أنها ذبلت مع أغاني تلك الصباحات التي أرغمت على الإستيقاظ فيها من أجل امتحان، و أينما حللت حينها، سمعت ذات الصوت، في المرآة، في الشارع، في الجدران الصامتة، و في الدخان المنبعث من كل فنجان قهوة صباحية في دمشق .. تبتسم.. فكل شيء حتى التاسعة من تلك الصباحات، و من هذا الصباح، و من كل صباح، يسمع فيروز، و يغني فيروز، و يصلي لفيروز، ليصبح فيروز.

هذه اللحظة التي تختصرك رضيعاً عطشاً فترويك، طفلاً يلهو فتشاركك اللعب، مراهقاً غاضباً فتعلمك الحلم، طالباً متململاً و شاباً قلقاً، فتعلمك عن الحب و الآلهة. إنها اللحظة التي تختصرك إنساناً- ماضياً و مستقبلاً- لتجعل منك أنت، بكل ما فيك من حاضر. إنها اللحظة التي تقرر فيها أن تتعرف على السعادة، لينضح كل ما فيك – وعلى مدى الساعتين- دمعاً لم تدرك له طعماً من قبل. لحظة ستختبر فيها رؤية الإلهة التي نزلت على الأرض و صدحت، فجعلت منك و من كل شيئ إلهاً و آلهة.

إنها اللحظة التي ارتفعت فيها الستارة.

Actually, no other Goddess, only Fairouz. Her voice is clear, her songs are hounest, and she can always be there.

أ.ح.د

كُفّي…

كُفّي يا قارعةَ العمر عن إيواء مشرّدي القلب

هنا…

أمام مصدح الضغط العالي

هرمنا

كَبرنا على الرغبة في التقافز داخل المذياع

لالتقاط الحلوى السحرية

والفوز بجائزة الطفل المثالي

كبرنا على الرغبة في الانتقام من أخبار الثامنة

تصرفُ عن موائدنا الحمام

كرهنا ترتيب أصابعنا

بحثا عن اتجاه الريح

بعيدا عن سيداتي سادتي

“هنا تونس”

أيها المستمعون الكرام…

هنا…

من عليائه سقط اللهُ ذبيحا

كان يردّدُ”أحدٌ…..

أ.ح.د…

صفّفت المذيعةُ شعرَها وانصرفت

لم يُجبه من المذياع أحد الد

يسرى فراوس

خاص سيريا لايف http://www.syria-life.com/news/3112.html

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم

- بتقرأي القرآن؟

-لاء.. بس بقرأ شوي أخبار.. و شوي مسرح.. المسرح و الأخبار متل بعض.. المسرح و الأخبار متل القرآن.

Less Time

Less time than it takes to say it, less tears than it takes to die; I’ve taken account of everything,
there you have it. I’ve made a census of the stones, they are as numerous as my fingers and some
others; I’ve distributed some pamphlets to the plants, but not all were willing to accept them. I’ve
kept company with music for a second only and now I no longer know what to think of suicide, for
if I ever want to part from myself, the exit is on this side and, I add mischievously, the entrance, the
re-entrance is on the other. You see what you still have to do. Hours, grief, I don’t keep a
reasonable account of them; I’m alone, I look out of the window; there is no passerby, or rather no
one passes (underline passes). You don’t know this man? It’s Mr. Same. May I introduce Madam
Madam? And their children. Then I turn back on my steps, my steps turn back too, but I don’t
know exactly what they turn back on. I consult a schedule; the names of the towns have been
replaced by the names of people who have been quite close to me. Shall I go to A, return to B,
change at X? Yes, of course I’ll change at X. Provided I don’t miss the connection with boredom!
There we are: boredom, beautiful parallels, ah! how beautiful the parallels are under God’s
perpendicular.

Andre Breton

انا.. و انت.. و هو.. و مارسيل

أمر باسمك إذ أخلو إلى نفسي

كما يمر دمشقي بأندلس…………………………………………………………………….. (هو)

—————————————–

بغيبتك طلع الشتي.. قومي طلعي عالبال..

في فوق سجادة صلاة.. واللي عم بيصلو قلال..

صوتون متل مصر المرا.. و بعلبك.. الرجال..

ع كتر ما طلع العشب بيناتنا..  بيرعى الغزال…………………………………………………………(انت)

—————————————–

و أقول لهم.. تصبحون على وطن…………………………(أنا)

تلعثم

تبعثر الفراغ على محيط الكأس الذي أمامي.. لابد و أنها المرة الخامسة التي يفرغ فيها. رمقني.. رمقته.. و أعجبني الفراغ الذي يملئه. سحبت نفساً طويلاً من سيجارة يومي الأخيرة, رمقته من جديد.. اقتربت منه.. لثمت طرفه بثغري الممتلئ بالدخان و أطبقت يدي على ما تبقى من حريته، و ملأت فراغه بفراغي الدخاني.

