Everytime i get this email it makes me laugh more. Hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I did not write this, it's an email that has been fwded to me. but let's see if we can come up with some more of our creative creations.
1. At Lunch Time, Sit In Your Parked Car With Sunglasses on, and point a Hair Dryer At Passing Cars. See If They Slow Down.
2. Page Yourself Over The Intercom. Don't Disguise Your Voice.
3. Every Time Someone Asks You To Do Something, Ask If They Want Fries with that.
4. Put Your Garbage Can On Your Desk And Label It "In."
5. Put Decaf In The Coffee Maker For 3 Weeks. Once Everyone has Gotten Over Their Caffeine Addictions, Switch to Espresso.
6. In The Memo Field Of All Your Checks, Write "For Smuggling Diamonds"
7. Finish All Your sentences with "In Accordance With The Prophecy."
8. Don't use any punctuation
9. As Often As Possible, Skip Rather Than Walk.
10. Order a Diet Water whenever you go out to eat, with a serious face.
11. Specify That Your Drive-through Order Is "To Go."
12. Sing Along At The Opera.
13. Go To A Poetry Recital And Ask Why The Poems Don't Rhyme
14. Put Mosquito Netting Around Your Work Area And Play tropical Sounds All Day.
15. Five Days In Advance, Tell Your Friends You Can't Attend Their Party Because You're Not In The Mood.
16.When The Money Comes Out The ATM, Scream "I Won!, I Won!"
17. When Leaving The Zoo, Start Running Towards The Parking lot, Yelling "Run For Your Lives, They're Loose!!"
18. Tell Your Children Over Dinner. "Due To The Economy, We Are Going To Have To Let One Of You Go."
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Friday, March 16, 2007
Insight
They say one person can change you forever, even if they never intend to. And that I am sure of, because Zeid never intended to.
The first time I met Zeid I was so fake. I kept praying he won't feel my forced casual attitude, or my trembling knees.
"Hi Zeid.."
"Oh Hi Dima"
"I'm here to-"
"Oh I know,I've been told, please have a seat"
"Thanks... so.. umm do we start from the beginning...?"
"Yes, please."
I held the thick black book in my hands. I read the title engraved in golden letters out loud. Flipped the cover, and through the first introductory pages, and started reading for fifty-two minutes.
The first day was over, and it was worse than I expected. Why do I always assume I have strength that I don't? Why do I always put myself in situations where I know for sure I will collapse?
The next day I went back, at the same time. I found Zeid sitting patiently, like he always did, in his black jacket, his hands on his lap, his right hand slightly curled over his left. He stared blankly at the floor.
"Good morning Zeid"
"Hey, Dima... I got you the tape recorder and some tapes, can you start recording the first chapter today please?"
"Yes, sure."
Zeid opened his old weary backpack and took out a dark green walkman from it. he held it carefully in his hands, by turn, he started feeling for each button and explaining slowly: " This button is rewind..forward...stop.. pause.. play... and the red one is record"
I thought to myslef... What does red mean to him? Is it any different than yellow, green, purple... Isn't it all just black?
He finished by showing me the eject button and how it opens the tape case. I smiled as I felt him proud to know all those buttons and their functions.
"Did you memorize them or do you want me to repeat them again?"
I smiled again saying: "No Zeid, I think I'll manage" What was silly to me, was considered an accomplishment to him.
"Please use it gently Dima, It's the only recorder I have."
"I will"
Everyday I would go read to Zeid his material. He would listen with the anticipation of all first-year students. And when I go back home, I would start reading and recording my voice on the tapes he gave me, so that Zeid can study by listening to those tapes.
"Zeid, why did you choose to study Islamic Studies?"
"Well, I can't study engineering for sure!" He chuckled. "I had limited choices, and I chose Islamic Studies because it makes me a better person."
I thought the deppression I sank into would fade into the daily routine of having to face Zeid. Only this depression grew deeper. Whatever I did, I felt guilty. Once, I walked him to class, he tripped over a step. I felt guilty, I should've warned him. Another time, he was about to trip when I told him to watch out for the step. I also felt guilty, I probably made him feel weak and helpless. I even felt guilty for just being able to see.
After two weeks Zeid had to take the English level exam. If he fails he will have to take three English courses. If he passes he will take only two. If he passes with a high average, he will have to take only one.
I had to go with him to read him the questions, and click on the answers he chooses.
Zeid was very calm that day. He told me that he was good in English and he is hoping to pass and take only two courses.
