Sweet Little Stories

A young smart lady, her name was solution
came across the man of her dreams, his name was confusion
A once unknown street car named desire
drove up the street "immortal" and still drives with the same tires
An elderly lady walking with the help of a cane
Found home when she got lost on "happy memories" lane

And do you know what they all had in common?
They were hopeful that a sweet little story would find them

A lonely beautiful flower proudly called herself Gem
could not hold her head high without the support of her stem
When she realized that beauty is not the only power
Her stem lifted her up to belong with a big bed of flowers
Two strangers instantly fell in love over that scene
Gem is no longer a "one flower show", her pride is in her team

And do you know what they all had in common?
They were hopeful that a sweet little story would inspire them

But does this happen to you?
Hey, does it ever happen to me?
we're hopeful people too but the question is
do we believe that our dreams can turn into reality?
Yes we have hopes and dreams, but do we believe?

A broke ancient incomplete song started whining
Stumbled across an opportunity in "creative rhyming"
A broken hearted playwright wrote the play "love hurts"
Won the drama prize but his happiness came from a love bird
A happy ending to every story is not realistic
But we all know there's no hurt in being a little optimistic

And do you know what we all should have in common?
I say a hopeful approach to a sweet little story is a good omen

Sweet little stories have been coming my way
If I let them in, they would brighten my day
Sweet little stories have been coming my way
If I let them in, they would brighten my day

Four Blocks

It has been some time since I walked and now it feels like I'm learning how to walk using two legs and two feet instead of one with crutches. 

This morning, despite of the weather, I felt the need to walk into the Palisades park, which is four blocks away from where I live. 

The first block got me thinking, whom am I fooling? I can't do it. I should head back and wait till I get better. But I know that pattern and I know that feeling too. I reminded myself how hard it is when I swim the first few laps till my heartbeats and breathing get in sync. I'm no quitter, I kept on going.

The second block was even more difficult, crossing the street made me feel guilty about keeping the cars waiting while I'm slowly making my way. I thought I saw impatient looks on the drivers' faces. But as soon as I made it to the other side, I knew that what I saw was my need to create obstacles that would convince me to go back. No one complained, no one honked. It was me telling myself that what I was doing was wrong when there was nothing wrong about it, just uncertainly.

The third block had a voice, it said that I'm a little bit more than half way through and that It's not too late to go back and settle down with the experience that I had so far. But I kept on walking. As soon as I made it close to the end, the voice changed the quitting topic to "what was it that I was trying to achieve". I had to agree with that one, I was questioning myself " so once I make it to the last block, then what?" I knew that this was a pattern in my life, getting stock in the destination than enjoying the experience. What was it after those four painful block? Let it be whatever the hell it's going to be. I want to be open to possibilities or the lack of them.

The final block was a determination full of doubt. Making the same mistake was easier since the goal is now closer. The fourth block had a partial view of the ocean and the park, yet instead of enjoying that, I was attaching meanings to everything, to every step, "So now what!",  "Hello life, I know you, and you have disappointed me over and over". But it wasn't life that disappointed me, it was me disappointing myself by focusing on the goals I couldn't reach rather than enjoying the goals I achieved so far. I came to realize that it's not people around us, it's really not reality or circumstances that let us down, push us away and reject us. Even though they do contribute partially, however the most powerful obstacle in letting ourselves down is always US. And we do a good job at it. I'd say we're experts.

Here's the park and to my surprise, I didn't mind the weather at all. I forgot my disability of walking normal. I walked over 30 minutes not counting the four blocks. I walked with ease and felt good. I sat down for 15 minutes to watch the ocean. I loved every minute of it. People seemed happy or maybe it was my own feelings. I took many pictures, played some music and sang along. I lived in the moment without attaching meanings to the moment, it was a simple four block-walk that got me there and another simple four block-walk back that took me home. And home always feels good

The voice of an Angel

A few decades ago, on a hushed and peaceful evening, my journey with music began in a forest that seemed lifted out of a dream. Deep within it stood a single, solitary rural swing. I sat upon it, and as I began to sway, something like sacred music began to move through me—an unseen force that carried me upward, as if urging me to reach the stars scattered across the sky. It lifted me with intensity, as though I could touch the heavens; it lifted me with tenderness, like a fledgling bird learning the fragile certainty of flight; and it lifted me with a maternal grace, as though a mother were finally allowing her child to step into the vastness of life itself, becoming part of its boundless song.

