where is my Cinderella

كل تدوينات هلال شومان حلوين بستمتع بقرايتهن وحدة وحدة. كلن, السياسيّة, الإنسانية والفنية. بس آخرتدوينة, "ذاكريا ترى" دمّرتني. قعدت أكتر من ساعة عيد الغنية وأرجع إقرا النص. ما مذكرة أيمتى بكيت هالقد. يمكن من أيام المراهقة أو يمكن أيام الحب. مش عارفة هو السبب اللحن الفرنسي الحزين أو يمكن صوت فيروز اللي بيوحي بالأمل واليأس سوا. أو النص و فكرة الحب اللي بس منقراعنو بالقصص و منتمنى نلاقيه و نحنا متأكدين إنو موجود بس هو شاطر كتير بلعبة الغميضة. لنكتشف بعدين إنو الحب متل الوطن هو فكرة منركض وراها كل عمرنا ونحنا متأكدين إنو بالنتيجة تعبنا رح يجيب فايدة والأيام الحلوة جايي.

I left this comment on Hilal’s latest post.

I hate the fact that I don’t dream anymore! Life was much nicer when I used to dream and think that better days are coming. Now I only plan. I know exactly where my life is going. I hate that. I don’t have a dream people I don’t have a dream. Where did my dreams go? I so much wanted to be independent and in control of my life. I hated to death helpless women and as a kid I swore that I will never ever be a Cinderella. I’m exactly where I anticipated being more than 10 years back.

Although I was one of those who blamed Hariri for not being able to come back to Lebanon, I knew when he was murdered that they did not kill the person, they killed the country. And I told everybody I know that Lebanon will never stand on it feet again. Not because Hariri was flawless, god forbid, but because of the signification of the act. When we used to do commentaire composé in college we used to read between the lines… I remember the day he stayed in Burj Al Arab, he was invited by Sheikh Mohammed for some pan arab event that I don’t remember anymore. What I remember is I was so happy when I saw him. I refused to leave the hotel and stayed on his floor. When I escorted him to his suite he asked me what am I doing in Dubai and asked me to go back to Lebanon. I remember Abou Tarek, the guy that was killed with him, coming to my desk and offering me assistance if I want to go back to Lebanon, but I was like: what to do in Lebanon? Go back to MEA? No way… I remember the skinny guy who came to thank Hariri. He was the skinnier person I have ever seen, maybe his wife was skinnier than him. The guy was a Lebanese who’d been unrightfully imprisoned for five years and Hariri personally talked to the sheikh and got him back his freedom…

I still had a dream then; I still hoped that one day things will get better. Not anymore…Where is my Cinderella? I want my Cinderella back….

Hilal’s Blog: http://www.hilalchouman.blogspot.com/

Celebrate!

Ok guys it’s official, I’m celebrating Christmas, New Year, Eid, and most of all my one and only 33rd birthday in Europe and the States. That is my birthday gift to myself; I’m going to Germany, Italy, New York, Florida and maybe San Francisco depending on the schedule. I’m leaving Dubai the 23rd of December and coming back on the 13th of Jan.

Why is it one and only?
Because you only become 33 and 34 at a time once!!!
How is that?
I’m 33 Gregorian years and 34 Hijri years.
You know every 33 years both Hijri and Gregorian calendars match. And this phenomenon will again occur in 33 years, means when I’m 66!

So this deserves a big celebration and you are more than welcome to join!!

Just leave

For all ladies out there, when a guy asks you to go away, kindly go away. Respect yourself, and the gender you represent and simply go away. Men do not play these kinda games. When they say something like that, they straight-forwardly mean it. Men do not send hidden messages when they break up, they are not being absurd or playing hard to get. They simply do not want you.

The thing about us women and them men is that we have different means of communication. Women tend to communicate what they want in a rather complicated way, they send messages that need to be decoded. Poor men, they have to have so many different decoding maps to read women since we do not all have the same coding system. However, men are simple, they say what they mean. Even when they have to “encipher”, it’s very simple and common amongst all men; for example when they say: “I’m tired I don’t feel like going out, let’s order some pizza and watch a DVD”, this means it's about time to have sex, even if it's only your second date! Very simple. Now of course they lie in every possible way, manipulate the truth and twist the facts all they want, but when they talk it’s quite simple.

Also we have to know that men will not take any decision. The BALLS they brag about, help them in every way except running a relationship. The funny thing is that they don’t even admit it. It is a fact that women take all the important steps. They choose the man, not the contrary, they draw the lines, they decide to go to bed, they decide to take the relationship to the next step and the most important is that they END the relationship. Now men will drive you crazy at each step, they will manipulate you and try to push the relationship the way they want, so it becomes a battle field, but they won’t take decisions. Especially when they’re fed up with the relationship and they want to break. They won’t do it, they will push you to do it. They will make your life miserable and oppress you in many ways, so when you’re fed up you leave them. What a torture. But anyways, what I wanna say here is when they actually SAY that they don’t want you anymore, believe me that means that every other possible way did not work with you, you are still sticking to their awful ass no matter what they try to do.

For example, if you choose to move from Bahrain to Dubai to be with him WITHOUT him asking you, that’s stupid. When you impose yourself on him and move in WITHOUT him asking you, that’s stupid. When you change all your life, move in all your expensive furniture without having the slightest clue where are you going to put it, when you bring your cats to live with his dogs, and you pay a fortune to bring your horse and put it in a fancy bloody expensive stable, when he knows how much money and effort you invested and how you drastically changed your life for him and despite all of that he asks you to move out while you haven’t been in more than 2 months, when he does that it means that he doesn’t want you. When he, on several occasion, tells you that it’s not working, when he doesn’t tell you what is he doing for Christmas and New Year, when he doesn’t invite to come with him to the States, while he knows how much you hate to go back to UK in the festive season, this means that he doesn’t want you in his life. And when you keep going around saying: "I want to leave him, I want to leave him", believe me, we all know that he wants to leave you, because no sane woman would bring the guy she wants to leave to her company’s official launching and introduce him to all her colleagues. And finally, after all what he’s done, and you still did not get it, finally when he tells you straight in the face that he doesn’t want to be with you anymore, please have some dignity and leave.

Inaya the Guarding Angel

Hello everyone, my first post on Hakaya El Maraya is live. It's called Inaya the Guarding Angel . True story talking about how i came to Dubai.




