My December

Every year comes and goes with a little or no difference from the year before. And every year there are some great celebrations and some unfortunate experiences but ultimately, it's a repetition of a cycle that starts in January and concludes in December. And even though Spring is a promise of Hope, Summer is a birth of Energy and Autumn is a dream of Romance, nothing seems to come close to the way December stands out and makes every year so special, again.

December is the month that reaps the harvest of all 11 preceding months. But December is not an ending, it is a birth; a birth of realization and a start of new resolutions.

December is cold, yet it personally gives warmth to my heart. The thought of December puts a smile on my face and a look beyond the horizon in my eyes. In and right before the month starts, my family celebrates the birthdays of 5 out of 6 members of it.

December is Christmas, and Christmas is preparation and celebration. In December the world celebrates birth, the birth of a God to some, the birth of something special and personal to others and the birth of a promise that will be fulfilled the year to come for the rest. And regardless of the meanings we attach to the month, there's an undeniable joy in the air. Regardless of your faith and belief, December somehow feels holy.

And it could be the childish faith that became an inevitable tradition, or it could be the peace of mind that comes with prayers. It could also be a nostalgia for the childhood innocence through the street lights and through the music that's playing in every corner. But what ultimately makes a difference in that month is you yourself and what you do and how you contribute. A difference not just in your life, but in someone's life. And in today's world, reaching out and extending helping hands have become so much easier than it used to be, and the world around us can afford a lot of that. We don't need to look far away, there's someone within a stone's throw who needs our help, our smile, our kindness and our light in their darkness.

Whatever you do in December, make time to be with family and friends, and if that's not possible, visit the past and select those happy memories that would warm up your heart.
And whatever you do in December, don't forget to smile and send out positive energy with gratitude about the year that has just passed, hope for the year to come and faith in the moment, for the moment is what makes the past meaningful and the future full of hope.

December, my birth, not just 37 years ago, but this year and every coming year. I pray that your December gives you warmth, peace of mind and most of all .... Love

Walking the walk

Once upon a time in the summer of 1984 I discovered a straight path from Baghdad Station all the way to where Villat and Suleymaneih streets meet in a delta kind of way in Aleppo city. I started my very first job at the age of 10. I remember going to that car repair shop every morning with my tiny little steps that seemed to take forever. It was a hot summer and the Villat building entrances were my refuge from the blazing sun for 10 seconds with the shade and humidity they provided. The walk to and from work didn't take a full summer. I think I might have gotten fired because I was petting the cat they had a little more than paying attention to how a car was being repaired. Well, I didn't have to worry about it because I didn't have a social security number back then and it certainly didn't go on my record. (Did I mention that they didn't pay me unemployment too?) And that's how and when my story with walking started.

The following summer my walk took a different direction. I walked to Mnshiyeh through Azizieh to learn how to make outdoors business signs. I walked to the shop twice every day since all shops in Aleppo close for a lunch break for 2 to 3 hours. The walk was not too bad, I took shelter from the sun in the shades of the crowded tall buildings. However, instead of employing the early signs of sketching talent I showed within the sign business, I learned how to make coffee and mop the floors. When I finally gave up on the fairy to appear and change my fate like Cinderella, I stood up for myself and told dad that I didn't want to step a foot in that workshop again. Well, school had started by then, so dad didn't have much of a choice left.

Then the summer after, we extended the walk a bit longer. Dad insisted on making a man of me, so he had a plan; no lazy summers for Tony, no swimming pools, no hanging out or waking up at noon. I complained at the beginning of every summer. Never learned my lesson; complaints are heard only by God. So the next walk was to Baron street. Well I thought I'd be working at the Baron hotel and get to understand what Agatha Christie wrote about in there, but to my disappointment, it was at a car spare parts shop, that was a 25 minute walk from our apartment.