I was afraid, and yet within that fear there lingered a mysterious exhilaration, as though some unseen hand were guiding a mystical power through me. I found myself laughing in pure joy even as tears of overwhelming passion streamed down my face. It was there that I discovered what it means to cry from happiness. With each swing, I felt as though I were gathering stars from the night sky—one by one—and gently placing them onto musical sheets made of enormous green leaves, as if the forest itself were composing along with me. I saw the moon so near that it felt within reach; at times I almost believed I had touched it, as though we had become quiet neighbors sharing the same celestial breath. I fell in love with that dreamlike state, and when I awoke, I realized it had not been merely a dream—it had been musical, enchanted, and strangely real. The dream had become a passage, a journey without destination, guided only by the pure sensitivity of an angelic voice that seemed to echo beyond time itself.

That angel, in her quiet sovereignty, took it upon herself to teach me how to listen not merely with the ears, but with the heart—how to descend beyond the visible beauty of melodies into their deepest emotional undercurrents. Her voice was spellbinding, as though each note were drawn from some hidden spring of life itself. Her singing transformed every word into a stream of soothing water flowing from an eternal fountain of existence. In reflecting on the stories woven into her music, poetry, philosophy, and simple human tales began to unfold into entirely new dimensions, as if they were being seen for the first time through a different light.

Her morning songs arrived like gentle whispers, softer than the earliest breath of dawn. Her music at night felt almost otherworldly, as though a fairy in a flowing turquoise gown were gliding through the darkness, softly illuminating the stars as she passed.

Her singing feels like a prayer that transcends doctrine—something universal, belonging to no single tradition yet resonating with them all. She sings for everyone: for children and mothers, for the eldest grandparents, for soldiers and lovers alike; for palaces adorned with marble and for wild plants growing through the cracks of abandoned homes. She grants wisdom to philosophers, sanctity to houses of worship, color to rainbows, fragrance to flowers, thought to thinkers, music to lovers, and love itself to the entire universe.

Sadness, in art, is often easier to capture than joy—and she is widely known for her profound expressions of melancholy. Yet rather than pulling the listener into despair, her art elevates the soul into something like serendipitous grace. She is quiet, even shy in presence, but when she speaks, it is as though she selects jewels rather than words. She does not merely sing her lyrics—she breathes them into life—and in doing so, she is adored. And yet even “adored” feels insufficient; it cannot contain the depth of the world’s love for her, nor can that love fully measure the magnitude of the artistic legacy she has offered across more than five and a half decades of music.

She stands larger than life itself—holier than Jerusalem in the way she inspires reverence, more elegant than queens, more serene than doves in flight. Her presence is such that one might instinctively bow their head, as though standing before a goddess. She is a mother who has known loss, a mother who raised a prodigy, and a wife who believed deeply in her husband’s creative vision; a living testament to artistic devotion and endurance. I speak of the timeless enchantress, the moon’s neighbor, our ambassador to the stars: Fairuz.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jbNtKNw3tA

http://almashriq.hiof.no/lebanon/700/780/fairuz/legend/biography.html 

While we're having sex you talk

While we're having sex you talk
Way more than the situation calls for
The things you say work like a chock
I let them slide so my wheels can roll

A one way conversation I try not to hear
So I keep my focus between the sheets
Cause your words work like an anti-gear
That once stuck, all it does is repeat

That baby language, you think is hot
just does not do it for me in bed
You open your mouth, but here's a thought
"Silence is gold" was not randomly said

The things you say I hope you don't mean
In the heat of the moment we might all do that
And once those moans turn into screams
I have to remind you, it's not a combat

Relax baby, I'm sure I'm not your first
Relax and remember, it's sex not love
I know sometimes the warm up hurts
But trust me, play along, I know my stuff

While we're making love could've been
A better choice of words, you said last
You act as if I gave you a ring
When we agreed on "No Strings Attached"

And while we're having sex don't talk
So we can do our thing, in and out
Try silence once, baby don't balk
Silence is the trance on which you're missing out

Righteous Mourning .... in Black

When my Grandpa died I was 8. I remember going with my family to my grandpa's apt and at one point we, kids, were left in the living room and wanted to watch cartoons. We turned on the TV and immediately got rebuked by my Aunt who was wearing black, like the rest of the women who were visiting to give their condolences. When we went back home, I asked mom if I could turn the TV on and she said that it was okay as long as it was not too loud.