Where would I’ve been now should not Inaya take care of me when I first came to Dubai? I would have taken the same flight that brought me here back home.Those were tough days, although I was almost 25 years old, although I have been working in the most corrupted environment for six years, although I have been engaged twice. Despite all of that, I was still a virgin. I was a virgin in every way. What did I know about negotiating a contract? I do have a business degree but do I know the slightest thing about contracts?? Hell no. What do I know about being a Lebanese girl living on her own in the gulf? I saw them traveling everyday but did I foresee the challenges?? Hell no.Inaya was like a mother to me. When I first joined Middle East Airlines in 1993, I was one of the less than 100 employees to join MEA after 10 years of freezing – MEA was not employing at all during that time- We were called the new blood, or was it the fresh blood? No, no, it was the new blood. Anyways, 10 or so “new blood” joined the passenger handling department at the airport. Now I don’t know how many of you remember how the MEA employees were before 1993, even few years after 1993, they were OLD. I had to mingle with the “young generation” where the younger person was 20 years older than me. Most of the old staff were very skeptical about the new blood, and refused to train us or give us the “secrets” of handling the flights. We were a big threat to their jobs; maybe they will kick them out if we learn ho to do the job properly, what do they know! But we were not a threat to Inaya, neither to Inaya nor to her clique of girls: Sanaa, Liliane and Mona. Those were the “Golden Girls” of the MEA and they accepted to train the new blood.In her early forties, Inaya was a petite brunette with short hair and clear brown eyes. She was very active, preparing for her masters at the Lebanese University, attending overseas scouting meetings, working on the syndicate campaigns, in one word: always busy. She’s never been married or engaged, no one knows that she had ever had any kind of romantic affairs. She was too idealistic, too feminist to accept the cocky Arab men mentality. Also she was too religious and too conservative to even think about a foreign husband. But still she was the best mom I had ever seen. Sanaa was the pretty one, mid to late thirties, analytical thinker, always wearing a light but a beautiful make up, black shoulder length hair, black eyes and white skin, very sensitive, very soft spoken and always joyful. Liliane was the shrewd, no make up at all, thick eye glasses, short fizzy hair and always with a book, a cigarette and a rosary in her hand. Although she swears that she had never lifted a hand for any kind of exercise what so ever, she had an athletic body that burns all the 7 spoons of sugar she takes in every cup of her 20 cups of coffee a day. Mona was the funny, tall, white, chubby, thin black hair, she was the secretary, always in charge of anything related to food and she wanted to get married, by all means.They were like a second family to me, and when in 1999 Israel hit Beirut again, I had it! What the fuck! There is no way I could move a single step in this company: look around you Rania, You’ve only been here for six years, do you expect any kind of promotions soon, look around you, Passenger Handling Officers have been officers for 10 to 15 years, and they all have bachelors, Masters and some PhDs, They all have wasta (pull) no one in the MEA does not have a wasta! And Lebanon, the country that you believed in, the country that you refused to leave as kid in the midst of the war, your beloved country, will you leave it now?? Excuse me Lebanon, but I lost faith, there is no way that this will be a normal country, not during my life time. I ran to the rest room and exploded in tears, I can’t stand the war anymore, and I’m getting out of here. I put in my purse the Canadian Immigration form that Rana has left in the office trying to convince me to apply with her and I started reading the ads section in the newspapers: DO YOU WANNA WORK IN DUBAI FOR THE BEST HOTEL IN THE WORLD? Well, yes I want to leave here, I will apply. I only sent an email, only a tiny miny email. The next day I got a reply and the next month I was in Dubai.My mom thought that it was crisis and it will pass, I had around 40 vacation days so I took them all and I took my yearly ticket to Dubai, what am I gonna loose? I have my return ticket and Inaya is there, she’s been in Dubai working at the MEA sales office for a few months now, she will take care of me. She offered to pick me up from the airport; I said no, Jumeirah will pick me up.They picked us up, the four of us out of hundreds who applied for the job. They dropped us to a compound in the middle of the night, but not before taking our passports. I entered my room; it looked scary, and I’m sharing it with the girl who was with me on the plane, gosh I was not supposed to share a room! Gosh this stranger of a girl looks scary. The recruitment agency said that I will be sharing a flat not a room, especially not a prison room. This is not a five star accommodation! I couldn’t sleep that night. The first thing I did in the morning since it was a Friday, I went out of the room to see where I am, Oh fuck! I was in the middle of nowhere surrounded by people from another species; I was the only white skin in the compound, THE ONLY one, not even my Lebanese roommate, she was more like an African. I never thought of myself being racist but I got scared. We went to the cafeteria, the food sucks, it looked disgusting and it sucked. My tears were falling on their own. This is definitely not what I came for, definitely not. How am I going to get out of here? I don’t even have an access to a telephone! They took my passport, they took my passport, I wanna go back home, NOW.All of a sudden, somebody came to the cafeteria and told me that there is someone waiting for me outside; oh God it was Inaya, how did she know where I am? How did she manage to come to the middle of Al Quoz, the industrial area? How did she? How did she? All That I know is I shouted Inaya, ran into her arms, hugged her and burst in tears. She took me as I am, in my shorts, my sleeveless shirt and sandals, without my baggage without a bag without even my passport; as I am. She put me in her car and straight to her house where I stayed one of the most decisive months in my life.

Take a chance

Don’t fool yourself and everyone around you and pretend that you are willing to take a chance. “Taking a chance” means that you are willing to accept and embrace failure, taking the chance means that you are willing to take the journey and enjoy it no matter what will be your destination. Should the destination be where you wanted, it’s perfect, if not, you took your chance. That’s taking a chance. I mean I don’t understand how people willingly take their money, and spend it happily in the casino, hundreds, thousands and even millions, but if they invest in a relationship and they fail, what a tragedy. The drama is the process they go through before they even think of a new relationship. The comedy is when they pretend that they are willing to take a chance.

Give me a break!

Please stand up

Soul mates

I got stuck in traffic today. It’s not an unusual scene in Dubai, but I always manage to avoid it. Today my brother Walid was supposed to pick me up at 6 pm, he got late, so I got late and we eventually all got late. Don’t you hate when you clean you desk and decide to leave on time and then 10 minutes, only 10 minutes spoil your whole evening. Of course, coz should I not pick up the bloody phone at 6:10 I would not have to review the article of the obnoxious journalist and try to clean the shit of the comatose principal who released classified information to the press!!! I only left at 7:00 and I had an appointment with my personal trainer at 7:30 that I eventually missed. But since I didn’t know I was going to miss it, I was in a hurry. I ran to the parking and jumped into the car, only to see that the back seat was occupied. It was Hani, my brother’s friend. We had to drop him home in Diyafa. It’ s a drive that should not take more than 5 minutes in normal times, but not today, today it was a good one hour wait. Anyways, I was stuck in the car with my brother and his friend. Actually Hani is more than a friend to Walid; Hani was his manager in his previous job in Beirut, and his mentor. (By the way, they are both looking for jobs now in Dubai, guess why….)

I told you before how the only thing I regret about living in Dubai is that I missed the most beautiful days of my brother’s adolescence. It’s true that we were, are, and will always be very close, but I did not actually see him growing and I regret that. I did not enjoy seeing him becoming a man, I did not discuss cultural, social, religious and political issues with him, I did not guide him. Or maybe I did, he says that I did, but it was definitely not the way I wished to. Anyways, Hani was this person. Today I spent more than an hour with them in the car. I’ve seen Hani quite a few times before but today I saw different things in him. I actually saw a lot of my brother in him. The way he talks the way he acts, a lot of similarities… Hani is actually a great guy (he’s newly wed, so don’t get ideas ok) he’s maybe 7 years older than Walid, and he was his manager he supported him in many ways. They become really close, so close to the extent that they act like each others. It’s not that obvious, I mean if you don’t know both of them you wouldn’t tell, but if you look deep, you can see the similarities. Isn’t weird how people who like each others look and act like each others. How many times you thought that friends were brothers, or even couples, have you noticed how they become one person, the resemblance, the harmony, the similarities. Do we copy the traits of those we admire and love? Or do we admire and love those who resemble to us?