Enough about car and car businesses, this is about walking. And the fact that we never owned a car since dad moved us from Venezuela to Syria in 1974, made me wonder why he wanted me to work and learn about cars. The summer after, cars were off topic, I got employed at a make-up store that belonged to the girlfriend of my cousin (look at that random pattern). The walk was 25 minutes and yet again it was 4 times a day. I spent close to 2 hours on the road walking to Jabriyeh six days a week wondering as a 13 year old boy, where the world ended. I knew that the earth was a globe, but my imagination pictured high thick stone walls at one point. And as much as curiosity kills the cat, my walks left me with no more curiosity. Aleppo introduced itself to me every summer, with a farther, longer and stranger walk

After two more summers of working here and there, dad found me a career path for my high school summers (buy one get three, whether you like it or not). That career path was called "Hanin" which means "Nostalgia". I wasn't sure what the relationship was between the underwear produced under that brand name and the name itself. I could only imagine what kind of nostalgia certain people would feel when they wear their underwear (or someone Else's in that case). Anyway, Hanin took the country by storm. Within a few years it became # 1 selling underwear in Syria, thanks to my contribution of course. The first two summers, I had to walk 35 to 40 minutes to get to an area that seemed foreign to me at the time, it was called Souk Alhal. But I didn't mind since I worked one shift from 8:30 to 4:30. However when I finished my baccalaureate year, Dad and the owner who happened to be our neighbor, broke the news to me; I had the privilege to work in a basement in Suleimaneyeh and learn from the smartest, shrewdest, most talented engineer/business man/corporate president in the world (well, that was my dad's opinion of him, not mine). That time though, from 8AM to 8PM. I had 45 minute lunch breaks which I spent 30 minutes of, walking back and forth to my place to eat lunch with my family in 15 minutes. After 4 months I manned up and made my voice heard. I didn't want to work there anymore.

NOOOOOO Problem, the plastic factory was waiting for me. The factory was in Alaarkoob; an industrial area on the way to the airport that I had never heard of before I turned 17. Oh boy that was something I had nightmares about long after I quit. The walk again was 40 minutes, but one shift; 6 AM to 3 PM. I hated waking up before daylight and walking to work on those freezing depressing winter mornings. But what I hated more was, seeing how the workers were getting hit by the owner; fully grown men quitting one after the other till I became the exclusive worker, employee, slave, you name it, at that factory. I thought to myself that it was a matter of time before I get slapped on the face or pushed against a wall. Funny enough, I was referred to work there by a priest.

After six months, and out of fear and desperation, I planned my next plot. A plot that turned out to be one of the best moves I have ever made in my life. I secretly got an interview for a job at an industrial consulting company (AKA INCOCO) in the seven lakes area; a downtown where most of the government offices operate from. I got the job and I had the burden of breaking the news to the plastic factory surgeon, I mean owner. I remember standing at a distance from him trying to give him the keys and trying to avoid his anger and violence. He snatched the keys and said those words that I don't think I'll ever forget "Go wherever the hell you want to go, you think work would not go on without you?" I looked around and thought to myself "Ummm, no, I am your last employee dude, unless those machines know how to operate themselves, you got no work". But I remember how the length of that 40 minute walk turned into a 10 minute run. I was flying with so much joy. I, for the very first time, had chosen the walk myself. And it was a great choice that lasted 7 years. Had I not immigrated to the US, I could very much still be walking and working there today.

Tarek Oubari, my boss, changed my life. He believed in me more than I believed in myself. He trusted me with more than I thought I could handle. I walked happily every morning for 20 minutes to go to work at a company that got so much potential. Within couple of years I was in charge of a tiny little spare part department at age 20. Then I was sent as a translator for training courses that were held in English in Germany and Italy. Mr. Ouabri was so generous with me and allowed me to take time off every year till I finished my BA degree in Literature. I walked to INCOCO knowing that it was the right walk for me, my feet were not walking me to work, it was my heart. I learned so much and I made friends that, 18 years later, are still my good friends despite of the distance between us. Mr. Oubari helped me shape my life through what he saw in me. I don't think I would have the confidence to walk ahead to the unknown without his contribution in my life.

I came to Los Angeles in 2000. And no I didn't walk to LA, but I still walk in LA; a city that is not exactly meant for walking (well, that's a blog by itself)

One thing I know is that my achievements are pretty ordinary and that I'm not the first man who sought the destination of his walks far away from home, and I'm certainly not the last. Still, I'm bewildered by every step I took, every mile I walked, every new area I wandered through, every kind of work I had to work and every personality I worked for. I'm also amazed by the people I met, the places I visited, the knowledge I acquired, the music I heard, the food I ate and the cultures I got accustomed to. Sometimes I look back and feel that I spent half of my life walking, then I look at the future and smile, because as I breathe in, I feel that I want to spend the rest of my life walking, discovering what's beyond the tall walls by the end of the earth. I stumbled and fell so many times, but I got up and walked on, I'm not tired, they were all stepping stones. Today I'm walking with bigger steps than the 10 year old boy who was hiding from the scorching sun, yet with the same curiosity and passion for life and knowledge in his heart. I pray that I'll be able to enjoy all kinds of walks of life for the rest of my life. And I'm still walking ...

