In a wink of an eye i became a homeless refugee. My parents went to stay at my brother's. My brother and I decided to go no where. I stayed awake all that night; smoked 4 packs of cigarettes in less than 24 hours. my chest hurts. I'm looking for a new apartment now.
I can understand more than ever that fate can carry out what is in store for anyone in no time. I could see what was in store for me in very few seconds. Destiny is willful and mighty.
I could see people happy 4 my current situation. They blithely state: " No big deal!! You can manage."
I'm sure I can Manage, that's why it happened.
What I am not sure of is that if any crisis would happen to any one I know, I wouldn't ever feel that happy. It's really strange and awkward and heartless. however, it's very useful too.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
أشلاء
ها هو الصخب والضجيج، ها هي الأشياء لا تكف عن ضوضائها المملة، والبشر هاهم لا يزالون يصنعون ما يصنعون في غفلة عما يدور في رحا الصمت والأنين. لو أنني شاهر سيفا في وجه من يرمونني بتلك النظرات في لحظات طيشي أو في حالات يأسي لكنت ممن يثأرون لأنفسهم بتلك الطريقة الغريبة الصراحة إلى حد الغموض. ها هم الأن جميعا متربصون، وهئنذا أعزل السيف واللسان. ما أسوأ الحصار .. أنا وأنت يا نيل محاصرون: كل منا يجري في داخله، كلانا يروح في اتجاه نهايته. نهايتك هي لحظة البداية، نهايتك متجددة. أما أنا فكلما أحسست أنني انتهيت أبعدوا خط النهاية. كأنه درب بغير انتهاء، كأن النهاية فقط هي لحظة الوداع. وكأنني لن أنتهي إلى ما يرمي الطموح أو يصبو الأمل.
قد مررت بهذه الطرقات مرات منتشيا وهائنذا أعاودها يائسا. بعدا لهذه الحياة الغائبة. بعدا لهذه الحياة التي لاتجيء. الصمت أفضل ألف مرة من الكلام. أحيانا تفاجئنا الكلمة بالفرح، وكثيرا ما تدمينا. أكره الضجيج. آه لو خلق الكون في هدوء. حتى البداية الكونية كانت في الأصل انفجارا. حتى أنا في لحظة الميلاد كنت صاخبا مزعجا لا أكف عن الصراخ. لو انني قد جئت في هدوء، لكان الصمت حليفا لائقا بي. لكنني صنعته حليفي رغم عنفي وصخبي. كل الكلمات الزجاجية الشفافة الصغيرة تسقط، تتناثر، تدميني. تتناثر أشلائي حولي. أحاول أن أمسك الجرح لكن جراحا أخرى تنبثق وتندب في جسدي النحيل ولا أردها، ولا ألمها، هي دائما هناك
قد مررت بهذه الطرقات مرات منتشيا وهائنذا أعاودها يائسا. بعدا لهذه الحياة الغائبة. بعدا لهذه الحياة التي لاتجيء. الصمت أفضل ألف مرة من الكلام. أحيانا تفاجئنا الكلمة بالفرح، وكثيرا ما تدمينا. أكره الضجيج. آه لو خلق الكون في هدوء. حتى البداية الكونية كانت في الأصل انفجارا. حتى أنا في لحظة الميلاد كنت صاخبا مزعجا لا أكف عن الصراخ. لو انني قد جئت في هدوء، لكان الصمت حليفا لائقا بي. لكنني صنعته حليفي رغم عنفي وصخبي. كل الكلمات الزجاجية الشفافة الصغيرة تسقط، تتناثر، تدميني. تتناثر أشلائي حولي. أحاول أن أمسك الجرح لكن جراحا أخرى تنبثق وتندب في جسدي النحيل ولا أردها، ولا ألمها، هي دائما هناك
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
THAT usually happens..!!
Friendship or brotherhood, I dont know what to call it. But it was either of the two.
One word over the phone yesterday made it like hell.
Seven years is the age of our friendship. I like number seven. It always reminds me of the sadest moments of my life with the only ecxeption of my dearest brother's birthdate. They were like seven centuries and like seven minutes at the same time. They were full of manhood, goodness, frankness and honesty. They were full of sadness, lying, animosity and dishonesty. They are seven years in my lifetime anyway.
