I will miss him

Each time I think of when I will leave him, my eyes well up and overflow, till tears roll down my face and on to my chest as though to seek comfort in their loneliness within my heart.

 

I weep.

 

I will miss him, he is not my son (for I have none), he is not my brother, he is not my father nor lover nor spouse though he could be any of them (more so my father, brother and son). He is my boss.

 

Ours is a very strange acquaintance. I read his mind at work, and he proves me right (on occasion terribly wrong, and he shows his displeasure!) That is it. No extra chit chat (only on minor occasions) no special privileges, no unwarranted criticism nor compliments. He is so sweet. Just a regular kind of guy, the kind we don’t find many of nowadays.

 

To be the kind of man who is written about, would be a glory that many seek, yet he would shy away from such a display of his graces. He is human, not an angel nor a saint but may be close in nature. To me that, is but human nonetheless.

 

I will miss his undeniable straightforwardness, his dry sense of humor, his absolute Humanness. He has been nothing less that a positively dynamic influence on my life. Yes I will miss him.

 

I am not moving far, for I am lucky to remain under his wing. No, I am moving to extend my wings at another dynamic department, a place where the mind may be stretched to unexpected extents.

 

And then, over there, I feel that I may well forge a strong and beautiful relationship with many others (teammates) (Insha’ Allah)

 

I will miss him, I will miss his family who have become like mine (though we may not be close in presence but we do understand each others mindset).

 

To him it will always be a pleasure to work for. He is an amazing boss who has the utmost respect for all around him and that is equally reciprocated.

 

Through him I will rise and to him I will look for wisdom and guidance. Now I will go to be alone with my feelings of happiness at the opportunity he has given me and sadness at leaving him.

 

I miss him already….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Phenomenal Woman, Thats me...

PHENOMENAL WOMAN
by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies
I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion size
But when I start to tell them
They think I'm telling lies.
I say
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please
And to a man
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me
A hive of honey bees.
I say
It's the fire in my eyes
And the flash of my teeth
The swing of my waist
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say
It's in the arch of my back
The sun of my smile
The ride of my breasts
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say
It's in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand
The need for my care.
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Liquid Twilight
Posted by Hello

What is it with me and date palms?
it's probably just the Iraqi in me...
They stand so tall rising with their glorious green fronds reaching for the heavens...


Dubai Internet City by night
Posted by Hello

Although they are mighty in their stance, they remind me of their cousins in Iraq some at least three times as tall as the ones here in Dubai, those must be younger. I am sure they will one day reach for the stars for they are no less glorious than any I've seen elsewhere...

The magnificent ones that call me every time I see a date palm seem to recall a memory of childhood holidays and long weekends in Iraq, of moonlit nights on the corniche in Basra, the jasmine scented streets of Towaissah next to my uncles house, of bright midday’s passing through Samawa heading towards Baghdad, of the road next to my grandfathers house... 'The Four Roads' it's called in the Al Karrada district of Baghdad as if I never left the one thousand and one nights of my past life...

It was a dark and stormy night...

 

Last night was just that, equal to any old 'cliched' novel...

When I woke up it was a bright and sunny day, I had washed my soul during the night, cleansed my mind by dawn and hung my heart out to be kissed by the sun. Yes it is a bright and sunny day and 'Inshallah'; God Willing it will be a beautiful day throughout...

"Hello darkness, my old friend, I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping, Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain,
Still remains, within the sound of silence."
The Sound of Silence, by Simon & Garfunkel


... and I delve farther into this darkness, the abyss that beckons, yet.. yet I can't seem to fall!
Two weeks ago I sms'd my friend and said that I'd wanted to get pissed drunk, maybe then I could let go of my feelings. I didn't get drunk,I couldn't do any further than just think about it... he said to me that he thinks I'm great and I don't need alcohol to let go. He was right. Yet I'm still here. My eyes dry, my throat dry and my mind fucking overloaded.
My mind goes deeper and deeper, my heart drowns in it's silent screams in the darkness.
to dignify anything.. why should I? I haven't lost anything, (I SCREAM!!) 'cause I hadn't anything to lose in the first place! I repeat this mantra. Yet his cup has overflowed and he empties his goblet down a drain reflecting the yellow streetlamp, wandering through the kohl night of my soul.


I then play Blue Rodeo's 'Five days in July' listening to "Hasn't Hit Me Yet"
I forgot how Blue Rodeo seems to intensify certain sentiments... then I remebered how I use to listen to 'Bad Timing' a long, very long time ago down the streets of Montreal...

"Hey it's me what a big surprise
Calling you up from a restaurant
Around the bend
I just got in from way up North
I'm aching tired now
And I could use a friend
I might be a fool
To think that you do
Want to see me again"


JANIS!!! Where the Fuck are you when I need you??? I need your "Ball and Chain"

"Sittin' down by my window,
Honey, lookin' out at the rain.
Lord, Lord, Lord, sittin' down by my window,
Baby, lookin' out at the rain.
Somethin' came along, grabbed a hold of me,
And it felt just like a ball and chain.
Honey, that's exactly what it felt like,
Honey, just dragging me down."