The exam started and I read the questions, each twice. Zeid took a lot of time to answer, and ended up giving me wrong answers for most questions. I would click on the wrong answer he chose and move to the next question. I started feeling that Zeid won't pass. There were a lot of questions left and not much time. I started reading three multiple choices instead of five. And yet he would give wrong answers. I started giving only two choices and he got some right. We finished all questions and had four more minutes to review. I looked at Zeid knowing he won't pass. I looked at him in his same black jacket, same white top, and same black shoes. I felt guilty that he will have to pay for three courses instead of two, knowing that to him it makes a big difference.
I remembered when Zeid told me that he is out of empty tapes. And that I should wait until he goes down town to get new tapes. I told him there's a store near university that sells tapes. He grimmaced saying they're too expensive, 20 piastres each.
I went back to the first questions Zeid answered wrong, put the right answers instead, and told him we're done. We waited for the result. He passed. I told him, and he laughed out loud disturbing other students who stared at Zeid and suddenly looked away when they realized he couldn't see.
When we got out he called almost everyone he knows to proudly tell them he passed. He held his cell phone, clicked 6 times on the middle button and counted outloud: "1,2,3,4,5,6. Does the name say Mohammed?" I looked at the cell phone "Yes it does." He pressed call and yelled "I told you I will pass I told you! hahay!". Zeid was so happy like a kid who got a new bike. Only I was almost sure he never got a bike. I even didn't help but to laugh at how he teased his friends and told them "And you said I won't pass!! Well you all owe me one JD!!!"
At this moment also, I felt guilty. I wanted him to know that I answered at least ten questions for him which he got wrong. But I knew I would kill his pride, the most special thing about Zeid. I also knew I would feel worse if I didn't tell him. " You know Zeid I helped you a lot, you really need to study for this course, you don't want to fail it."
"I know Dima, I know" was all he said.
We later became good friends. I would go to the center everyday, read to him and give him pop quizes which he hated the most. And I would get angry at him for not studying. I looked at him as a younger brother and somehow felt very responsible for him. He even taught me how to read and write alphabets and numbers using Prill's method. He explained to me the different tools he uses in writing. He always talked about this new special typewriter he heard about, which some of his friends at the center bought.
"It is very efficient, if I use it, it will take half the time to do my homework!"
"So why don't you buy it?"
"Well, it is very expensive, around 200 JD"
Again, I felt guilty.
In Eid I told a group of my friends that we should all gather money and get it to Zeid as a Eid gift. But I changed my mind at the last minute, knowing that Zeid's pride will refuse it and I will feel guilty for making him feel needy.
The semester was over. At the beginning of the second semester I called Zeid to arrange a time for reading. He told me that this semester he only wants me to record tapes, and a new volunteer, a guy, will read to him in the center. When I aksed why, embarrassed,He told me that he is an Islamic Studies student and it is better if a guy reads to him. This semester I haven't heard of him, neither tried calling him. Not wanting to embarrass him.
Zeid changed me a lot. He did really - like they say- see with his heart. He was always proud of his accomplishments. He never said 'I can't'. He was very independent. At the end of the first semester he knew the university by heart and never tripped on steps anymore. He never complained. Even when I overslept and missed the reading sessions. Even when I was late in recording him the tapes and gave the lamest excuses. He never complained. He was good at everything. But most of all, he was best at listening. His special disability of not seeing gave him the rare ability of true listening, analyzing personalities depending on their voices, ideas, and thoughts, without having to face all barriers of the deceiving outer looks, that we, normal people, judge others upon.
I miss him a lot.
The first time I met Zeid I was so fake. I kept praying he won't feel my forced casual attitude, or my trembling knees.
"Hi Zeid.."
"Oh Hi Dima"
"I'm here to-"
"Oh I know,I've been told, please have a seat"
"Thanks... so.. umm do we start from the beginning...?"
"Yes, please."
I held the thick black book in my hands. I read the title engraved in golden letters out loud. Flipped the cover, and through the first introductory pages, and started reading for fifty-two minutes.
The first day was over, and it was worse than I expected. Why do I always assume I have strength that I don't? Why do I always put myself in situations where I know for sure I will collapse?
The next day I went back, at the same time. I found Zeid sitting patiently, like he always did, in his black jacket, his hands on his lap, his right hand slightly curled over his left. He stared blankly at the floor.
"Good morning Zeid"
"Hey, Dima... I got you the tape recorder and some tapes, can you start recording the first chapter today please?"