Narcotics brought us together and separated us. we came back again. We gave up narcotics and reading brought us instead but it didn't separate us. I love reading thus. Something else broke it down. It is something he knows and of which I know nothing. Criticism brought our friendship into being; criticism of people, of books, of ideas, of music and arts and of nature. We used to criticise everything but never criticized ourselves. One more thing brought us together. It is our unprecedented love of Fayrouz. She was Like a Goddess worshipped in the temple of our friendship.
My family refused him as a friend, and so did my older friends. I refused to judge things according to their appearance. I believed in the hidden goodness behind people's faces. I didnt like his family. There has always been that sense of worry that I felt whenever I met anyone of them; specially his uncle whom I detested the most and whom he loved the best. I only liked his mother. She was such a pure woman. I sometimes thought that she was a complete misfit in this family and that's what made me believe more in him thinking he might be as good as his mother whom he tortured alot.
We were so different that I believed he is the right choice.
We became so similiar that I began to worry about our friendship.
He began to exceed the limits, I tried to stop him decently. He extended I became cruel. He retreated, I assured him it was the right decision.
He changed and became sulky. I hate people when they sulk. they usually sulk to show their sadness but usually they dont show except stupidity and impose on one nothing except irritation.
I mean when people choose to sulk in order to deliver you a certain message. I hate this. Accordingly I began to hate his attitude. I began to criticize him. It's usually a joy to criticize someone in the face whenever one is really able to do so, just as it is a pleasure to be criticized by those who mean nothing to you. I criticized him best. He tried to argue but my words were so true and vivid and harsh that he was silenced after many failing attempts to turn things to the opposite. He became depressed. I tried to make it easy for him. I advised him to be civilized and to accept criticism assuring him that it is one of the very clear defects of our culture. His depression increased. I left him alone.
Few days later he had an accident and his leg was broken. I heard about this next day. I used to visit him every day. I felt very sorry for him. At times he acted in a way that I felt he wanted to blame me for his current situation. I dont know how I felt so.
He began to criticize me in everything, starting from the way I talk, passing by the way I think-of which he knows so little I am sure- and ending by my behaviour. I realized then, more than ever, that he fell inside the trap of being influenced and being psycho. It is usually a problem that brings my friendships to end.
That same day, I left him and went back home, thinking deeply of his new problem that was going to destroy everything. I said to myself "it is time to wait for what he is going to do". I waited for two days and on the third he called me and without saying hi he threw it like this:" Do You believe that You are not a man"- you know what it means when an egyptian says it huh?-
"Hang up please now or I'll do it in ur face" I replied. He didnt. I did. He sent me a message saying:"And not respectable either"...
I haven't answered him back and I don't think I will. I don't regret him. I do regret the moments. I do regret the part of myself that I left with him. I beweep the passions that I have let. I do wonder where should all that time, those passions, gifts, money, love, disobeying my family and friends, my secrets and my stories go?
Where should all these things go? should they go astray? should we plant the flower and the reward be a thorn in one's flesh? This is not fair Life. yes you: I am talking to you life, this is not fair. YOU are not fair.
One word over the phone yesterday made it like hell.
Seven years is the age of our friendship. I like number seven. It always reminds me of the sadest moments of my life with the only ecxeption of my dearest brother's birthdate. They were like seven centuries and like seven minutes at the same time. They were full of manhood, goodness, frankness and honesty. They were full of sadness, lying, animosity and dishonesty. They are seven years in my lifetime anyway.
Narcotics brought us together and separated us. we came back again. We gave up narcotics and reading brought us instead but it didn't separate us. I love reading thus. Something else broke it down. It is something he knows and of which I know nothing. Criticism brought our friendship into being; criticism of people, of books, of ideas, of music and arts and of nature. We used to criticise everything but never criticized ourselves. One more thing brought us together. It is our unprecedented love of Fayrouz. She was Like a Goddess worshipped in the temple of our friendship.
My family refused him as a friend, and so did my older friends. I refused to judge things according to their appearance. I believed in the hidden goodness behind people's faces. I didnt like his family. There has always been that sense of worry that I felt whenever I met anyone of them; specially his uncle whom I detested the most and whom he loved the best. I only liked his mother. She was such a pure woman. I sometimes thought that she was a complete misfit in this family and that's what made me believe more in him thinking he might be as good as his mother whom he tortured alot.
We were so different that I believed he is the right choice.
We became so similiar that I began to worry about our friendship.
He began to exceed the limits, I tried to stop him decently. He extended I became cruel. He retreated, I assured him it was the right decision.
He changed and became sulky. I hate people when they sulk. they usually sulk to show their sadness but usually they dont show except stupidity and impose on one nothing except irritation.