Years later, my Aunt died, and mom had to wear black all over again. Wearing black in Syria is a tradition for respecting the dead. But wearing black for a whole year has been frowned upon by the older generation because it was too short of a period and disrespectful to the person who passed away. My friend George told me how he never saw his grandma in colored clothes because her husband died young and she wore black for the rest of her life. So now you can understand why wearing black for a whole year is an inappropriate behavior.



I turned 18 and my uncle passed away, he was only 52. I remember sleeping over at their place because his wife couldn't bear the idea of sleeping alone with her daughter without a man in the house. Boy I was the man of the house for three days till her son returned back. There was something in my pocket that was burning my skin for the whole three days and the minute I went back home, I had to take it out of my pants and play it. And if you think it's anything other than "Air supply"'s newly released tape, then shame on you. Anyway, I politely asked dad if it was okay to play music and he smiled and said "don't be selfish, play it here in the living room so we can listen too". Again, I was only 18, but I knew then and there that Dad was not like the rest of the grown ups. He was more open minded and he realized long time ago that if we stopped breathing every time someone died, we'd follow shortly. Dad told us that when his father died and everyone left the apt the very first day except for him and his siblings (who were all married and lived with their families close by) his mother, my grandma, asked them to play cards because it was something their father would have enjoyed. How disrespectful according to the customs in Aleppo!!!

Now Dad himself had passed away this year and it's been a struggle for us keeping up with the expectations of the society. So let me highlight a few pointers first so that you can tell how little we loved our father. According to the rules of mourning, men have to earn a living, so they don't need to do anything except visiting the first three days to pay their dues. Women on the other hand have a lot of rules to follow. If they were married, and one of their family members passes away, then they're supposed to wear black for 6 months only, now that we're in 2010. If they're not married, then they're supposed to wear black for a whole year. Once the period is over, then they should switch to black and a little white, like a scarf for example, a period of 2 weeks is served in black and white before another month or two are served in transition. That transition includes wearing dark colors, like gray, navy blue, and dark brown. In the old days women were not supposed to cut their hair while they're mourning. Now they can, as long as it's not too fashionable and as long as they don't wear make up or accessories. A full year has to go by before they can celebrate Easter or Christmas because celebration means happiness and they just buried a human being, not a dog.

If you think that's all there's to it, you're wrong. Women are not supposed to leave their place for a full month (it used to be a year but because we're open minded, we shortened that sentence). The first three days all the relatives and I mean all the relatives (with their kids) come to visit every single day and dine with the family. Something I call "Suffocating with love". After the first mass there's the 9th day mass, then the 40iest day mass which you would naturally think it would be left to the closest ones, but no, everyone who lives across the street has to come and socialize too. People then go to a hall where they drink black coffee. A certain kind of pastries is served with the coffee because candies and anything that includes sugar is a sign of happiness, now no need to remind you about happiness while grieving. Music is not supposed to play for 40 days and TV is supposed to remain turned off. Yes, you don't need any kind of distraction because distractions mean you don't love or respect that person who passed. The custom after that is returning those visits by visiting back, not for the purpose of socializing "God forbid", but as a token of appreciation. It's a gesture of "Thank you" for not leaving us alone in during those hard times and for not giving us any space whatsoever.

Mom went through a lot before and after dad passed. I wanted her to come live with me after a month from dad's death but she said it was too soon to travel and that she would prefer to wait a year so that no one badmouth her. Anyway with the help of my sisters she finally gave in and crossed the ocean four months later to spend 6 months away from the "He said, she said"-Society. Being away from all the sickness and ignorance of the tradition was not enough, she felt some kind of guilt and next thing I know, a woman wearing black was living with me. We talked, we talked again we cried, we argued and at one point she stopped wearing black. When I posted a picture of her wearing black and white during our trip to NYC, one of my family members made the call to give us the guilt trip. Mom COULD wear colors, but not advertise it.