لا تزال يدي حاجز بين داخله الزجاجي و خارجه.. رمقته من جديد و أنا أرى الدخان داخله.. دخاني في أحشائه… تمتعت بذلك للحظات لأبعد يدي بعدها.. و أشاهد دخاني يبتعد حراً عن فراغه.

لسا عندي هالعادة كل ما كون لحالي و الكاس قدامي. و لسا بيغريني الفراغ.. و كل مرة بنفخ الحياة فيه بكتشف أنو دخاني بيضل أحلى لما يكون حر…. بروح و برجع.. و الفراغ بيغريني… بنفخ حياتي فيه و بكتشف بعدين أنو حياتي أحلى و هي حرة. .. و بروح و برجع.. و الفراغ بيغريني.. بنفخ حياتي فيه… و بكتشف بعدين أنو أنت.. و الفراغ.. و أنا.. و الدخان.. أحلى لما نكون أحرار.

الدخان أحلى لما يرقص عاري.. و الفراغ أحلى لما ما يكون محدود.. و أنا و أنت…

بس نكبر… ح نتجوز، أنا و أنت………. بس نكبر.

كل الأحاديث ما بتفيد

ما دامك مش معي.. و الأسوأ مش وحيد

We have visual private media!

It all started with the show called “Red Lines”, where I was supposed to give a visual concept for its studio in my training session. Having been closer to the show and the presenter who is no more than a woman seeking the fame of her name on the expense of simple transparent media rules and principles, Having taken a closer look at her show in the time when my video editing sessions started, I discovered where this whole thing is leading to!

She was doing her first series of episodes about homosexuals in Syria. I’m not going to say as a person in media, man is supposed to do what, but I’m going to simply say what she did.

She basically interviewed a lawyer and a bishop, who both strongly fought against homosexuality as a choice in life and not as a matter of reality, as a new fag and not as an ancient culture or life style. When I referred -smoothly- to the mistake in taking a mono-based opinion, she agreed and thought she should interview a homosexual. This sort of made me think that things will turn out fine. The other day she brought her DV’s to be captured, and to my surprise, the person she interviewed was no more than a gay, who actually gets paid for joining group sex sessions “with HUGE people”. Regardless of what this exactly means, who he exactly meant by this, I turned my back to the whole report and got my self busy with editing something else in order not to lose my temper sooner or later.

Another “wannabe” came also yesterday with his smile on his face and his DV’s in his hand. He seemed educated and I had some hopes about him specially when my colleague started capturing his DV’s allowing everyone in the room to hear the report. OH MY GOD! It’s about CEDAW! WOW! Finally some Syrian visual media is discussing this! Syria has signed CEDAW some when in the 90’s, a treaty about equality in general and gender equality in particular, and when it comes to gender equality, Syria is still so much in the back of this culture.

We still have troubles with civil laws concerning women and their personal freedom when it comes to marriage and divorce and employment, and of course, the damned law of crimes of honor. Syria, when had signed CEDAW, restricted some articles in the conviction, that directly had to do with women rights, and again, human rights in general. However, the report slowly started to decline into a tone of encouraging the government for the restrictions, and attacking the CEDAW as a whole while flirting with the articles that Syria signed! Some comments were shocking as “CEDAW as whole encourages total freedom, total equality between men and women, and this is against the Islamic legislation and tradition, it is indeed against our community”, while others were more offensive as “as a whole, CEDAW is against the Syrian civil constitution and law”.

Well.. Well.. The moment I saw the reprt rather than only hearing it, the shock gradually faded out. The report simply was a coverage of a forum about CEDAW, and for my no-surprise at all, all the attendees were Qubaisees, the Syrian Islamic community. In particular those who are usually seen as wearing white head scarfs with black or dark blur veils. Having studied in their school for six years in my life, I would say the more or less represent the smooth side of any extremist concept. The one who gave one of the brilliant previous comments was a apparently a Shiekh. Ya salam.. I spent some time thinking out side while smoking my break-cigarette, what the hell happened to this country which has the word “SECULAR” in it’s very own constitution.. But more than anything else, I spent the time thinking of the media that is basically doing nothing but promoting the out-dated concepts we are tied by. As for why the government didn’t change these “religious laws” in “Secualr Syria”, another post should be written, however not now, only when I think I am strong enough to write it. It is such a disappointment for me now to realize that the private TV channels, after finally having the privilege of opening several in my country, will not do the proper job of a media channel, and will not leave the opinion of the government to the government, but rather will continue flirting with it, while promoting it to the people who really need an alternative. Not to mention, promoting the very personal opinion of the owner of the channel, who in my case, happens to be a refugee, and who is secured with his wealth in Syria, and will of course in his turn, flirt those who secured him.

 

تصبحون على وطن.

I hate…

… That I love you too much…