I mean when people choose to sulk in order to deliver you a certain message. I hate this. Accordingly I began to hate his attitude. I began to criticize him. It's usually a joy to criticize someone in the face whenever one is really able to do so, just as it is a pleasure to be criticized by those who mean nothing to you. I criticized him best. He tried to argue but my words were so true and vivid and harsh that he was silenced after many failing attempts to turn things to the opposite. He became depressed. I tried to make it easy for him. I advised him to be civilized and to accept criticism assuring him that it is one of the very clear defects of our culture. His depression increased. I left him alone.
Few days later he had an accident and his leg was broken. I heard about this next day. I used to visit him every day. I felt very sorry for him. At times he acted in a way that I felt he wanted to blame me for his current situation. I dont know how I felt so.
He began to criticize me in everything, starting from the way I talk, passing by the way I think-of which he knows so little I am sure- and ending by my behaviour. I realized then, more than ever, that he fell inside the trap of being influenced and being psycho. It is usually a problem that brings my friendships to end.
That same day, I left him and went back home, thinking deeply of his new problem that was going to destroy everything. I said to myself "it is time to wait for what he is going to do". I waited for two days and on the third he called me and without saying hi he threw it like this:" Do You believe that You are not a man"- you know what it means when an egyptian says it huh?-
"Hang up please now or I'll do it in ur face" I replied. He didnt. I did. He sent me a message saying:"And not respectable either"...
I haven't answered him back and I don't think I will. I don't regret him. I do regret the moments. I do regret the part of myself that I left with him. I beweep the passions that I have let. I do wonder where should all that time, those passions, gifts, money, love, disobeying my family and friends, my secrets and my stories go?
Where should all these things go? should they go astray? should we plant the flower and the reward be a thorn in one's flesh? This is not fair Life. yes you: I am talking to you life, this is not fair. YOU are not fair.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Oil is running out
Many experts in the field of oil and mining and also Geology assure that the oil is now reaching its highest point of production and that by 2012 it will begin to decrease gradually and then by the end of 2017 it will fall suddenly and quickly. Some think that by the end of 2050 there might be no oil in the whole world.
This is a terrible statistics for nearly nothing we do nowadays doesn't depend a way or another on oil. that means that industry my stop, factories will close and the most important there won't be wars. We will get back to become primitive societies again.
That makes me happy and makes me sad as well. Happy for the ghost of the western occupation of the east may cease when no more oil is to be there in the east. and sad, chiefly because i dont want to get back but to go forward.
But actually we pass very difficult and unprecedented moments in our age. Oil in itself, with the greed of the industrial nations upon it forms nearly half of the tragedy the world lives today. America knows well that the Oil of the world is running out and so the
Business-man-president and oil engineer George W. Bush with the group of assholes around him are doing their best to fuck the world up and get the Oil. Here he comes to assure that his war on Iraq is now harvesting its fruit.
According to my revolutionary nature I think that Arab Peoples should form a party called the Anti Oil Party.
This is a terrible statistics for nearly nothing we do nowadays doesn't depend a way or another on oil. that means that industry my stop, factories will close and the most important there won't be wars. We will get back to become primitive societies again.
That makes me happy and makes me sad as well. Happy for the ghost of the western occupation of the east may cease when no more oil is to be there in the east. and sad, chiefly because i dont want to get back but to go forward.
But actually we pass very difficult and unprecedented moments in our age. Oil in itself, with the greed of the industrial nations upon it forms nearly half of the tragedy the world lives today. America knows well that the Oil of the world is running out and so the
Business-man-president and oil engineer George W. Bush with the group of assholes around him are doing their best to fuck the world up and get the Oil. Here he comes to assure that his war on Iraq is now harvesting its fruit.