إلا رؤياك

اختلج قلبي بين ضلوعي, ملهوف يطلب رؤياك

ما له لا يكل, أبداً يطلب ملقاك
تارةً يأن, تارةً يجن, دوماُ يحن لذكراك
أراه يبكي, أراه يشكي, أراه يغلي أين أراك

ماذا بعد رحيلك يا حبي؟
ماذا بعد الشرخ الأليم
كيف ألملم, أين أذهب بقلبٍ عليلٍ دميم
اختفت معالمه فلا ترى إلا جروحٍ و دماءٍ و ترميم
قلبٌ مشوّه لا يعرف للألم معنىً
فحبك قتل كل الحواس
قلبٌ أخرق لا يجد للحب وقتاُ
فحبك أضنى الإلتماس
قلبٌ تعيس لا يرى في الزهر شوقاً
فحبك جفف كل الإيناس
قلبٌ مخبول يُصْلب, وما عاد يماك ما يُسْلب
لكنه مع هذا كله
ملهوف يطلب رؤياك

إليك عني فما عدت أملك شيئاً لأعطي
إليك عني فما عدت أحمل إذ قصمت ظهري
إليك عني فما عدت أقوى على ردئ التمني
إليك عني إليك عني

أنا لا ألومك على زهرة حبي التي قطفتها
فهي زهرة ولا بد أن تقطف
أنا لا ألومك على بحر الحب الذي استنفدته
فهو بحر ولا بد أن ينفد
أنا لا ألومك على أيام زينتها بوعد
فهي أيام ولا بد أن تمر

أنا لا ألومك, لا ألومك
بل أنا أحقد عليك ولست أحقد على ما ذكرت
فأنا أحقد على سمٍّّّّّّ زرأت به نفسي
أنا أحقد على عقمٍ زرعته في قلبي
أنا أحقد على جفافٍ خلفته في روحي
إليك عني
فما عدت أقوى على الحب
وما عدت أستطيع العطاء
أنا خائرة, منهارة, مشلولة
لا أريد شيئاً
ألا رؤياك

Telling lies

Lying is a deliberate choice to mislead a target without giving any notification of the intent to do so. There are two major forms of lying: concealment, leaving out the true information; and falsification, or presenting false information as if it were true. Other ways to lie include: misdirecting, acknowledging an emotion but misidentifying what caused it; telling the truth falsely, or admitting the truth but with such exaggeration or humour that the target remains uninformed or misled; half concealment, or admitting only part of what is true, so as to deflect the target’s interest in what remains concealed; and the incorrect-inference dodge, or telling the truth but in a way that implies the opposite of what is said.
There are two kinds of clues to deceit: leakage, when the liar inadvertently reveals the truth, and deception clues, when the liar’s behaviour reveals only that what he says is untrue.

Both leakage and deception clues are mistakes. They do not always happen. Not all lies fail ...

From Telling Lies by Paul Ekman 1985


How many times were you deceived? Can you tell? or do you need a fortune teller??

Fighting mood

Any volonteers?

Loulou? Oui c'est moi...

The most beautiful person on earth is here with me. He’s handsome, he’s sweet, he’s funny, and he’s caring. He’s clever, he’s transparent. He can see straight through me and make my days happier. He’s all of that in one person, who can beat this???. The day he was born was the best day in my life, I’m not exaggerating. His birth is the best thing that has ever happened to me, I’m really not exaggerating.

She thought that stopping the pills that were killing her and ruining her life and her family’s life for up to six month is safe; she’s been on those pills for more than six years. She thought that she was too old to have a third kid, oh my god she was 27, how can she get pregnant again, it’s dangerous (yes it’s twenty seven, not thirty seven, not forty seven, she was twenty seven…) But that was god’s will.
For nine months he was called Samer, for my bother’s best friend - who happens to be my best twins-friends’ (Soha and Souzane) brother - his name was Samer. Her name was Injie, since my mom and I were real fond of that name. Injie never made it out of my imagination, while Samer stepped back when khalo Mohammed suggested the name Walid. As if Walid talked to us in the hospital and said, I’m not Samer, I’m Walid.
It has been 24 years and I still remember that day as if it was yesterday. She was obsessed by the cleanliness of her house: who else could clean her house? She will be away for a day and might not be able to clean for 3 to 4 days. Being an eight years old, I didn’t think of that….. She was in labor but still had to clean the house and do the laundry. You know, I always thought that she was very beautiful, but that day she was glowing. I was running after her giving her the laundry to put it on the rope: “quickly, quickly roro, yalla habibti yalla”. My brother and I were traumatized but she was full of energy. When she was cleaning the bathroom she almost delivered, but no, she won’t do it before she’s fully ready. I ran with her to bedroom, took her towel and gave her the clothes. Oh how I love her pregnancy dress fuchsia kinda silk with small violet flowers. Don’t be fooled with how I used to fight with her and talk back at her and give her attitude, she was my goddess. Baba dropped us at khalo’s place and ran to the hospital. It was a dark raining night, although it’s only the 9th of October, but it was raining and I can still smell the first rain. We ran to the 4th floor because the electricity went off. Baba was talking to my aunt when I slipped in and started jumping: “my mom is delivering; my mom is giving birth.. Is this gas lamp hot? Let me see, yes it is…” I touched it with my index finger. I now have a 24 year old scar; I have Loulou on my index.

Seven years in Dubai I had Loulou on my index, but now Loulou is here with me, and I’m the happiest person on earth, and when he’ll find a job, I’ll be the happiest person on earth forever and ever…

دقّت الساعة

دقّت الساعة و رنّ الجرس
وكل صوت ملعلعِ انخرس
وبعد عرسِ صارخِ مجلجل
صار الضجيج يتسنّح الفرص

أفل القوم وتشتت الربوع
وشطّ الكحل عن عيون الجموع
سقط الطرطور عن رأس المذيع
أعزل هاجمه الصقيع
فهو قد خلع ثوب فشله الذريع

الأرض والسقف سيّان
إذ اندثرت الأنوار و خيّم الأمان
ليزحف الظلام ويجتاح المكان
حتى صدى الكؤوس اعتراه النسيان
فالصمت ساد وتحكّم بالأزمان

شرّع جناحيه وابتلع المحيط
من غيره يجرؤ على اغتصاب الشيّيط
فرض لونه على الكل من حواليه
فهيهات لمتمرّد أن يفلت من بين يديه
أحكم الخناق على كلِّ ضحاياه
وإذ به يلفُّ كل من يرثي صباه
إنه الجلاد والحفار في آن
مسرحي كان الأول فهل من ثان

Happy Eid Everyone

عيد سعيد و ينعاد على الكل انشالله بالخير والبركة

I hate him

Why does he have to be so beautiful, why?
Why does he have to have those deep blue eyes that make my heart melt like a fine chocolate in a virgin's mouth, why?
Why does he have to have those spiky, frizzy, blondy hair that I love?
Why does he have to have this hairless firm inviting macho six-pack stomach? Always tanned, always shiny, smooth and silky.