Facebook, how did we survive before it?

Around the last week of every year I write my annual email that I send to my friends and family. I used to look forward to writing my Annual email, put a lot of thought in it, attach pictures, maybe a song or a poem and talk about the blessings that year brought into my life.

That annual gave birth to my weekly blog. After sending many of them year after year, I was encouraged to start writing by some of those recipients and I wanted to give it a shot.

Then Facebook happened. And with Facebook my life became constantly on public display, by choice if I may add. I upload pictures, songs, poems, comments and share with … the world. I wish everyone happy thanksgiving and happy new year. I receive bunch of love on my birthday. A lot of uplifting comments when I'm sick or if I had a surgery, and warm thoughts to get me through some tough times. And as much as I think it's impersonal, it actually works and I have a love-hate relationship with it.



Facebook made it a lot easier to stay in touch with people; reminders of birthdays, events, fan-clubs, compliments, jokes, funny clips and you name it. But the one thing that it took away is the exciting intimate feeling of sharing something special with special friends only.

I started Facebook a few years back. I loved it at the beginning, I had 30 to 40 friends that I really cared about having on my friends list. I liked reading their updates and sharing mine with them. Then the friends requests got out of control. At the beginning I was kind of selective but then I might have fallen for the same meaningless popularity contest every teenager is going through; the "I have more friends than you do" disease. The number of friends I have suddenly increased to 75 then 100 then 300 and it keeps on growing. Some of the friends on my list are people who added me without saying a word, not even "Hello". The funny thing is that they're the same people who don't say "Hello" to me when they see me in public. After accepting some of them, I decided to clean up my friends list and keep it for "friends" so I deleted some of them. A few months later I received friends requests from them, again. I guess because of the number of friends they have, they forgot who they sent requests to.

Personally I hardly send friend's requests. The ones I had at the beginning were no brainer, they're my best friends. But after establishing whom I wanted on there, I mostly respond to friends' requests. Some of which, I happily accept, and others, I say "oh what the hell, I might as well" and I finally learned to say NO to some.

Discovering "Hide this post" and "Hide all posts by this person" Tabs was a gem. I found a way to stop seeing those certain posts like the never ending posts of those games Facebook has where people discover a lonely pink cow or expand their imaginary gardens or …… etc

And now comes the "Block this person"  tab that I never thought I would use. Alas I had to finally utilize that tool and block two or three people from seeing me after using their Facebook profile to promote religion and certain political agendas. And let me add here that every one is entitled to their own opinion and that's totally okay, but the ones I blocked were the ones who have the mentality of "It's my way or the highway" insulting anyone and everyone who disagrees with their posts.

Then comes the "Limited List", another great tool to keep certain things from certain ones and keep certain ones from accessing certain things. Go figure ....

So Facebook me and I'll Facebook you too, but neither of us can really blame the website, it's what you do with it and how you use it. It has all the tools to take you back to those special 30 or 40 friends you want to see. And it has the tools to keep it very special and private or make a whore of yourself. Use it the way you want or don't use it all. The fact remains, it made the world much smaller and a lot easier to communicate and share with.

Ye the fact remains and it's simple. Though it can get you closer to distant people whom you might have never even thought you would reconnect with, even reunite with, it distanced you from those you were close to, and it will distance you more, whether you like it or not, because after all, there's only 24 hours in any given day. Manage the time you spend on this addictive social network!

The Lock

Paris, the dream has almost come true, but I never thought that my trip would start with such a luck. December 2002, a surprise visit to Syria with a stop in France to fulfill an over 10 year-old dream so I can say I went to Paris in my twenties, late twenties, well, the very last year of late twenties, but still ...

I have arranged this trip with my friend Mike and gave him my flight details to pick me up from Charles de Gaulle airport, but despite everything I have planned to the detail, every thing that could have possibly gone wrong, did go wrong.