"Yes, sure."
Zeid opened his old weary backpack and took out a dark green walkman from it. he held it carefully in his hands, by turn, he started feeling for each button and explaining slowly: " This button is rewind..forward...stop.. pause.. play... and the red one is record"
I thought to myslef... What does red mean to him? Is it any different than yellow, green, purple... Isn't it all just black?
He finished by showing me the eject button and how it opens the tape case. I smiled as I felt him proud to know all those buttons and their functions.
"Did you memorize them or do you want me to repeat them again?"
I smiled again saying: "No Zeid, I think I'll manage" What was silly to me, was considered an accomplishment to him.
"Please use it gently Dima, It's the only recorder I have."
"I will"
Everyday I would go read to Zeid his material. He would listen with the anticipation of all first-year students. And when I go back home, I would start reading and recording my voice on the tapes he gave me, so that Zeid can study by listening to those tapes.
"Zeid, why did you choose to study Islamic Studies?"
"Well, I can't study engineering for sure!" He chuckled. "I had limited choices, and I chose Islamic Studies because it makes me a better person."
I thought the deppression I sank into would fade into the daily routine of having to face Zeid. Only this depression grew deeper. Whatever I did, I felt guilty. Once, I walked him to class, he tripped over a step. I felt guilty, I should've warned him. Another time, he was about to trip when I told him to watch out for the step. I also felt guilty, I probably made him feel weak and helpless. I even felt guilty for just being able to see.
After two weeks Zeid had to take the English level exam. If he fails he will have to take three English courses. If he passes he will take only two. If he passes with a high average, he will have to take only one.
I had to go with him to read him the questions, and click on the answers he chooses.
Zeid was very calm that day. He told me that he was good in English and he is hoping to pass and take only two courses.
The exam started and I read the questions, each twice. Zeid took a lot of time to answer, and ended up giving me wrong answers for most questions. I would click on the wrong answer he chose and move to the next question. I started feeling that Zeid won't pass. There were a lot of questions left and not much time. I started reading three multiple choices instead of five. And yet he would give wrong answers. I started giving only two choices and he got some right. We finished all questions and had four more minutes to review. I looked at Zeid knowing he won't pass. I looked at him in his same black jacket, same white top, and same black shoes. I felt guilty that he will have to pay for three courses instead of two, knowing that to him it makes a big difference.
I remembered when Zeid told me that he is out of empty tapes. And that I should wait until he goes down town to get new tapes. I told him there's a store near university that sells tapes. He grimmaced saying they're too expensive, 20 piastres each.
I went back to the first questions Zeid answered wrong, put the right answers instead, and told him we're done. We waited for the result. He passed. I told him, and he laughed out loud disturbing other students who stared at Zeid and suddenly looked away when they realized he couldn't see.
When we got out he called almost everyone he knows to proudly tell them he passed. He held his cell phone, clicked 6 times on the middle button and counted outloud: "1,2,3,4,5,6. Does the name say Mohammed?" I looked at the cell phone "Yes it does." He pressed call and yelled "I told you I will pass I told you! hahay!". Zeid was so happy like a kid who got a new bike. Only I was almost sure he never got a bike. I even didn't help but to laugh at how he teased his friends and told them "And you said I won't pass!! Well you all owe me one JD!!!"
At this moment also, I felt guilty. I wanted him to know that I answered at least ten questions for him which he got wrong. But I knew I would kill his pride, the most special thing about Zeid. I also knew I would feel worse if I didn't tell him. " You know Zeid I helped you a lot, you really need to study for this course, you don't want to fail it."
"I know Dima, I know" was all he said.
We later became good friends. I would go to the center everyday, read to him and give him pop quizes which he hated the most. And I would get angry at him for not studying. I looked at him as a younger brother and somehow felt very responsible for him. He even taught me how to read and write alphabets and numbers using Prill's method. He explained to me the different tools he uses in writing. He always talked about this new special typewriter he heard about, which some of his friends at the center bought.
"It is very efficient, if I use it, it will take half the time to do my homework!"
"So why don't you buy it?"
"Well, it is very expensive, around 200 JD"
Again, I felt guilty.
In Eid I told a group of my friends that we should all gather money and get it to Zeid as a Eid gift. But I changed my mind at the last minute, knowing that Zeid's pride will refuse it and I will feel guilty for making him feel needy.