Why dear lord, why did you make him so gorgeous. There is no way I could look at him and not imagining myself plunging in his chest and thawing in his arms. There is no way I could look at him and not forget how he sucks in bed and keeps letting me down and pushing me away again and again and again. God I hate him, no no, I wish I hated him. I hate him, I hate him.

I was running down the aisle to catch Lina at the laundry before she closes for the day. I need a clean uniform for tomorrow and I always suffer with uniforms when I’m doing night shifts. Anyways, I was running down the aisle between the laundry and the cafeteria when he stepped out of the x-ray suite. Gorgeous as ever, when he saw me, he made sure that I hear him talking to Alfred. Doesn't he know that it's over between us? Well for me it's over between us, for him, there were never us. For him, there was his girlfriend, then another girlfriend and another girlfriend, and of course hundreds of girls left right and centre waiting for him everywhere. Stupid me and i thought I was special. But enough three years of deception, it's enough, let him drop dead.
Strange how whenever I pass by, his voice tone goes higher, his steps get slower and he grows 2 inches taller. Why is that? Like a peacock, like a rooster in front of a house of hens he goes bragging around and around. Like an Allan Poe’s poem, like a Da Vinci’s painting, like a Mozart’s piece, he runs into my veins, my blood, my soul. I hate him.

I made sure that he was invisible to me, put my head in the ground, and walked as if I’m alone on the floor. I hardly could make it to lina’s, hid behind her door in the pile of the hanging uniforms and tried to catch my breath. God, please, make me a rock, right here, right now, make me a rock. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

10 days

10 days now since I opened the subject with him, and my fire is still the same.
Should I give it more time or should I do something? What to do in any case?
What fire am I talking about? Where is it coming from?
Well, I’m sad and I feel hurt, not that he hurt me, he didn’t….
Did I hurt myself? Maybe I did, but what the fuck, I have to stop avoiding being hurt!

I don’t know why I’m crying all the time and I don’t know why I’m so sad, but I know what made me feel hurt: “you want the I love you, I miss you…the cute feeling that I got you and you got me. We are not lovers….” I was offended, felt so bad about it, and the fact it was the truth, made it worse.

Did I love him?
I don't think I did, so why the fact that we are no lovers hurts me? Didn’t I know that?
Well I knew that we are not lovers, but I wanted to be lovers, and he took this dream away. What’s worse than losing a dream?
Maybe that’s why I don’t dream, I only have plans, no dreams, if the plan doesn’t work, I change it, but dreams if you lose them, that’s it….. So I just don’t dream, it’s safer.

You know, I didn’t print his emails when I went to Cairo, not that I didn’t want to, but the printer was down, and I couldn’t reach them while there, but they were in my mind, repeating them over and over again, without knowing why I’m still on fire.
I cant act as if I’m ok, and even if I can I don’t want to, I want to stop pretending that everything is under control and it’s fine… I cannot control my sadness and I’m not fine, I was acting all the time in Cairo, and in my brothers wedding I had the largest smile on my face, was wearing the most beautiful dress and acting like a princess, I didn’t stop dancing although I didn’t feel like and I didn’t want to, but I love my brother more than being different on his wedding, so I was the Nada everybody knows, flying from one table to another welcoming people, checking if everything is fine and inviting them to dance. I enjoyed the look on my younger brother’s eyes, how proud he was, how happy that his brother’s getting married and he’s got a cool sister who was all the time dancing with his friends, how could I take this from him, his happiness is all what I got.
Cairo was beautiful, I had to see my friends, and we had to talk about everything and I had to got to restaurants, coffee shops and night clubs, I had to, but deep inside I just wanted to reach bed to start crying and whenever no one is there to catch my tears, they just jump and I pretend that the mascara hurts or it’s too smoky…
Didn’t have any feelings to the city, or the Nile although I'm quite romantic about it and you know that. Even when I came back, it was the same, as if nothing happened, so neutral…

I want to talk to him, but I don’t wanna say anything, I can’t talk to him about people, life, society, when I feel deep inside that I’m not ok, when I feel that I’m still hurt. I don’t know what to do….

You are invited

The iftar today is Moghrabieh.

You are all invited, 6:00 PM Dubai time.

(I’m getting really good with my right hand, who said I need two arms to cook???)

On the menu for tomorrow, Beef Stroganoff

Be there...

الرحيل

الجو رطبُ والهواء عليل
والنسيم يخفق وقت الأصيل
السماء تزهو بأسراب الطيور
إنه وقت الرحيل

شمسُ معطاءُ تعلن
للملأ للكلِّ بفخرٍ
أجل أنا الملك المتقن
افرح امرح سلطن

ما همُّك لو أن اليوم هو آخر يوم
ما همُّك لو أن الليل استغرق في النوم
ما همُّك لو أن النهار ضلّ وكثر اللوم
ما همُّك
افرح امرح سلطن

أراك تذهب ولا أدري إن كنت ستعود
والقمر يقول لي إءت بنايٍ وعود
غنّ دمدم أطلق الوعود
عش حياتك فالهم لا يسود

ما نفع عيناك ما لم تر الأمل
انطلق ارم وراءك كل الفشل
ما أبهاك تعود للعمل
ما أشهاك تحترق بالقبل

بحبٍ بعطاءٍ بزهاء
افرح امرح سلطن
فأنا بكلِّ فخرٍ أعلن
أن رحيلك لأملي مُشعِل

Keep Walking

I fell of my horse on Sunday morning. I don’t remember how it happened. I guess the horse was going really fast and refused my pleas to slow down, so I fell. The 5 seconds or less from the moment I got off the horse’s back till I hit the ground were the longest ever, it was a Johnny Walker moment indeed. I did my best to fall in a proper way, I mean to avoid injuries. For some reason I thought that my shoulder could take it. I was wrong. I fractured my left shoulder, and I’m left handed. I don’t know how the “sliders” manage to jump from one world to the other without the slightest pain!!!!

It could have been worse, everybody around is telling me about how superman lived the rest of his life in a wheelchair from a horse injury. And I remembered Maya’s question in her “seat 13 D” post “Are we free of our decisions? Or are we slaves of fate?” I don’t know, but I guess the will to live is what get us going, the instinct.
I did survive a number of deadly accidents in the past; the first I remember was around the age of 8 when I managed to throw a huge, 250 kg plant pot over my head. I thought it was a part of the wall and I pulled it very hard, I was happy that our neighbours in Beirut, who were spending summer in Chbenieh, will spend the day with us in Bhamdoun. I also survived an electric chock (traumatised for over a year though), falling off the Portemelio Hotel stairs in Kaslik with pointed metal high heals (for those who know the stairs, they are really scary…), a car accident (I was not driving), a desert motorcycle accident (guilty, it was me) and now the horse.

What makes us survive? I guess it’s the will to live. I’m not done with life yet, no not yet...