According to my revolutionary nature I think that Arab Peoples should form a party called the Anti Oil Party.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
أين أنت في عيد الحب؟ فأنا أحبك
تفر مني الكلمات الآن، مجتمعة كلها في رأسي ويأبى القلب أن يحيطها بالبيان. لكن لماذا؟ أهوذلك الخوف القديم من افتضاح السر؟ ألن تتحرر تلك الروح المسجونة ولو لمرة واحدة تستنشق هواء القلم الحر الذي صار يخيفني كلما أمسكت به؟ أريد أن أحكيها حكايتي... يصيح بي القلم: هئنذا ملك مشيئتك !! أكتب أيها الجبان. تخلص من الرعب في داخلك وحطم قيود القهر التي سيجت بها نفسك؛ بملئ إرادتك. أكتب .. لم يخجل الأولون ولا الأخرون، لم تخجل النساء ولا الرجال، لم يوجل العارفون فضلا عن الجاهلين.. لم يخجل أحد. قم وانفض عنك التراب، انهض وحط عن جلدك الرخو بلل العرق المتصبب من حمرة الخجل وصفرة الوجل
لكنني لم أستمع إلى صرخاته التعسة ولم أستجب إلى النداءات المتكررة، وظللت طوال عمري أقول ما أريد عندما يأتي المساء. حينما أطيل الرقاد بين بين. وأحكي على مسامع الصمت كل الحكاية.. أحكي الحكاية كل ليل.. وفي الصباح أنسي الذي كنت أحكي و أظل أنتظر المساء. وكلما جاء المساء أقول سوف أكتبها في الليلة القادمة؛ ومرت ألف ليلة ، لآ أذكر أم ألف ألف ليلة، وما زالت حكايتي في داخلى تقطع أحشائي. تنبثق بين الضلوع وأحس حشرجة أنفاسي في صدري وقلبي لم يزل يوصد بابا تلو الآخر ، يصر على أن يبعث بالظلام في أرجاء كهفي الذي كلما مر الزمن ازداد انعتاقا وانكماشا واختفاء.
أنا لم أرد ياربي أن أقول.. لم أجترئ يوما أن أعترف أني لم أنحني بعدك إلا لهذا العشق الذي أدماني وأفتك بي ثم ضاع
إذا كان ذنبي أن حبك سيدي فكل ليالي العاشقين ذنوب
أتوب إلى ربي وإني لمرة يسامحني ربي.. إليك أتوب
أنت دائما معي .. أراك في وجوه المارة في الطرقات .. أذكرك كلما دخلت حجرتي ؛ في يقظتي والمنام، وأرى لفتة جيدك تأسرني في وحدتي عندما يأتي قطار الليل
أخاف من الحكاية لو كتبتها ، لو حررتها لفقدت معها حبي السجين في طياتها. أخاف أن يضيع الحب.. أخاف أن يضيع.. و انت دائما تضيعين
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Listening to Sahret 7ob By "The Voice": Fairouz
Saturday, January 26, 2008
I Won't Bring Them Here..!!
"When u reach the age of 60 u'll feel it".. he said it quickly and unintentionally as he stepped out of the room. His remark kept me in the seat unable to move, to listen or to see anything. It's just the idea that controlled me entirely. these questions were the only possible paasers by my mind:
Why after 60?
Why not now?
And after sixty everything will be quite dreadful. our shapes will never be the same. I will be more inclined or unified with death. Yeah I believe we come here to die. I can't imagine how quickly time goes on, and every moment goes by brings me nearer to something dreadful. I don't want to marry. It's a cooperation towards failure. I dont want to have children; why do I bring to this merciless life another innocent human without asking him/her if [s]he'd like to come or not.
I dont want to go for sixty years, I dont want to be older than this moment. I dont want to see myself at the age of sixty looking back at my past life and wonder or regret. I dont want to repeat the tragedy again with children that r supposed to be mine. I dont want them to come then die; I will be a killer, arent I?
But when I imagine how dreadful it is to live alone, how meaningless it is when no woman comes to shine in the dark cave of my soul, how hard and cruel it is when one dies and no sons or daughters come to put some flowers on my grave; when no son remembers me and prays for me; when I'm totally forgotten in the underworld deaf and blind, I say to myself: well, it's ok to marry and have children. But then I remember that what we do in our youth we might not realize its fruit unless we grow old, and very old indeed.
Then I ask myself how will I bring up my children. What are the criteria; what is the ideology? what kind of education shall i be giving them? ON which principles shall i bring them up? How am i going to deal with their sexuality and how to direct him or her? Or Should I be leaving them to know everything by experience? or what or what or what?
I dont want them to come here. I'm not sure they will be happy. I'm not sure I will be able to help them bear the curses of just being alive in the 21st century. They won't bear being muslims easterners, and egyptians in our age. They will curse their fate. I will keep them in the world of darkness. It is better, isn't it?
Why after 60?
Why not now?
And after sixty everything will be quite dreadful. our shapes will never be the same. I will be more inclined or unified with death. Yeah I believe we come here to die. I can't imagine how quickly time goes on, and every moment goes by brings me nearer to something dreadful. I don't want to marry. It's a cooperation towards failure. I dont want to have children; why do I bring to this merciless life another innocent human without asking him/her if [s]he'd like to come or not.