23,39 23,50
I sat at my balcony and pulled at my Cartier, (yeah I know, it's too ooh la la of a cigarette to go with the rawness of this all, but hey, sue me!)
As I was saying, I sat at my balcony in the dark (my welcome friend) with the lamp outside faking the brightness of a sun, I sat and pulled at my cigarette that didn't seem to be... I listend to the storm inside my head and tried to focus on the voice in my ears, it's sound and intonations and the last time it had whispered to me...
I listened a bit and spoke a bit and realised that nothing's changed yet... I guess I have to wait a bit longer and see what God Almighty has in store for me...
I remembered at that instant that each time I pray, I kneel, lay my forehead to the ground, it's my parents and his name that I pray to God to bless and forgive...

Reflect my Soul
Posted by Hello

Strength of a Woman

A piece is missing…

 

my mom travelled on Thursday and she’ll be away for a couple of months… I feel a hollowness. Though we barely see each other for long during the day, it’s reassuring to know that she’s there; My tower of strength, my role model.

 

What is noticeable, is that people who know our relationship, m mom and I, will be at least a teeny bit surprised. Most people (Mom included) think that I may not love her as much as I should. They cannot be more mistaken!

 

I have just applied one of her biggest lessons. Be strong. Of that I have to confess that I am tired.

 

She travels back to Canada once a year. It’s been a year already! Lat year this time I was preparing to go to my friends wedding in Beirut. That was a fun few days!

 

When I was much younger at school, it use to fascinate me and surprise me that some of the kids’ moms don’t work! As I grew older, I realized that my mom was the exception (especially in the Arab world!).  Being truly exceptional she was in field dominated internationally by the male populace. My mom is a civil engineer. When I say it, even today, my shoulders push back and I beam with joy.  So no wonder I grew up thinking that women are on equal par as men, and what a devastating surprise it is to learn that not all mommies are career women and not all men like my sweet daddy can actually accept, appreciate and thrive on having a partner so equal in the mental scale and on the career path (again I emphasize ESPECIALLY ARABS!).

 

So ideally this is great! Then I grew up and found out that a lot (I know not all) of men AND (unfortunately) women are very much against this semi equality in the work force. My mom is of the many other dynamic strong women in my family (both sides): Gynaecologist, Biochemist, Executive Assistant, Home Care, Dentist, Teacher, Statistician, Civil Engineer(s) and Network Engineer. One of the greatest towers of strength is my Grandma (my dad’s mom). To see her now, I stumble in front of the humility bestowed on us by God Almighty.

 

 

Ramblings...

Whoah ... intense feel ... love the colours, I told them Brown is Back ... but do you think anyone will listen. It's the way to go.... I feel it needs to feel the screen and overwhelm it ... take over and drown in chocolate ...I feel like writing some rhythm ... like singing the Browns .. Like dancing in a dream ...
Wow...


So it seems that the mental tirade of words on a computer screen can be qualified as writing. I mean when one speaks of this one cannot say: ‘Oh you’ve gotta read my typing!’ rather it’s my writing, whether on a computer or a typewriter or any form of tablet that may have thoughts reflected on it…
Yes I was thinking of that last night, I was thinking that since we had ceased putting any form of writing instrument to tablet/sheet we have stopped writing, but then does a stylus on a touch screen count as such? Still I think not, but that’s because we rarely use a stylus to write but rather to select an item.

I remembered many things last night, people, places, poems and all sorts of things that pop out at night. I remembered my Grandfather and when he passed away. I remembered those gentle friends that ease themselves into your life and never intrude, you know the ones that you always answer their calls ‘cause they don’t bother you… So I sms’d one ‘Hi, it’s me, R u up, it’s nothing important, I was just thinking about you’. He called from Casablanca! What exoticism. Even though, it was far from a pleasure trip, rather an intense business trip. It’s still Casablanca. He was on his way out from coming back from a meeting, and was heading towards an Italian restaurant ‘il Postino’ then I heard the cabbie mention it was closed, and I was there back in Casa, through the streets that hugged you at times and at times liberated you… So they headed out to another Italian restaurant and he mentioned that they’d been there for an event before and what a coincidence that it was the same one.
We spoke of diving and how I haven’t been doing any since I got my license and he’ll take me down the next time he’s out. I asked him if he’d been diving in Morocco but he said he was so busy he has no time. His brother has been teasing him and telling him that they are going out this weekend to a site of Ras Al Khaima, which should be beautiful!

‘...no man is an island, entire of itself;
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less,
as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's
or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me,
for I am involved in mankind,
and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
it tolls for thee.’
John Donne (1572-1631)

The Grand Mosque in Abu Dhabi
Posted by Hello

It's been a rainy month, the butterflies have turned in to dragons and nothing's at rest.
It's been a rainy month, the weather's heavy, the dampness clawing at me.
It's been a rainy month... in my soul.

I now long to paint my poetry on canvases of real life. I now want to compose music that meets the eye. I now want to sing and cry.

I die every night, and as I lay, a part of me soars very high, yes like the Phoenix I rise...


moon over Dubai
Posted by Hello

I am happy. It's good to know that simple pleasures are still delightful, like posting an image of mine (something I've been wanting to do for sooooo long) thank God for hello from picasa.

I guess I now haven't any excuse (except network failures-LAN et al!)

fine verbal tremors

So many words going round and round, so many…

I hear songs in my eyes ‘I can see clearly now the rain has gone’ but rather I see clearer now.

As the Phoenix I rise…

For I truly believe that, that which does not break us can only make us stronger.

And I rise so high like the caterpillar in ‘Alice in Wonderland’, I smoke my imaginary hookah … higher and higher…

Yet, deep in the quietness of my soul I tremble

Phi

I'm in love with a number, 1.618