بيروت يا بيروت

بيروت يا بيروت يا قصة بصندوق فرجة كبير
بيروت رح بتضلّ للإيام عروسة الأمير
رمضان ع بابها
الاعياد ع جنابها
ومزيني البواب بالتوت والعناب
فانوس بيضوّي عليها و عل الأحباب
بإيد واحد دفّ
والباقي بصوت الكف
صوت الكف صوت الكف

مرحى مرحى جيبوا الطرحة
جيبوا الطرحة لبيروت
مرحى مرحى خلّوا الفرحة
تملّي الدنيّ من بيروت

بيروت يا بيروت يا قصة بصندوق فرجة كبير
بيروت رح بتضلّ للإيام عروسة الأمير
الخضر ع بابها
عم يكتب كتابها
مطرح ما بدّك روح
بيروت هيّ الروح
كل ما تناديها
بحرا إلك بيلوح
غنّي عصوت الدف
غنّي عصوت الكف
صوت الكف صوت الكف

مرحى مرحى جيبوا الطرحة
جيبوا الطرحة لبيروت
مرحى مرحى خلّوا الفرحة
تملّي الدنيّ من بيروت


بيروت يا بيروت هي غنّية لأحمد قعبور بيغنوها اولاد دار الأيتام الإسلامية. ما قدرت أعملها بوستينغ لأني ما بعرف كيف
Needless to say how beautiful Beirut was....

Off to Beirut

For 2 days, then both Rania and achinar will be back...

Did you know that...

You’re a pillar to me

You make difference in my life

You always appear when I need support

You make me want to be a better person

Sometimes I feel guilty because of all the mood swings I put you through

Then I discover that you’re the only one I allow myself to do whatever I want without thinking twice

Did you know that…. I missed you too

I miss you

Ma bonniche

I’m sad today. I’d just put done the phone with mom. I couldn’t help it I burst in tears. Mona is gone. She asked permission last week to go see her sick sister in Al Ain, yesterday she called saying that she needs to go back to Ethiopia with her sick sister.

I’m sad, very sad that she left, I got used to her. She’s only been here for six weeks but I’m hurt. I have been asking my friend Jiji for a “bonniche” for sometime and when she came last month, although my family was here and it was difficult to fit her in my one bedroom, I couldn’t afford to let her go. She was a good catch, neat, clever and a good cook. My mom trained her for a week before she went back to Beirut.

When I first saw Mona I was surprised, she’s very small in size, how could she be as good as jiji described? She called her a Fernayneh saying that she was handling a 5 bedroom villa on her own… Mona was a clever girl indeed, she immediately took responsibility for everything at home. In addition to the cleaning that she does without any guidance, she also washes and irons all my clothes, I don’t need to send anything to laundry, and the clothes smell much better and feel way more soft than when they come from the laundry. The best thing was her cooking capacities. She was not a cook, I mean when she tried to cook some chicken on her own it was not really spectacular. But no matter how complicated is the dish I’m preparing, she can do it with the slightest guidance. The other day I just explained how to do the moujaddarah and when I came home it was ready!

I firstly had difficulties having a stranger with me. I couldn’t look at her straight in the eyes, I was a bit shy. I haven’t had a bonniche before. It’s difficult to live with a strange person. At the beginning, Mona was very attentive. Obviously that’s how she gets to know me better in order to give me a better service. Well, she did a great job. I knew that, but still I was a bit at unease when she comes and takes my dish. I felt a bit uncomfortable when she brought my quilt. I’m not used to be served by anyone but my mom, or at least someone that I love if you know what I mean. Slowly after my mom went back to Beirut I started getting attached to her. Sometimes I called her Habibti. Some other times I asked her to be the judge in my fight with Walid, my younger brother. She was sweet.

When I spoke with her this evening she was almost crying. I know that it sounds silly to confess that I’m devastated and crying. But I am. I always play very carefully when I let in anybody into my life, a friend or a lover, but with Mona I was not prepared. I completely forgot how I easily grow dependant on people and how it hurts to loose those ones….

تعال

سألتني أو تحبينني يا طفلة
أجبتُ أو يسأل عالمٌ طفلة؟
قلتَ أجبيني, ففطرة الأطفال لأبلغ من علم العلامة
قلتُ لئن قرأت في عينيّ لوجدت بحراً من الردود

أنا الحب والهوى والجنون
أنا الشوق والمنى والظنون
أنا الوهم والأسى والنفس الحنون
أنا الغرام المتئد بلفتة العيون

أنا الألم والنشوة معاً
أنا الحزن الممزوج بالغبطة
أنا الأمان المحفوف بالقلق
أنا البسمة المكللة بالدموع

أنا أنفاسك, خطواتك, نظرة عينيك
أنا ظلّك, فرحك و ترحك
أنا تابعك و مدارك
أنا نورك ومنارك
فلا تسل إن السؤال يبهت بريق السحر
تعال وكفى....

أريدك, أريدك, أريدك
أحبك, أحبك, أحبك
أنتظرك, أنتظرك, أنتظرك
تعالى, تعالى, تعالى
ولكن تعال, تعال, تعال
أنا لا أكفر بالمصير, المصير, المصير
فأنا حبي كبير, كبير,كبير
تعال وإلا فسوف أسير, أسير, أسير

Ramadan Kareem

بدي هنّي الكل بحلول شهر رمضان المبارك ولكل اللبنانيي انشالله هالشهر بيأربنا من بعضنا وبيبيعد عنا أشباح الحرب. أما لكل اللي ناويين يصومو فبئلون ألله يتأبل

Flash back

Yesterday we went to Tradervics in Madinat Jumeirah, they have the most amazing drinks and a “not so bad” music band. Although we could barely hear each other, a couple of Daiquiris and the table was in such a harmony. Of course there was the star of the nigh, as every night, Soraya , the most beautiful, the most intellectual, the sexiest, the funniest, the meanest of all women, girls and baby-borns, or at least that’s how she perceive herself… Anyway Soraya again started talking about the hottest subject, herself, and this time about her “Alexandrov” night in Beirut where she had a couple of this “legendary” Vodka and she went “bananas” (well, she doesn’t need the Alexandrov for that, but….); she recalled everything in her life and opened all the good and bad memories…

And I remembered: I don’t have memories. It’s not that I don’t remember, but things do not jump to my mind every now and then, I don’t recall things, not even what happened to me last year, nothing. I’m so into now, and I sometimes feel that I have no roots. That’s why I’m thriving to get my memories back; it’s my wealth and legacy…
Have I told you about my friend Michael before? No? I’m so happy for him, I’ll tell you his story later, he‘s finally hooked to the right person after a long story with a Moroccan bitch who drained his brain, heart and pocket. But anyway this is not what I want to talk about in this post…

Michael is Canadian, and once we were talking about TV shows and pop stars of the 80’s. He went talking about sit coms talk shows, songs etc etc…. Well, I couldn’t recognize anybody of whom he was talking about, and he was puzzled how come I don’t know all these “very famous” people. It is true that we grew up in 2 different worlds but I was worried, where were I 17 years back, I had a totally blank memory I felt embarrassed I couldn’t call anything to my mind, what happened at that time who were my “heros”, how was I spending my time…. Nothing I didn't remember. He didn’t give me any clue; I didn’t recognize anybody about whom he was talking.