I dont want to go for sixty years, I dont want to be older than this moment. I dont want to see myself at the age of sixty looking back at my past life and wonder or regret. I dont want to repeat the tragedy again with children that r supposed to be mine. I dont want them to come then die; I will be a killer, arent I?
But when I imagine how dreadful it is to live alone, how meaningless it is when no woman comes to shine in the dark cave of my soul, how hard and cruel it is when one dies and no sons or daughters come to put some flowers on my grave; when no son remembers me and prays for me; when I'm totally forgotten in the underworld deaf and blind, I say to myself: well, it's ok to marry and have children. But then I remember that what we do in our youth we might not realize its fruit unless we grow old, and very old indeed.
Then I ask myself how will I bring up my children. What are the criteria; what is the ideology? what kind of education shall i be giving them? ON which principles shall i bring them up? How am i going to deal with their sexuality and how to direct him or her? Or Should I be leaving them to know everything by experience? or what or what or what?
I dont want them to come here. I'm not sure they will be happy. I'm not sure I will be able to help them bear the curses of just being alive in the 21st century. They won't bear being muslims easterners, and egyptians in our age. They will curse their fate. I will keep them in the world of darkness. It is better, isn't it?
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
أيها النافر الغريب
أيها المفرد
أيها المتواري في صفاتك
كن شريرا-
مزعجا
عدواني الحواس كما يليق
كن ماكرا
مجازفا
مشدود الساقين
كما ينبغي
أحب نفسك حتى الغرور
لا تفسر نواياك
أو غموض خطاك
لاتفسر رضاك
ستحتاج إلى عمرين كاملين
كي ترضي عابسا واحدا
وحين تلام-
خذ طعنة اللوم بابتسامة قوية-
ذكرهم بما قاله الطاووس:
أنا لا أنكر
أنا لم أنكر أيها السادة
؟لكن ماذا عن غرور الجرذ
كن موجودا مستترا-
ككهرباء بين غيمتين
كن صلبا ، مراوغا
شيطاني الحيلة
لأنك أيها النافر الغريب
احتراما لروحك
لا بد أن تكذب على هذا العالم
من قصيدة منتصف الليل للشاعر
مريد البرغوثي
أيها المتواري في صفاتك
كن شريرا-
مزعجا
عدواني الحواس كما يليق
كن ماكرا
مجازفا
مشدود الساقين
كما ينبغي
أحب نفسك حتى الغرور
لا تفسر نواياك
أو غموض خطاك
لاتفسر رضاك
ستحتاج إلى عمرين كاملين
كي ترضي عابسا واحدا
وحين تلام-
خذ طعنة اللوم بابتسامة قوية-
ذكرهم بما قاله الطاووس:
أنا لا أنكر
أنا لم أنكر أيها السادة
؟لكن ماذا عن غرور الجرذ
كن موجودا مستترا-
ككهرباء بين غيمتين
كن صلبا ، مراوغا
شيطاني الحيلة
لأنك أيها النافر الغريب
احتراما لروحك
لا بد أن تكذب على هذا العالم
من قصيدة منتصف الليل للشاعر
مريد البرغوثي
Sunday, January 13, 2008
To The Crying Generation To Which I Belong
I've been around to many blogs though it was not long ago to happen to know that there is something called "blog" which may be due to my dislike of technology however I know I'm not right. But what really attracted my attention is that most of these blogs as well as the newspapers of our time do nothing but crying. I dont ecxclude myself -if I'm ablogger aslan- but actually we belong to the crying generation. we came after the revolutionists of both the 19th and 2oth century who developed their thoughts gradually from protesting against stagnant norms and habits and made their way to erupting revolutions in many fields and of many forms. They warred against poverty, tyranny and inequity; they also warred against the propagandists of religion that lead the masses away from the true instructions of religion. they also had a great contribution to freeing women from the patriarchal hold which lasted since the dawn of history; and their wars were fruitful.
Everything starts with a word. first we say it then we dream of achieving it and finally work hard to bring it into being. That's what has been made through history and among different races. But first there must be the word.
And we, where is our word? what is our ambition? do we dream of achieving it? And how do we work it out?
What i noticed is simply that we treat the ideas of our predecessors by which they managed to squeeze through the narrow openning of light and achieve their revolutions, but for another purpose if ever we have a purpose, for shouting and crying.