So, I wrote this blog to say that I admire the western tradition when someone passes away. I call it "common sense". They actually celebrate the kind of life their late family member had. They mourn and they grief, and they cry over the loss too, but they know that life goes on. Be reasonable before you judge, and do not pretend that you're open minded when you actually live as a slave to your society. We do what we can to help move on, so if you imprison yourself in black, you are free to do what you want, and so are we because wearing black is not going to bring the dead back to life, and not wearing black does NOT mean we loved our late family member any less than you loved yours. As much as I love Aleppo, I have to say, there are certain things there that literally make me feel SICK to my stomach. Mourning is definitely one of them.

Let go, seriously, it's pathetic .....

Attitude

When I suggested to him to have his checks written to his business instead of to "Cash" and explained that it's safer in case he lost one of them (something we were taught at the teller school and were advised to tell customers), He did not get mad. He carefully selected the nastiest condescending expressions without any profanity or apparent anger. If you wonder what kind of language he used, it went something like "Oh really, how long have you been working here as a Teller, and what makes you think that a business man like me who probably makes in one day what you make in a year, would take an advice from someone like you?" I immediately apologized to the customer and gave him his receipt. He noticed that I was not responding to his rhetorical questions but finishing the transaction and asking if there was anything else I could do for him. I kept a smile on my face and didn't show him any of what was going on inside me. He asked me for my manager. It was the first time I was asked for my manager since I started working there, or come to think of it, ever in my life. My customers were pretty much happy with me. Some of them didn't mind the wait till my window was available to come see me. I immediately pointed out at her; a strong  experienced and very fair lady. He went to see her and I called the next customer. Thirty minutes later my manager came to my window and asked me this: "Did you have a nasty customer a little bit earlier?" I looked down at the stack of transactions I had that day and said that I hope I didn't cause any trouble or inconvenience. She said those words to me that I don't think I will ever forget  "Well, he sent me to apologize to you because apparently he is not man enough to come back to your window and apologize in person".

Couple of months later I had another customer at my window and I guess while I was giving him my undivided attention, everyone else at the bank was trying to get my attention to warn me. I greeted the customer and said to him "How are you today?" he stopped looking at his check and looked up into my eyes and said "None of your God damn business" my smile disappeared and a huge question mark appeared on my forehead, he saw that and continued "How I am doing today is a very personal question and I don't see a reason for you to ask me that kind of question. Whether I'm doing well or not, what would that change for you? you couldn't care less about my mood or health so why do you ask? You don't even know my name so what business do you have in my health" and the lecture went on. I wasn't mad or offended, I thought it was quiet original to see someone who would be so mad if someone else asked him casually "How are you". I admit that I asked the question casually, but I see over a 100 customer a day, and my intention is to make it light and easy by being friendly. My manager, the same woman I was talking about earlier, approached my window and stood next to the customer and asked me if I were okay or if I needed any help. I assured her that it's all good. I apologized to the customer and wished him a good day for the lack of better words. Oh boy, he went off on me as he was walking out because after all, what business did I have in the kind of day he was going to have…….. etc

As I was parking the car by the Palisades Park with mom and my friend John and his son, a man in his late 70s early 80s who was driving behind me, pulled next to me and told me "You're the worst driver I have ever seen in my life" I smiled at him and said "Thank you for that observation sir, you have a good day okay!" and continued parking the car which was not even mine. Mom was sitting next to me, Marco who was 7 months old was in the kids car seat, John was sitting next to his son and holding a big table that hardly fit in that SUV. I had no choice but to drive a bit careful and slow in a 25 miles speed limit street. I was at that speed but no one drives that slow unless they have a reason. I did want to tell him "I don't think I'm the worst driver sir since you're still loose in the streets" or something like "I don't recall asking for your opinion so why don't you keep it to yourself?" but I didn't want his comment to ruin the day at the park I was about to have, even though it did affect my mood a little at the beginning. Some older people feel entitled to say what's on their mind just because they're older and they think they earned that right. Sometimes I wish people would ask before they just declare their unwanted opinion. But aren't we all guilty of that?