A few days later, I was watching TV, and here goes Simon Asmar, the very famous pan arab star maker. They were talking about LBC and all the shows he did since its opening. All of a sudden, as if a window’s opened in my mind and I remembered my adolescence, school days, all the shows I used to watch all the things I used to do, I remembered friends, songs, books, I remember my dad and mom, and Walid my little brother, remembered how I used to fight with Othman, I was very aggressive with him (and everybody actually!), how I used to study, to day dream, I remembered my cloths, how I used to do my hair, how many hearts I broke, little tiny mini conspiracies….and I realized that I was alive at that time, a lot of going on’s….
At that time I was very romantic, I was living in the clouds, I used to read like anything, days and nights in books, this was the era of naguib mahfouz, girgi zeidan, Mikhael Naimeh, al moutanabi, Al Jahez…anything and everything Arabic that I come across, and my father’s library helped me a lot, I read it all, and I flew away of my reality to some other worlds where I was the author, the director and the hero…
Then the window was closed, and I’m back to my day to day.

Annousheh said that she only remembers good and bad things, she doesn’t remember the day-to-day things of her adolescence, while Soray every single detail of her life is present with her all the time.

How does a mind function? God it is very difficult to discover: logically speaking I should at least remember good things if we agree that the memory is selective and it tends to eliminate anything that it doesn’t like…. I can’t have bad days all my life and that’s why I don’t recall them, it just can’t be, but I ain’t complaining, I do appreciate my piece of mind, and if I have to remember, I do it, It’s not an amnesia, god forbid!!! I appreciated these flash backs, it was so refreshing, vivid, I felt rich and warm.

And here I am having a flash back of a flash back
Never mind my drivels; I just miss being in love again

Another moment

I remember that day when my mom was peeling zucchini (I love her so much when she cooks; she does it with so much love). She was sitting in the living area, and watching TV I guess; I came and gave her a kiss on the cheek and looked in her eyes, what’s up mom? Any gossiping for today? We were such a great couple… maybe that’s normal between mothers and daughters?? I don’t know but what I’m sure of is that she was my best friend….

I had just come from an interview.

I still remember these days when I thought that I own the world…
I was very happy with myself and the major I was studying at college; I learned a lot from the French literature indeed, it developed my mind in a dramatic way. It was very tough though since I was not used to the French way of thinking: I did a Lebanese baccalaureate.
Anyways, at that time I was so happy, going to the university was a joy. I carried a luxurious life: all my classes were in the afternoon, from 2:30 to 6 so I made the most of my mornings and also my evenings….
I used to wake up late have an extensive Nescafe “sobhieh” with mom, make sure that I’m a beauty queen before I step out of the house, and then go, confront life with a pretty face and a naïve heart.
At college, sitting in the cafeteria or playing cards and nerd at the next-door coffee shop, or even relaxing on the ISEAV stairway and watching the world goes by, all of this was more than enough to fill me with contentment. Did I have plans at that time? I don’t remember? Maybe that’s why I was happy? Perhaps…

In classes it was a totally different story, I was not extremely competent and I was not used to be not “extremely competent”. Well, let’s say that Makassed’s French was not the best ever, and also, I was relatively young with no experience in life, and believe me, when you study human sciences at the Jesuits, life experience and understanding is all that counts. In fact, I realized that approximately everybody in class, were a way older and much more mature than me….
But anyway, I enjoyed it; I was like a kid who’s opening his eyes to a totally new world. The good thing about literature is that being an art makes you love it, admire it and at the same time learn the hell out of it. Well, yes I learned a lot, my life would have never been the same without this fundamental phase that witnessed the forging of my personality: Yes in classes, yes in theory and through a full of roses fence, I got to know what people spend a lifetime to know. Although I was never the best student in class, my scientific background gave me a kind of push. In fact, my mind was ready for rational thinking and that’s all what I needed in order to know in depth, what this major was about. That’s why; despite of my ineptitude I was able to have an input and leave a mark in classes…. or maybe because I liked it so much?? Don’t know.

That day I was coming from an interview with the head of an educational institute; I was going to teach French for technical student.
I was 19 years old, and about to finish my second year of university and get my diploma. I did the language proficiency test, and sat in front of the manager with the paper for the interview. Somehow the guy was overwhelmed, I saw admiration in his eyes, and I felt desire in his attitude. But I was not uncomfortable, he himself was also young (not very young, maybe late 20s early 30s) handsome and polite. I was a pretty face, that’ right, and also I went into a small debate with him about how can I control a class of guys who were the same of my age and maybe elder.
Well, I don’t recall the details, by I gave him the impression that if I can control the conversation with him, the director, and come out victorious, I could control a class of 20 kid; being close to their age will help me understand the way they think, and being pretty will incite them to study more to impress me!!! After all, it doesn’t matter how old you are: if you have a personality to run a class, you will run the class, and if you don’t, being older or less attractive will not help you much.
I came out triumphant indeed, and walked my way home radiant; the cold winter breeze made me feel even better, it was a beautiful sunny day.

I reached home, and saw mom with her zucchinis, I was out the whole morning, so I definitely missed some news or gossiping, or at least an appointment for a “3ariss” since at that period, our “salon” was like a banquet room in a busy hotel, every day a couple of “3irssan” (morning, afternoon, evening, sometimes late evenings, whatever…) come to check me out, the hot merchandise.
Mom looked at me with her clear brown eyes, kissed me back and asked me: “Roro, do you wanna work for Middle East Airlines?” Without any hesitation, I said: “Yes I do”

Lesson number 3258and 1

Nadia you’re hurt because you had expectations, otherwise you wouldn’t give a flying fuck! What do you expect from a person whom you met on the net, they are either freak or they consider fooling around the net freaky, so they act like freaks!!!! He admitted that most of what he told you was just a lie; he was having fun and didn’t expect this relation to go out of the web so he just invented things. Probably nothing of what he said is true, you never know.

Maybe I had expectations that’s right, maybe I thought that since we’re both looking for friendship we could be friends. I like to talk to people, and regardless of his honesty he was interesting, he was a very potential friend. I don’t have males around me and I really wanted to be friends with him, it’s very different to be friend with a male, especially when sex is not on your agenda. I just wanted to talk, to commune, to share experiences, ideas, hobbies and maybe worries and sorrows…. I needed a male around me; I wanted a friend whom I can rely on and vice-versa.
Although Issam was separated, he was still in love with his wife and I encouraged him to fight for her, he seemed deeply in love and I thought that it is just a shame to let go your beloved people without fighting. He appreciated my advice and acted accordingly. He said that he managed to convince her to come back with him, and on his next visit to London they will put it into action. I did respect that and admired it. I felt proud of him and myself………….

When I first met him, he looked different than what I expected, much younger and more innocent than I anticipated. I don’t know why I felt responsible for him. I tried to keep low profile; I tried to shade my sexuality, to look like a friend and not like a date, simple cloth, a jeans, and no make up…. But what can I do with myself?? That’s me! I turn guys on!!!! My God, is it me or it’s everybody? They just switch when they’re with me!!! I didn’t laugh, I didn’t give the naughty look, no sizzle at all, I didn’t seduce. I didn’t try to. But still I turned him on, I definitely didn’t work on it, and honestly I didn’t see it coming….. He said that he didn’t either.