I pity us. We are stuck in the twist of a futuristic hazy picture and an over-demanding past, and after all a present that offers no heading.
I belive as no specific one in revolution. Talking about egypt, we suffer from many many problems; social, political or cultural. The main social problem i stumble by in the blogs, newspapers, fiction or diaries is the problem of "LOVE" - which I may like to call it the problem of "MARRIAGE" - and the main cause of it is poverty that increased because of the failure of some institutions -such as the educational institution and the employment institution and others- to find solutions for it besides the negative habits of our society that stike the young couples in the face. This is a brief sample for the mytaphysical poblem of marriage. our cultural problems are more mytaphysical since they were brought about by millions of factors of which someone like me is totally incapable of any suggestions. The same also applies to our political problems which are the result of our cultural instability.
What I have a word on now is the problem of marriage. And what I dream of now is a revolution made by the young people who are deprived from that divine right because of a sort of nonsense. I wish I could see the lovers who are spread through the streets of cairo, in cafe's and clubs carrying out a sit-in or if they have courage, making a revolution threatening of either getting married or not going home agian or marrying each other in the street.
Actually I'm not kidding, but I see that if we learn how to marry, we will learn how to bring up children and so our cultural attitude will be an attitude of individuals who are able to make use of all the past generation's contributions and employ them the way they suit us.
The problem of marriage is not only a problem of unemployment or bad financial conditions, but it also has other dimensions on many levels. The most occurring to my mind now is the problem of women who are sold and bought to who is going to pay more. The problem of marriage also has its drastic implication on the children who live as parentless because of a failed marriage. It brings to our world a whole heap of generations who are not aware of their role in life or their cultural responsibility.. and it is a responsibility and everyone of us must reconsider his/her qualifications and what he or she has to produce.
Everything starts with a word. first we say it then we dream of achieving it and finally work hard to bring it into being. That's what has been made through history and among different races. But first there must be the word.
And we, where is our word? what is our ambition? do we dream of achieving it? And how do we work it out?
What i noticed is simply that we treat the ideas of our predecessors by which they managed to squeeze through the narrow openning of light and achieve their revolutions, but for another purpose if ever we have a purpose, for shouting and crying.
I pity us. We are stuck in the twist of a futuristic hazy picture and an over-demanding past, and after all a present that offers no heading.
I belive as no specific one in revolution. Talking about egypt, we suffer from many many problems; social, political or cultural. The main social problem i stumble by in the blogs, newspapers, fiction or diaries is the problem of "LOVE" - which I may like to call it the problem of "MARRIAGE" - and the main cause of it is poverty that increased because of the failure of some institutions -such as the educational institution and the employment institution and others- to find solutions for it besides the negative habits of our society that stike the young couples in the face. This is a brief sample for the mytaphysical poblem of marriage. our cultural problems are more mytaphysical since they were brought about by millions of factors of which someone like me is totally incapable of any suggestions. The same also applies to our political problems which are the result of our cultural instability.
What I have a word on now is the problem of marriage. And what I dream of now is a revolution made by the young people who are deprived from that divine right because of a sort of nonsense. I wish I could see the lovers who are spread through the streets of cairo, in cafe's and clubs carrying out a sit-in or if they have courage, making a revolution threatening of either getting married or not going home agian or marrying each other in the street.
Actually I'm not kidding, but I see that if we learn how to marry, we will learn how to bring up children and so our cultural attitude will be an attitude of individuals who are able to make use of all the past generation's contributions and employ them the way they suit us.
The problem of marriage is not only a problem of unemployment or bad financial conditions, but it also has other dimensions on many levels. The most occurring to my mind now is the problem of women who are sold and bought to who is going to pay more. The problem of marriage also has its drastic implication on the children who live as parentless because of a failed marriage. It brings to our world a whole heap of generations who are not aware of their role in life or their cultural responsibility.. and it is a responsibility and everyone of us must reconsider his/her qualifications and what he or she has to produce.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
a misfit
I totally agree that vulgarity and stupidity are the most vivid facts in modern life. Sometimes I wish I had lived a thousand years ago.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
كلام عن الكلام
لولا أن الكلام يعاد لنفد
والناس صنفان: صنف يعيد الكلام فيصبح مبتذلا وصنف يعدل عنه فيغدو صامتا
والناس صنفان: صنف يعيد الكلام فيصبح مبتذلا وصنف يعدل عنه فيغدو صامتا
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