Tell Me Why

A friend of mine asked me to write anything about "forgiveness", and it took me two weeks to decide that at the end I can write what I feel, not what I think. Because writing is only sincere when it's talking on behalf of your heart, just like forgiveness is only true when it's coming from the heart as well. And hey! That's the equation: I can't write about forgiveness. It almost left my heart and made estate in my mind. I'm consciously forgiving every one, in every day and in every moment. I deliberately know that I won't carry my grudge further after my death, and that no matter how big is my anger if one day they stand before me I will let go. That's what "I" will do. But "me" have a different point of view and can only keep it inside. Because what has marked several situations between some people and "me" was mostly that "I" didn't insist on getting, "I" always favorited gi...

Isn't it the most descriptive word humanity has ever invented? When I hear someone saying "I'm carrying a burden", beyond letters I feel his pain, I hear his scream, I see his silent cry. Humanity tried to draw feelings on walls, write them on papyrus, play them on instruments, and tell them in audible sounds. But I believe that amongst all feelings, "burden" knew how to become the widest understood imagery. Is it because humans are all fine through that, they feel each other when they hear it? They demonstrate compassion by understanding it? Is this word what's gonna be the only common fine line between all sapiens when other species will come and document our past existence? Anyways it's a pure human invention. Exclusivity that only can register. To be continued.

I've just watched the best 5-minute anim and it made my day, a Japanese one about a blind little girl who lost her dog guide for a while. It inspired me one thought: "we become creative only after closing our eyes to the outer noise and focus on our internal voice. Only then we can isolate a different perspective of the world, not like everybody else sees it, not like we are told to see it, but how we imagin it. How would things look if we see them through only our creative mind? Anything could happen then, and that's the impossible and magic world of creativity. Then only, "Resist the usual" or "be different" or "think different", will make sense. I would say that it's good to plan our plan according to real data, in a real world and to fit perfectly in the tangible and conventional world, but we should incept this plan creatively, in a borderless world of no limits. How many times you were faced with an "a...

خط الزمن هذه همساتي، أخطها لك كلمات فاسمعها بأذن عقلك. لا أدري إلى أين تأخذني خواطري، فأنا لا أدري إلى أي مدى هي عميقة دواخلي. أسبر غياباتها بشمعة وأقرأ على جدرانها، وتأخذني دهاليزها في غياهب يعلم الله إلى أين. إن شئت قرأت، فستضحك قليلا، وقد تبكي، أو تسخر أيضا، لكن الأهم، سأحاول، أن تعلم . المستقبل الحاضر في الماضي جلس على شرفة بيته المتهالك يهامس النجوم الساكنة في حلكة سماء صافية على غير عادتها في ليلة شتاء قارس، كأس شاي فقدت دفئها في يمينه تغازل شماله المتدللة على حافة الكرسي الأزلي الذي رافقه في حله وترحاله، وتترامى إلى مسمعه موسيقى اللاونج المفضلة لديه في أحسن أماسيه . لم يكن يعد النجوم، بل كان يغازل تلك النجمة القاصية على قمة برج الأسد . نجمة تعرف إليها وأحبها مذ كان في العشرين، وأعطاها من الأسماء بعدد من عرف في صباه من النساء، حتى بات أكيدا لديه أنها ليست أيا منهن، بل هي هو لا غيره، تنتشي بحلة ما في قلبه من ألوان . فتارة هي بسواد شعر هذه أو ببياض وجه ...

The desert in our backyard was so happy to host a vine, seeded by Amin before he leaves for his long bi-yearly vacation. After a few weeks of mist, sun, water and care, those few square meters hosted also a chair that became my "french" refuge whenever I needed to think alone. French oldies filled the air, the cool breeze interrupted the sun lashes, and that green spot grew bigger to hide the white wall and let me think the horizon is much larger behind the vine. Few romantic weeks passed then one morning, I open the back door to discover that something has uncovered the soil and the wall, and let the sun lash all the creatures who listened to my french oldies. not a single leave was left... it was a sad disaster to look at. The day passed a few times. I was trying to rewrite that chapter every hour by opening the door and looking again, but the story didn't change, till I had a closer look at the vine grave, and found zillions of black stuff,...

The fog filled the place. we can hear the sound of waves' agony on the shore, and the reader may feel the smell of salty air invading his nasal cavities and freezing again in his pulmonary system. The sound of metallic chains break the silence, or at least what sounded like silence, – silence is how we define the endless monotony of sounds and voices around us that are of the same level for a relatively long period of time, till they become the benchmark for other sounds, which should be louder to be heard–. The chain is of an anchor, announcing the ship is leaving, or that of a slave interrupting his daily routine (or resuming one, how would you know?). The moist cloth bag on my shoulder makes me feel the night endlessly longer. I can't hear the horn of my ship coming yet... still staring at the horizon and trying to see through the fog for a small swinging light and a captain calling my name.

Non-Arabs, and many Arabs, haven't heard about Senim'mar, but I know him, very well. I don't know whether you will find something about it in the search engines, because I invented the spelling... but you can learn a lot if you ask me, or if you have worked for "LaRosse" for six fruitless years (you must read "99francs" of Frédéric Beigbeder to guess who's LaRosse). LaRosse didn't invent the story. They just copied (again!) from a 1001 nights tale, about a talented architect in Bagdad, called Senim'mar, who built a fantastic palace for a Sultan, where he engineered secret labyrinths. He was the only one who knew about it, so after spending 6 years, working on the labyrinths day and night, prioritizing work above EVERYthing else, the Sultan thought Senim'mar was replaceable, was not "indispensable", and better throw him out, from the highest tower in the palace. After being pushed to jump, Senim'mar came back to claim his...