Those are just three of many stories we all go through. I guess learning not to take things personally is a winning attitude. I'm still training myself to do that and It's hard. I keep reminding myself that those aggressive people who express themselves, are actually accusing me of things that are a reflection of who they are, because they don't know me. And if I respond back to them with defense, I'm creating a poison that's going to come back to me and I would be sending out negative signals that are going to create more friction. So I try to keep cool and sometimes ………. I don't succeed.

Even after a decade of doing it, and even though I pretend that it doesn't bother me, it does. Yes you learn how to handle tough people in your life and to stop taking their insults personally, and you do handle it in a way that a lot of times those people realize with your attitude that they're making a mistake in attacking you and pouring their anger out on you just to feel better, and they end up apologizing to you for being rude to you, and some of them even wonder how you put up with them. But will it ever be natural the pretense that it's not bothering you? is it a technique that will stay in process? I am doing it day in and day out, but inside of me, the words that I really want to express are so different from the words I utter.

So, how are you doing today sir? thank you so much for being such a valued human being, have a wonderful life :)

Gifts .........

Gifts ........ (exchange)

priceless when they're least expected

The year was 1996, the occasion was my youngest sister's acceptance into the faculty of art and humanities at Aleppo university, the English Literature division. We were so happy celebrating. Peggy approached me with a wrapped box in her hand. She immediately read my thoughts and without waiting for me to say "I'm supposed to get you a gift, not you" She said "You helped me get accepted by believing in me more than I believed in myself and I just wanted to say thank you". She handed me what I consider the most meaningful gift I have ever received, it's priceless.



Wait for something in return?

The year was 2001, the occasion was Christmas. Everyone around me was running around with their heads cut off while I was re-evaluating and reflecting upon the year itself and the lessons and blessings it introduced. I was so relaxed and people were stressed out. December is my favorite month of the year. Was it everyone's deadline to reach their goals from consuming less alcohol to losing some extra unwanted pounds? There were only two weeks left of the year, what could they have possibly achieved in such a short time? I found out that I was wrong when my neighbor revealed to me the custom during Christmas; putting so much thought into buying everyone they knew a gift, that thought was "What did they get me last Christmas?" That Neighbor was the same woman who usually announced her birthday, Her husband's, kids' and her sons in law's birthday, a month in advance, then again two weeks in advance, one week in advance, then of course just in case we forgot, a day in advance. And every time we celebrated her birthday, she acted surprised and wondered how on earth did we find out? "I'm so flattered that you guys remembered my birthday …… on your own, now let's open the gifts". Opening the gifts was usually by the end of the party. A time for family and friends to sit down and show off or get embarrassed. A fake smile was drawn on everyone's face and I had the privilege to see the drama that took place after certain guests had left. There was a tiny little scale in that woman's kitchen. She took all the gifts she received and weighed them on that scale to see if the gifts were lighter than the ones she had gifted. She managed to make a fuss about most of them with the exception of the very heavy gifts, those she would have gatherings over to show them off. That scale she used was a tiny little scale that fits into anyone's pocket, even into a small wallet. It was almost as small as a credit card. And it was the standards of evaluating her gifts..

An unwanted present

The year was 2003, the occasion was again, Christmas, the announcement was "I don't want to be part of that circus". After a number of anniversaries through out the year that were supposed to be celebrations and ended up being drama, due to re-gifted gifts, light gifts, inappropriate gifts and gifts with no gift receipts, I decided to inform everyone in advance that I will not be "Exchanging" gifts with anyone during Christmas . But some people did not feel comfortable changing their routine and habits, which is very hard to do when all you know about Christmas is that it's time to give and receive ……… gifts, so when I politely declined accepting their "Gifts", they were seriously injured and threatened to ...  and they did.

So ask yourself, before you buy "some" gift or re-gift those you were not happy with "what does the person you're taking a gift for mean to me?" and remember, your gift is a reflection of who you are, the gift, not the amount of money it cost you because….

A gift is priceless when it's least expected
A gift is an act of kindness, an act of thoughtfulness.
A gift is an unconditional expression; so when you wait for something in return, your gift has already lost its value.