I had one concern, he’s trying to go back to his wife, I don’t want to agitate his mind, didn’t want to distract his concentration on how he could win back the woman he loves with the ghost of another woman.
When it came to me, I don’t have sex with my friends, and I don’t encourage it, it could easily blow the relationship away if both parts are not mature enough, but it’s not the end of the world, and it wouldn’t change the nature of the relation if both parties understand. To the contrary, one can understand the other much more and won’t be haunted by his sexual desire, so his mind becomes clearer. One would see what he wants from the other person properly and with no obsessions.

I liked him. During the movie, he was so childishly romantic; I’ve never been romantic or childish, it was tickling: he was watching me, not the movie; he slept on my shoulder. I thought maybe he’s tired, or maybe because he’s seen the film before, but then he started flirting. He tried to concentrate on the movie, but was looking at me and shooting a kiss on my cheek every 2 minutes. He was like kids who just cannot help themselves from looking at the chocolate cake their mom is preparing so they try to taste even before it’s ready. Oh yes, that definitely turned me on. I had this tingly feeling at the back of my neck and the bottom of my back. I wanted to hold him close to my chest to put his head between my breasts.
After the movies he invited himself for a tea, my place was just upstairs the movie theatre. I accepted, offered him vodka instead. I was very tensed, so was he. I asked him if he was sure, if this would not disturb him in any way. He was confident.

Oh yes, I had some expectations, I couldn’t help it; I expected to maintain the rhythm of the relation: to call, to communicate, to talk, I expected him to tell me that he’s going away, at least to say "good bye, will see you in a month time". I didn’t expect to change the nature of our relation, we were going to a friendship and I had an idea of how friends are; one of my friend’s characteristics was that they are available and reachable when I might need them.

He was not.

One more time I was wrong…. Poor little me I still have a lot to learn.

One more time Nadia, do not expect anything, zero, none, nil, nothing and I can guarantee you, you won’t get hurt.

Lesson number 3258and 1

Another day in the fort..

I miss you so much my love, only the thought of you being always there for me makes my horrible days pass smoothly, no hick-ups… I miss your voice, I miss the fragrance of your perfume, I miss you hairy hands and strong legs. I miss the way you look at me, the way you pat on my shoulders as if I was a small girl. I miss the way we steal our happy moments from the whole world. With you I’m always 12 years old. With you I’m always ignorant, naïve. Every little thing makes me laugh, every little thing makes me cry, every little thing makes me excited...

Yesterday when I was out with my husband I nearly called him by your name. I was seeing you in every act and every move. I dressed up for you, I was beautiful for you, I put on your perfume and you were with me all the time. Nabil never understands why I wear the Chanel men's perfume, I tell him that there is nothing called men perfume and women perfume, nice fragrances do not have sex. I’m lying, I always lie...

Nabil was trying to make up with me after the fierce fight we had in the morning. We rarely fight, but I can’t tolerate anymore how soft he is with our eldest Rami. Rami came back yesterday at six o’clock in the morning. For god’s sake he’s not 18 years old yet. On the other hand he’s being so cruel with Louloua, he didn’t want to throw a big party for her 16th birthday, saying that it’s not a good time with the Lebanese war and everything. Well tough luck, my little princess will always have the best birthday parties ever... Out of question!!

So yesterday he took me out for dinner at The Blue Elephant. He was trying hard to please me and honestly I didn't want to put him dow. So I dressed up. I put on the short black dress we bought in our little getaway to Paris this summer and the golden Gucci sandals I got during the sales in Kuwait. I had to look beautiful, I had to be sexy. I had to project the faithful wife’s image. Nabil was trying to be nice all night. Not that he’s never nice, at the contrary, for the past three years he's always been nice. But yesterday he was trying to make it up for me, and here comes the extra dose of "being nice". He promised to be more firm with Rami and promised to organise the best party for Louloua. He was very sweet, very romantic, very considering. He got me a single red rose and a small white Godiva chocolate. And during the dinner he excused himself, when he came back, he surprised me with a beautiful Harry Winston pendant. He must have paid a fortune. I was very content, very happy, but I did not see him not even once, during the whole night. Ahmad, you know that I love Nabil, I care for him, I would never do anything that would ever hurt him, especially with his condition, but I just cant be with him. Sometimes I curse myself for not having any more lust for him, sometimes I curse him, for God’s sake Nabil what did you see in the 13 years old me? I didn’t even have a breast! Whatever… Anyways my love, yesterday when he asked me out, I didn’t want to argue much, my old man is counting the days. So I smoked a joint, made myself pretty as ever, put your Chanel perfume on my skin, my hair, my dress and my shawl. Then, when I was loaded with your soul all around me, I went to the dinner ready to be romanced by the stone.

Did you see me yesterday?

Did you see me yesterday? No? How come?
I was flying all over the globe!
My back was aching for the past two weeks, and three days back I woke up crying because of the weirdest dream ever!
I was walking alone in a dark and humid big cave, it looked like Geita’s grotto, the lights were dim and I could hear a faint sound of running water. I was looking at a beautiful all-in-white lady at the heart of the cave. She had long and fizzy silver hair. Glowing, with a five-head baton in her hand, she looked like the Snow Queen, so pure. Her sister, the Night Queen, stood next to her. She was the same height and had same white skin. I think they were twins. But unlike the Snow Queen, the Night Queen was all-in-black with a dark-blue long and straight hair. Her eyes were ice blue, while her nails and lipstick were blood-red. She was holding a black whip in her hand. Both the sisters were standing on a stage. Although they were not saying a word, they looked like if they were performing a kind of a secret mass. I was looking at them in hindsight with admiration and envy for they seemed like goddesses. I was masturbating.
While lying down on the ground, intoxicated by the queens’ majesty, two strong muscled males, wearing nothing but short leather skirt, suddenly pulled me. Their golden color bodies were shining and smelled of fresh pine. I got disturbed and confused; who are they and what they want? Where are they taking me for God’s sake!!! I opened my eyes and looked into their faces; they were like robots. Bloody hell! With all the gigantesque of their look, they were no more that executers. So they dragged me to the stage, in front of the two sisters and dropped me, face down, on the floor. I was naked.
I looked up and I saw the two sisters rotating around me.Their perpetual moves took away my rather chilled feeling and brought my blood to boiling hot. The Snow Queen was standing in front of me: In a hypnotising manner, she pointed her five-head baton at my chest; I impulsively opened my arms. From the back, I sensed her sister approaching. And smoothly touching my hips; she turned my body in a gallant move, approached and hissed at my tummy. I opened my legs. I took Leonardo Da vinci’s Vitruvian Man’s position, only I was not a man!! Then they both stepped back and looked at me with pride. They set on fire a circled flame all around me and spelled me.
I was suffocating and I felt the Snow Queen’s baton going inside me tearing my interior apart. When the baton reached my chest, it marked two spots from the inside. Then, the whip of her sister ripped my back where the baton left the two signs. I was roaring and screaming from the bottom of my head but not crying. My accrued anger and rage broke out sadistically so I merged with the flame that was around me and made it even more turbulent than ever. The blaze touched my body, ate my hair and reached my skin but instead of burning it grew me iron curls in my head!!!!

