Nuit Blanche

I had the best coffee in town yesterday; it was very good, really. It was strong, rich, beautiful aroma, sexy color…in short, everything you would want in a coffee! It was so good that it kept me up all night.
I don’t remember the last time I was kept up all night; very few events or people have this power over me. I usually go into sleep before my head reaches my pillow…
Barbera Café's Napolitana cappuccino had the privilege of keeping me up yesterday. Sleeplessness is such a spiritual experience for me...

I rarely suffer insomnia; the first couple of times I got it, it was an absolute nightmare, I panicked: I tried to force myself to go to sleep and I became paranoid about getting to work or to school in the morning, it was real hell. So, with time, I learned not to fight with my body orders. I’m blessed with high tolerance to pain, but when my body gives me serious signals, I obey; I don’t suffer much, but I simply obey. He’s got his own agenda, his own clock, and I have no interest opposing it: If I get a serious back pain, I stay in bed. If insomnia strikes, I embrace it and I may as well enjoy it.
So the past two days my body was getting back at me: kept me in bed the whole weekend and when I indulged in delightful coffee, kept me up the whole night. I tried to distract myself: I read a book, but it was too serious and violent (The Art of War), so I stopped. I watched TV, but for a cosmic reason, I only have Lebanese channels: it cannot get any more stupid, no it can’t. I turned it off.
I knew it’s gonna be a “nuit blanche” (sleepless night) so I thought I gotta keep myself busy and enjoy the fleeting sense of helplessness I get when I’m sick or insomniac. I ran into my books. Who else can rescue me in such a case?
My next book to read is “The Book Thief” a 2006 best-selling novel by Markus Zusak, but it was too big for me to hold. I flipped through my new collection of Arabic books: I recently decided to make peace with Arabic readings. I had a small project for an Arabic publishing house, and the curious little me couldn’t be possibly advising a publishing house on their marketing strategy without knowing exactly what they’re selling! So I read the books, two of them, the ones I was working on “ Molouk al Rimal” (Kings of Sand) and “Malaekat Al Janoub” (Angels of the South). I was pleasantly surprised by their quality and decided to take my assignment a bit further, I decided to conciliate with Arabic writers and check what’s in the market for the Arabic literature, where are we at?! I long thought that the Arabic language and literature died with Naguib Mahfouz, the last respectful writer. I was especially repulsed by the weakness of Ahlam Mustaganmi’s latest book “3Abir Sareer” (Passer by a bed) and I thought that’s it! No more Arabic readings for me! Even my favorite writer is so commercial and sucks!
Anyway, I decided to check what’s on the book shelves in the libraries during my last visit to Lebanon; I bought a few: two for Alwia Soboh, “Ismouhou el Gharam”, (His name is Passion) her latest book, and “Mariam Al Hakaya”(Stories of Mariam). They were disappointing….
I still have a few Arabic books that I didn’t scrutinize, so yesterday during my out of sleep experience I decided to surrender to them. I looked at my Arabic section: the new books did not beckon at me. I looked at the old ones: Hanan El Sheikh: “Innaha London Ya 3azizi” (It’s London My Dear) oh I hate that book, it’s worse than an Egyptian movie, all Arabic novels are no better than Egyptian movies goddamit!! I never understood how Hanan el Sheikh was so famous, I looked again: Ghada Al Samman, “3ainak Qadari” (Your Eyes are my Destiny) what a cliché title!
BUT WAIT A SECOND, rewind, go back, go back:
I have two different books by two different writers: Hanan el Sheikh and Ghada El Samman, I thought they are the same one! For some reason, I thought Ghada El Samman wrote “Innaha London Ya 3azizi”, I hated the book and never accepted Ghada El Samman’s recommendation from anyone, I thought I knew what I was up to! But where did “3ainak Qadari” come from? I certainly did not buy it! It was Jiji, when she stayed with me. Jiji brought the book with her! She previously tried to convince me that Ghada el Samman was a good writer and I thought to myself what does she know! I don’t like this writer full-stop!
I had the same reaction towards Abed El Rahman Mounif, I always thought he was Ghazi Abdel Rahman El Qusaibi, and I thought to myself: he’s a good writer, I liked his books but he was ok, not the guru everybody talks about, he was merely ok, commercial easy read no more, if this is whom everybody praises then we have a problem here, a serious problem. I didn’t read “Moudon el Mili7” (Cities of Salt) but how could it be better than “sab3a” (seven)? I can tell when a writer reaches his potential, and the author of “Sa3a” didn’t have much left. I was mistaken and “Moudoun El Mili7”is the next Arabic book I’m gonna read, maybe, only maybe I could redeem myself and my years of ignorance…
I opened “3ainak Qadari”, I instantly knew it was not my book, there were marks on the book and I never do that. I rarely, very rarely do that to my studying notes. I have an awful handwriting anyway...
I was charmed: the book took me by surprise; I never expected something that beautiful to come out of an author I always hated. Little I knew. The book was not a novel, it was a collection of short stories written in exactly the same way I write my stories, exactly the same way but of course much better language and much more rich. I was fascinated, I thought she must have been reincarnated in my body, but then the lady is still alive, she’s barely my dad’s age. Where is the resemblance coming from then? How come? I never read it! How come? The book is very old. It was her first book, she wrote it in 1962. I knew every word of it, I felt deep in my soul the agony of every and each one of her characters…. What is it??? Would it be possible that my mom read it when I was still in her womb?
What is it that kept me up and ritually dragged me to the enchanting feminist world of Ghada El Samman? Why was I moved to the core?
Was it Jiji’s marks that made me feel her fatalistic agony with love and defeat? This woman has moved me to the bone more than I ever imagined she would.
Was it because I was high on pain and insomnia?
Was it my dad who would be hospitalized tomorrow and I have to repeat to myself, it’s a regular check up, it’s a regular check up it’s a regular check up, while the Coranic verse “Rabbi ir7amhouma kama rabbayani saghira”(God bless my parents because they raised me when I was a kid) goes on and on and on in the back of my mind.
What is it? The job hunt that I’m gonna embark on next month with Genny? Well, my career is taking shape, I’m done with thinking and I’m now into acting. That’s the purpose of my studies, I paid for it, I gotta do it.
Or was it the fact that I discovered that almost fifty years back a twenty years old rebellion felt and said all that I feel and I want to say. I was relieved, that someone out there speaks my language.

What is this sense of serenity that I’m bathing in? What is it?

Thank you Ghada El Samman for letting me discover you on a magical night.
Thank you Khaled for the lovely coffee; your magic potion took me into a charming journey that I feed on.