COME ON!

Lately we all noticed those chain letters that are spreading widley about a person who dreamt of the prophet (PBUH) or a Sheikh, or of Aisha the Prophet's daughter, and one of these people told him to forward the email and tell all people about it (whatever its content was). The email mentions that if you don't forward the message something bad will happen to you, and if you forward it something good will happen to you. My reply to this is: PUHHHLEAAASEE!

We really have to stop forwarding these emails because we are not naiive. These email are very negative because they are putting words into the Prophet's mouth (PBUH). Plus we don't know if it's really true if this person dreamt of such people or not. And a lot of people with different names are saying they had such dreams (mashallah kol el ummeh awleya2 9ale7een). Also, we as muslims, must not believe that "you will hear something bad if you don't forward"; because we simply believe in Fate and Destiny. This means that we believe no one can tell the future! I personally never forwarded these messages and el7amdilla nothing bad happened to me and i didn't hear any bad news!

If you feel that some of these emails contain some good prayers or tasbee7at, and you want to forward them because of the ajer of these prayers, you can do so but after erasing the part of the superficial dreams and threats and promises.

I don't know why people who created these emails did in the first place, but maybe they want to measure how much it takes to spread a rumor, or how many people actually believe that the prophet is sending us messages through people, i'm not sure. They are only using the prophet's name because they know how passionate muslims are about him and would do anything the prophet (PBUH) says. There might be actual people who realy did get those dreams, but the conditions and the "future telling" they attach with the email makes it all just unrealistic.

Ok 7akeet kteer i know! But i feel better now :D

Reflection

The Good Earth is a book of 357 pages.
Out of these pages, two paragraphs were captivated in my memory;

"When the rich are too rich there are ways, and when the poor are too poor there are ways. Last winter we sold two girls and endured, and this winter, if this one my woman bears is a girl, we will sell again. One slave I have kept-the first. The others it is better to sell than to kill, although there are those who prefer to kill them before they draw breath. This is one of the ways when the poor are too poor. When the rich are too rich there is a way, and if I am not mistaken, that way will come soon."

Later on in the book, the poor get too poor, and they attack the House of Hwang and steal all its contents, for its rich residents have become too rich.

The other sentence justifies itself for being engraved in my memory;

"It is the end of a family - when you begin to sell the land," he said brokenly."Out of the land we came and into it we must go - and if you will hold your land you can live - no one can rob you of land-"
And the old man let his scanty tears dry upon his cheeks and they made salty stains there. And he stooped and took up a handful of the soil and hel held it and he muttered,
"If you sell the land, it is the end."

This book was such a lively experience, each chapter in it makes you relate to a personality you knew or heard about, or a story you encountered or heard about.

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. :)

To Feel Or Not To Feel

Is it better to feel? Or is it better not to feel?
Is it better to have feelings and emotions and get affected by every thrilling, tragic, or crazy detail that shapes your life story? Or is it better to be ignorant and emotionless about whatever goes on with your life?
At the first thought, most of us would choose to feel rather than not to feel. But take a minute or two to actually weigh in the two sides.
I personally have been tortured all my life, by a very dear friend whom i loathe as much as i adore. He always insisted that i "feel". His name is Conscience.
Whenever a hurtful incident happens, and i choose not to feel, Conscience is there to remind me to feel.
When people leave, either leave you for a while or leave life itself, you wish not to feel and to runaway for a while.
Whenever you read the news and read between lines the misery of nations, you wish not to feel. Whenever you have a bad day, a fight with a dear one, a bad grade, you wish not to feel.
When I look at people who do not feel, i find them very happy. Are they happy deep down there? I can't tell for sure. But for the moment, for me, they look happy. The choice they took of not to feel made them happy.. could it be?
I really envy people who can pass each day without having worries that emerge from having a "feeling" toward each incident. I envy people who fail a subject and shrug it off. I envy people who watch the war news, frown for a second, then change the channel.
Sometimes i wish i was ignorant and didn't feel as much, would life be easier? I always wonder.