Starting with LAX, I was checking in on time to find out that I have too much extra weight in my luggage (my weight was just fine then). They sent me downstairs to buy a box and remove some of the gifts that I have bought for every person I knew in Syria since it was my first visit after exactly three years

I rushed downstairs and nervously bought the box to split my life in two and decide on what should go in the box and what should stay cozy in the luggage. I went back upstairs to stand in line all over again just to discover as I was checking in for the second time that I didn't have my passport. What? I swear it was just with me a moment ago, I thought I must have put it in the box by mistake so I opened the box and literally emptied its content to display my personal life on the airport floor, Ugh, it's not there (the passport, not my life, my life was sure there like a comedy that everyone was watching). Packing again what was left of my privacy in the box, I traced my steps back, looking at every single tile in the airport till I reached the store where I bought the damned big box from and voila, my passport was right there. I was so nervous, so sweaty and totally out of breath, I went back to stand in the long line only for a third time. As they say, third is the charm and it was.

I hate traveling long hours. Getting stuck in airplanes for over 4 hours is a torture that I dread. I also can't sleep, so my alcoholic friend gave me an advice "Drink red wine before you get on the plane, drink red wine with lunch and ask for red wine every time they offer drinks". And I did and those who know me well, also know that I have no tolerance for alcohol since I didn't train my body to consume it regularly. After the third glass of wine, I had the worst stomachache... ever. I went to the restroom and there I thought I was going to die, no no, I'm not kidding. I felt that life/energy/soul if you will, was leaving me. My upper body had no strength left, it just laid down on my legs and I couldn't lift myself up. I was in so much pain, I thought I wanted to throw up badly. I was too embarrassed to call for help so I took my time in that tiny restroom thinking to myself that if I die, my last sight would be a toilet in an airplane, what a pleasant way to go. In about ten minutes that seemed like a month later, I felt better. I gathered whatever dignity left in me and walked back to my seat like a drunk mess, too proud to admit that there was something wrong. Did I say that I still couldn't sleep? It was an eye opener; don't take advice from alcoholics.

Charles de Gaulle, here we are after 12 hours that felt like 12 days and what was the first thing we encountered? An angry French airport employee who yelled at us because we couldn't understand the French sign that said "this way" and we went the other way. I heard two passengers behind me laughing and saying "Welcome to France .... Americans".

It hit me there, I have no idea where Mike lives, I don't have his phone number, could I get any more stupid? I started thinking, what if he doesn't show up? Where do I go? Does he know which terminal I'm going to be at? All those thoughts ran through my head as I was collecting my luggage and the Box, but Mike was there waiving and yelling "Tony, I can't determine if you are deaf or blind" Yes, that was the second time I got yelled at in Paris within less than an hour, and mind you, I haven't yet left the airport.

When Mike saw the box, he couldn't help but wonder why I had a box with me. He asked me to pack back its content into the luggage because he didn't like the way it looked. I laughed thinking he was joking, but when I noticed that I was the only one laughing, I knew he was serious. Mike explained that he had just bought a brand new SUV and didn't like a box inside his car. I said to him "You can't be possibly serious, I went through hell because of that box" but he explained "Tony, this is Paris, we don't put boxes in our cars and drive around, this is a sophisticated city where fashion meets class". I sat down on the parking lot floor (how's that for a sophisticated look of class?) to empty the box into the luggage. I looked for a trash bin to get rid of that piece of shame that didn't belong in Paris and I thought to myself, something is definitely going wrong here. (and something definitely went wrong there, I lost my keys in the process but I didn't realize it yet)

I bit my tongue, swallowed my pride, drew a nice big fake smile on my face and got in the car. I was so excited to see Paris and spend time with Mike, but there goes the next surprise, Mike was not going to take me to his place, he wanted me to stay with his friend George. Sure I knew George, The last time I saw him or heard anything about him I was 17. Did I say that I turn 30 next year? "You must be kidding me, I hardly know the guy" But again, Mike wasn't joking.

George was waiting for us to arrive, I think I stood next to him first not even realizing who he was.
As I was getting my luggage out of the SUV, George approached and warmly welcomed me. It's weird how sometimes you meet people and effortlessly connect with and other times you make every effort to break the ice and you don't succeed. With George, things felt natural, I didn't feel that I was intruding, he made me feel at ease almost immediately. Mike had to leave and I said "Wait, I have something for you from the US as a token of my appreciation to your hospitality" (right!). I put my hands in my pockets, I couldn't find my keys, I searched myself over and over again, nope. Wait, no keys? how am I going to open my luggage and how am I going to change? the hell with Mike and Mike's gift, I need to access my stuff. Luckily I had a carry on with clothes. It worked out fine, Mike's token had to wait till I came back from Syria.