The semester was over. At the beginning of the second semester I called Zeid to arrange a time for reading. He told me that this semester he only wants me to record tapes, and a new volunteer, a guy, will read to him in the center. When I aksed why, embarrassed,He told me that he is an Islamic Studies student and it is better if a guy reads to him. This semester I haven't heard of him, neither tried calling him. Not wanting to embarrass him.
Zeid changed me a lot. He did really - like they say- see with his heart. He was always proud of his accomplishments. He never said 'I can't'. He was very independent. At the end of the first semester he knew the university by heart and never tripped on steps anymore. He never complained. Even when I overslept and missed the reading sessions. Even when I was late in recording him the tapes and gave the lamest excuses. He never complained. He was good at everything. But most of all, he was best at listening. His special disability of not seeing gave him the rare ability of true listening, analyzing personalities depending on their voices, ideas, and thoughts, without having to face all barriers of the deceiving outer looks, that we, normal people, judge others upon.
I miss him a lot.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Observations
A friend of mine once told me not to totally neglect stereotypes, because stereotypes did not emerge from scratch. They might include a lot of exaggerations, but they have a thread that links them to reality.
I'm really not trying to create stereotypes here, but this is something i personally noticed about people i met in my life. I don't know if i was lucky, or unlucky to have met people who constantly move between countries. So here's some of my observations:
-People who move to Jordan start talking about: Self-development, getting Masters degree, money, high prices, gas prices, taxes, and employment opportunities.
-People who move to Lebanon start talking about: Politics, Hariri, majlis elnowab, 7ezballah, shopping, Elie Sa3b, and Haifa Wehbi
-People who move to Saudi Arabia start talking about: Islam, cars, shopping, marriage, Saudism (sa3wade in jobs), and allowing women to drive.
-People who move to Egypt start talking about: Egyptian movies, latest plays in theatres, fighting corruption, making money.
People who move to UAE start talking about: Business opportunities, new investments, cars, and buying stocks.
People who move to the USA start talking about: Freedom of speech, racism, terrorism, Britney Spears, and globalization.
Again! Not creating stereotypes, just my own observations of a limited sample.
I'm really not trying to create stereotypes here, but this is something i personally noticed about people i met in my life. I don't know if i was lucky, or unlucky to have met people who constantly move between countries. So here's some of my observations:
-People who move to Jordan start talking about: Self-development, getting Masters degree, money, high prices, gas prices, taxes, and employment opportunities.
-People who move to Lebanon start talking about: Politics, Hariri, majlis elnowab, 7ezballah, shopping, Elie Sa3b, and Haifa Wehbi
-People who move to Saudi Arabia start talking about: Islam, cars, shopping, marriage, Saudism (sa3wade in jobs), and allowing women to drive.
-People who move to Egypt start talking about: Egyptian movies, latest plays in theatres, fighting corruption, making money.
People who move to UAE start talking about: Business opportunities, new investments, cars, and buying stocks.
People who move to the USA start talking about: Freedom of speech, racism, terrorism, Britney Spears, and globalization.
Again! Not creating stereotypes, just my own observations of a limited sample.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Just Perfect
They always say that when you're happy, the sky turns blue, the birds start singing, and everything turns green. And when you're upset, the sky is dark, the birds are silent, and everything turns gray.Well, this might be true to most places in the world, except for one magical place... Amman.Today was like every other day, i even wasn't in a good mood at the beginning, some annoying situations happened, but when i got out into the street, Amman forced me to smile and to see everything in colors. The weather today was just perfect. A lot of people were strolling down the streets. Green tiny plants are covering the sides of the sidewalks. A mixture of a cool breeze with the warm sun made me feel that this is the healthiest air I can ever breathe. Children were playing around, some with their bicycles, some with their roller skates, others with footballs. It was just like a scene from a movie, only better.I came back home, feeling all better because of the beauty of Amman. So i decided to go out again, just to walk in the street by myself, and to take the most out of this day. I bought some chocolate, just to make this day more perfect! I even got jealous from the children and decided to run like them.
http://www.kuchtaworld.net/photos/images/amman1_jpg.jpg
P.S: Help! I'm trying to add an image of Amman, but every time i click on the add image button, nothing happends, all other buttions are working. Can anyone tell me what would be the problem??
http://www.kuchtaworld.net/photos/images/amman1_jpg.jpg
P.S: Help! I'm trying to add an image of Amman, but every time i click on the add image button, nothing happends, all other buttions are working. Can anyone tell me what would be the problem??
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
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
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
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
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.
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.
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