I stopped screaming when the blaze died. I looked around me and I found myself all alone in a glass room. I got close to the mirror and I saw into my naked body; it was firm and toned, I had a light tan and a bald head, my face was glowing with fresh blood and my eyes sparking. I was relieved that I had no scars and I started checking my body closely; it was all fine, but when I turned my head up towards the ceiling I saw in the distant mirror the most awful sight: I had ghastly two black marks under my shoulders that were bleeding. I screamed from the bottom of my heart and frightfully woke up in my bed. My heart was racing, and my bed was full of sweat. I couldn’t breath. I looked around in the dark humid surrounding, it’s my bedroom, no changes; everything is still in the same place. I stepped out of the bed, put my slippers on and I ran to the bathroom to check myself, I checked my naked body in the mirror, I was sweating, my face was red but my hair was still there, I turned my back and I saw the same two black scars, I fainted from the view.
When I woke up, I checked my back again, and a couple of small blue feathers were sprouting out of it. I was traumatised, I tried to pull them out, but it hurt and I couldn’t do it. The feathers were fast growing into light blue wings, and I was able to move them up and down. I was puzzled and didn’t know what to do. I contemplated them the whole daylong and I stayed awake the whole night just looking at the mirror
The next morning, I got surprised to see how soft they get during the day, I could barely feel them, and when I tried to put some cloth on to see how I can manage, I found that they did suit my cloth perfectly. Unlike at night, they get harder and prevent me from laying back. I practically couldn’t sleep before the first sign of light…
Although I was dramatically scared of using them, I couldn’t stand the whole night long just looking at myself in the mirror, I felt that ME in the mirror was going to wreck me. So yesterday I mustered some courage and I tried to use them. I waited till everybody in the neighbourhood was asleep and I went up to the first floor. I thought to myself if I can’t use them, I will not necessary die! I did jump from the first floor before, it hurts but it doesn’t kill…
So I jumped, and before I hit the ground I moved my wings up and down. For a second I didn’t realize that I’m in the air, I didn’t see the difference, but then I looked down: my feet did not hit the ground and I was standing in the air. I was thrilled. I pushed myself forward; I pushed my self up. Holly God it moves!!…. I was going up and upper and upper, flying in the air like a small bird. The weather was lovely and the breeze was chilled as if I were in Hamanna Mountain on a summer night. The moon has covered the night in a sliver blue silence and the shiny stars in the dark sky were leading my way. I kept on going higher and higher. I crossed the Emirates Towers and flew towards Burj Al Arab. The higher I flew, the smaller the buildings grew. I was so happy to see the city from above, all the lights and the cars, it looked like movies. Things were getting smaller and smaller and finally I looked at the globe from a distance: Beautiful, that’s all what I could say. We would be really unfortunate if we cannot appreciate how blessed we are.
Thank God I’m good in geography, so I was able to figure out my way back. But I couldn’t discover the way to you, I need some practising on how to ride this thing, and baby that’s what I’m doing!
I might be knocking on your window tomorrow, so be prepared to receive an unexpected guest!
Cheers,

Promise

Promise me that you will always be my tutor.
Promise me you that will always take care of me and will always be there whether I need you or not
Promise me that you will always talk to me and come to visit me.
Promise me
Promise me that you will always be the person to whom I can talk whenever I want and say whatever I want no matter where or when is it.

Promise me that nothing will change my relation with you
Promise me that I can always run to you
Promise me that I will always have a shelter in your arms
Promise me
Promise me that you will always love me
Promise me, I need to hear it
Promise

It's All about Passion

Martin Luther King, Jr., said, "There’s a kind of fire that nobody can put out."

I still remember the day I applied for a job in Dubai. I was working for Middle East Airlines then at Beirut International Airport.
Dubai fascinated me, without even seeing it; I used to chat with the passengers who always talked about this emirate with such a passion that made me really eager to discover this modern yet Arabic country. I didn’t really know The Jumeirah Beach Hotel at that time, but still I applied. What am I going to lose?

I went to the interview and met with Serge Zaalof. I can’t recall the discussion we carried out, nothing was really unusual except the way Serge described the company, he talked with great passion and enthusiasm about the hotel, with devotion and such a feeling of belonging that I left with one impression; this is where I want to be.

I came to Dubai and joined Burj Al Arab. My first contact was with the Executive Assistant Manager who showed me around. I admit, I was dazed, by the magnitude of the building, but honestly, in the first place, I was amazed by the excitement and the sparkle in his eyes when he talks about every single part of the hotel. It didn’t take much to realize that I took the right decision.
Working at Burj Al Arab was a fulfilling experience. I was standing with one of my colleagues at the back of the house trying to convince him to go the extra mile and I said: “we have to do this, we are the best hotel in the world” when I heard a voice from the back saying: “that’s exactly what I like to hear” I turned around and saw Mr. Lawless. So I thought to myself, My God that’s true, we are the best indeed!

When Nicolas Ghrayeb interviewed me for the opening at the Emirates Towers Shopping Boulevard, I recognised his passion for the Boulevard, he was talking about the boulevard as if he were talking about a person, a very dear person, and I read between the lines: Rania, take care of my little baby!

Later, I knew that Jumeirah Hospitality is recruiting for a Marketing Communications Manager, so I wanted to apply. All I new about them is the outstanding work of the Boulevard Night, and it had a great impact on me. But still I asked my friend at the banqueting department:
“What do you know about Jumeirah Hospitality?”

She answered: “Rania it’s beyond imagination, we went to the desert, in the middle of nowhere, we did a huge set up for an Arabian night theme, it was something like 1001 night. Everybody is so enthusiastic, and they were all waiting for the General Manager to come, he’s got the final word on the set up and decoration. Rania you wouldn’t believe how creative his is….”

And I saw it for myself; Abdin is a passionate man in the first place, to the extent that sometimes you just feel that you cannot coop with his rhythm, he’s definitely asking for the impossible, only to realize that with passion and devotion, the impossible for others becomes ordinary.


So I wondered: is Passion contagious? What really makes us content and passionate about work? I had a small glimpse to my journey with Jumeirah International and I realized that:
- It’s human relationships in the first place: how the leaders manage to impact human beings around them by every activity they do in a human way.
- It’s when the employees themselves (me for example) discover the organizational values (mission and vision) that arise from the brand itself (Jumeirah International) and by definition reflect the passion and beliefs of the people (staff, guests and the whole world)
- It’s the fact that everybody is on the same side and speaks the same language; we all contribute to the building of Jumeirah International, which only results by going from great to perfect.

I realized that Passion is not an event it’s a process. And the end result of the process is a feeling, not a fact.

So why Passion? Well, they say, “Passion moved the hand of Michelangelo. Passion wins Olympic medals. Passion creates heroes. Passion marked the French Revolution, the Industrial Revolution, the creation of great nations, and also the creation of great companies.”