Three days of fun in Paris, lots of walking and Buses and Metros in that cold weather because Mike didn't want to deal with parking his SUV (or maybe because he thought I looked like the box that he didn't want in his car) and now I'm finally heading home, Aleppo ... Here I come again

I specifically asked Mike to book my ticket to Aleppo, not Damascus. I can't stand the idea of landing in Damascus and having to take a 6-hour bus ride to arrive to Aleppo. Now let me explain something here, it almost never, NEVER snows in Aleppo, but sure enough, my charming luck made me look down at a city covered in snow. I refused to believe the announcement I heard, I must be dreaming, this is NOT happening to me, No way. I closed my eyes and prayed that the airplane crashes and falls over Aleppo Airport, I was sure that the unwanted snow would have made enough cushion. But my prayers remained unanswered, maybe because I wanted to celebrate the holidays as opposed to get buried. I finally gave in and waved good bye in silent sadness on a silent night, I was almost there, yet not quite there.

We landed in Damascus because of the snow (Thank God, not in Jordan). We waited inside the airport for over 3 hours because they were not prepared to handle such a dilemma, I wish they had told us upfront how unprepared they were so that we would have shared a cab and taken off, but no, they assured us that it's their responsibility to get us home safe and sound. Long story short, I arrived home at the exact expected hour, just AM instead of PM of next day.

Home sweet home, I'm putting the keys in the door to open it at 6:30 AM and mom's voice filled the silence with "This is Tony, he's here for Christmas, I knew it" We hugged, we laughed and cried then talked and ate and it was time to unpack. Dad brought the tool box, with a big hammer and a screw driver and we broke the lock in less than 10 minutes.


Now if you think about it, what has anything to do with that lock? The lock happened to be itself, and happened to do what it does best; locking things up. It was all in the keys, the misplaced keys at Charles de Gaulle, on the floor of its parking lot due to an unwanted box in a brand new SUV. An unwanted box that traveled from one continent to anther due to extra weight. Extra weight due to lots of gifts and I can go on and on justifying why it was the worst start of a trip, but that all didn't matter.

A lot of times we encounter so many locks in our lives. And instead of searching for keys to unlock them, we make it all about the lock itself (AKA luck). Sometimes the key is right there in front of us. Sometimes the key needs replacement, and some other times the key doesn't exist. But there's always a way to open the lock, no lock is made to remain locked forever (and no such thing as a constant bad luck). I had all kind of locks in one trip from the minute I stepped a foot into the airport till I landed in the wrong airport, yet that trip turned out to be the most amazing trip of my life and I would do it all over again and not change anything about it (Not even the Box or Mike) 

WE

I am estranged from my own home
With you I feel I'm more alone
What can I do when it's insane
Closure is done, what's left is pain
We're crying

I move forward, I hit the wall
I feel empty, and you feel small
It's awkward, I wish it comes to an end
We're family, but now I feel as friends
We're dying

I'm talking, please stop doing that
Long silence as if it were a combat
I wish we'd fight then let it go
You freeze a grudge that melts so slow
And deny it

We need to breathe, not count our breaths
We're lifeless, are we inviting death?
I can't help but wonder if it's all worth
Being estranged from mother earth
I'm flying

Forgive me; what I said was a must
We strayed somewhere, somehow we're lost
You want out, leave, and take a break
It took long and now our smiles are fake
We're lying

The guilt has consumed the best of me
I fight it yet I feel guilty
You mastered giving me the guilt trip
I wish I could say "I sailed that ship"
Good-bye

You Worry So Much

What has essentially happened long time ago

worries you so much
What actually happens in your life today

worries you so much
What could potentially happen to you tomorrow

worries you so much
Your looks, your health,  your career, your wealth

worry you so much
What could possibly happen to the ones you love

worries you so much

Losing control, change, loss, relationships

worry you so much

The fear of eventually ending up alone

 worries you so much

And slowly you lose your ability to fly

And little by little your glow fades away
And your heartbeat slows down before it dies
And you wonder if it's too late to pray

That book behind your head had it all along
Look at the birds of the air, they don't sow nor reap
They fly and multiply,  they eat and sing their songs
While you worry too much and lose more sleep

Wipe your tears, yes you know that it can be worse
Wipe your tears, try to learn when you're not the first
Keep the faith in yourself, it's the master's touch
Lose control and smile, 

Hey, you worry so much

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