Dreams

Ever since i was a child... I wanted to be a journalist.
I am hiding inside the tent i made with my rainbow colored blanket, and two chairs i took from the dining table.
I have to stay silent.. and keep a low profile. Right outside lie all kinds of danger. I even replace my pencil with a pen. Pencils create too much noise when i write down my reports about day 12 in this war. I can't be heard. Not even the scribbling of my pencil. It's a very dangerous zone outside this tent.

My parents were my loyal audience.
I am performing infront of them, using my red comb as a microphone. They are listening to my report in which I discuss the israeli-palestinian conflict. They nod every now and then. They are interested.
My mother interrupts me to correct a grammer mistake.

I gradauted from high school.
Everyone thinks i am lucky because i know what i want to be. Everyone jokes around: Dima, aljazeera, moskoooooo.

I considered my choices.
Flashback: "But you know, politics got so dirty... i don't think i understand it any more, not the way i did back when i was 11. Things were much clearer then, and easier to comprehend."
"But Dima, what i know is when you have a dream, you chase it. You were always a journalist, don't stop now!"
"You don't understand, politics make my blood boil. I'm not as tough as i was. I was in more control back then...."
Flashback: Im in a conference, listening to a professor dicussing the middle east conflict.
Fresh tears force themselves out the corner of my eyes, with each country we discuss... Iraq..Lebanon...Syria...Iran... Plaestine...
Silly Dima, what kind of journalist cries when discussing politics.
Professor Green tries to soothe me down: "Don't worry Dima, I'm sure things in your region will get better... but only if you want to."
"Professor Green, the difference between you and us, is that you talk about the middle east, and then you back home. On the other hand, we talk about the middle east, and go back to the middle east..... we live in it every day every minute."

I applied for university.
I am sitting in class discussing the maturity of e-commerce in Jordan. After this class i have a meeting with my team to discuss our networks project.

The little journalist is still in the tent... writing reports with her pencil, and double checking for grammer mistakes. She dares to take a peek every now and then to see if it is still dangerous outside the tent, and quickly tucks her head back in. It is indeed.
She is still using the two chairs from the dining table. Only now she uses a thick black blanket instead of the rainbow colored one.

Customer Service in Amman

Situation One:
{Ordering fast food on the phone.}
After ordering, the guy said that the driver will call me now to take my address.
After 20 minutes, the driver didn't call, so I called them back.
Me: "mar7aba bs please ma 7ada 7aka ma3i 3ashan el3inwan...sarli 20 minutes bastanna.."
Guy: "Ah sorry hayyo ma3ek"
Driver: "Ah y5ti ween darko?"
Noise in the background coming from two guys fighting...
Me: " Ok.. halla2 iza inta jay min-"
Driver: "la7tha ballah ya5ti, SHABAB E6LA3O DOGGO BE BA3AD BARRA FE MA3I ZBOONE 3AL TELEPHONE MESHAN ALLAH EEEH!! "
Me: scared... i don't want food anymore..shbe3et
Driver: "ah kamli weenkom..?!"
I gave him directions and was glad when the conversation was over.
15 minutes later, a weird number miscalls me, i ditch. Then, it misscalls me another time, i ditch kaman. Yes! it misscalls me a third time.
So I call back.
DRIVER: "Ah shoofi ana hayne ta7et bs into be ay 6abeg ballah?!"

Situation Two:
{Ordering fast food and it is being delivered.}
Delivery Guy: "7sabek 4 dananeer w 20 gersh"
I give him 5 JD, and wait for the change.
Delivery Guy reaches in his pocket...empty, the other pocket.. empty
Cionsidence? I doubt.
Dilvery Guy: "Walla ma ma3i fakkeh, inte ma ma3ek??"
Me: "La walla ma ma3i."
Delivery Guy stares at me
I stare back.
Staring Contintues.
Mental non vocal conversation begins...
Delivery Guy: "Ya bay ma ab5alek kolhom 8o gersh 5alas 3a6eeni eyyahom bagsheesh"
Me: "Walla ana mo ba5eele, walla arya7li a36eek el 80 2ersh badal ma astannak troo7 tfek w terja3. Bs ma dal ma3i '3eer dinar bel ma7faza, w bokra bedi aroo7 3al jam3a, el taxi bya5od dinar w 40 2ersh, fa 3njad ba7tajhom!!"
Mental conversation is over.
Staring stops after one whole minute.
Delivery Guy snaps back into relaity: "Ok hassa baroo7 afek el 5 dananeer w raja3"
Me: Thnx

Situation Three:
{A freind of mine shopping.}
Salesman: "7adretek beddik teshtri wella bs btetfarraji?"
My Friend: "Umm.. mesh 3arfe... bs 3am batfarraj.."
Salesman: "Tab y5ti m3lesh tetfarraji min barra 3ashan bedna nesh6of elma7al."
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معنى الوطن

لطالما اعتقدت أنه يوجد لدي "لخبطة" في معنى الوطن

عندما أسمع كلمة وطن... عدة أماكن تتبادر إلى ذهني و لا أعرف أي منها يستحق أن يكون "الوطن" . هل هو المكان الذي ولدت فيه... مشيت فيه... درست فيه... و عشت حياتي فيه؟ هل هو المكان الذي حرصت أمي أن أحفظ ألوان علمه... و أردد أناشيده... و أكتب قصائداٌ له؟ هل هو المكان الذي يقول جواز سفري أنني أنتمي إليه... و أعيش فيه... و لا يجعلني أشعر بالغربة أبداٌ؟ هل هو مكان لم تطأه قدمي بعد؟ هل هو مكان ليس في هذا العالم و لا في هذه الحياة بل في حياة أخرى؟

هل يجب أن يكون مكاناٌ أصلاٌ؟؟

ألا يمكن أن يكون الوطن شعوراٌ... كما يشعر الطفل في حضن أمه؟ ألا يمكن أن يكون الوطن جزءأٌ من الوقت... كلحظة معينة من الزمان... تشعر فيها بانتماء قوي ينبض به إحساسك؟ ألا يمكن أن يكون ذكرى تجعلك تبتسم طويلا كلما تذكرتها؟

أغار كثيراٌ منك أنت الذي يتبادر الى ذهنك شيئ واحد فقط عندما تسمع كلمة "وطن" أما أنا... فأضطر إلى أن أبحث عن الوطن في كثير من الأماكن... و كثير من المشاعر... و كثير من الأزمان... و كثير من الذكريات

و أخاف كثيراٌ ألا أجده إلا في حياة أخرى

Back!

I haven't written a post for almost a month now. I really do miss my blog!
It's finally spring time! So i thought i might choose a new template to go with my Second Blogging Season. I am back and full of energy to shower my blog with posts. :)