يوم لا يمكن نسيانه

مش عارف ليه انهارده افتكرت يوم 25 يناير 2011. يمكن علشان كنت لسة موجود من شوية في نفس النقطة من ميدان عبد المنعم رياض اللي نزلت فيها يوميها من باص الشركة (اللي كنت بشتغل فيها وقتها) في نفس التوقيت (الساعة 12 أو 12.30 بعد منتصف الليل) بالصدفة البحتة دون أي علم إن البلد بيحصل فيها ثورة أو إن الدنيا مقلوبة هناك أو إن فيه ناس بتموت وناس بيتقبض عليها. يمكن افتكرت اليوم ده والليلة دي بالتحديد علشان كانت من أولها ليلة غريبة. من أول ما سألت مشرف الباصات في المغادرة بعد الشغل على مكان خط التحرير اللي على غير العادة مش شايفه واقف، وهو السؤال اللي قابله مشرف الباصات وعدد من السواقين المتواجدين حواليه بنظرات من التعجب والحيرة والدهشة (وهي النظرات اللي فهمت معناها بعدها بسويعات قليلة). يمكن علشان الباص يوميها (واللي المشرف دبره ودبر سواق "مغامر" له بالعافية) واللي بيتسع ل14 راكب كان على غير العادة موجود جواه 3 ركاب بس أنا واحد منهم. يمكن برضو علشان ليلتها كانت أول مرة أسمع محادثة مكنتش أتخيل إني ممكن أسمعها قدامي كده بين السواق والاتنين الركاب التانيين معايا اللي هما زمايلي في الشغل بس معرفش حد منهم. المحادثة كانت بتدور حوالين الأفراح البلدي وازاي بيبقى فيها خمور ومخدرات وازاي إن السواق بيجهز لفرح ابنه وجاب أد إيه خمرة وأد إيه مخدرات عشان يحيوا الليلة، وازاي إن الفرح البلدي بيبقى الرجالة في حتة والستات في حتة علشان الرجالة بتبقى لمؤاخذة "مونونة" من الهباب اللي بيشربوه وبيضربوه ويمكن يعملوا حاجة غلط معاهم، وازاي إن الاتنين الركاب اللي هما زمايلي في الشغل دول على معرفة كاملة بالموضوع ده وبالمخدرات وأنواعها وأسعارها، وهي المحادثة الشيقة والحميمة واللي انتهت بإن السواق عزمهم على فرح ابنه!

يمكن برضو علشان بمجرد ما وصلنا عبد المنعم رياض ونزلنا من الباص السواق فتح على الرابع وطار (زي ما يكون طيارة هليكوبتر رامية مجموعة قوات خاصة في ميدان الحرب في مهمة انتحارية)، والاتنين اللي كانوا معايا نطوا في أول ميكروباص وطاروا هما كمان! وطبعا كل ده بيحصل وأنا معنديش أي فكرة إيه اللي بيحصل بالضبط، غرقان في دوامة من الاستغراب والأسئلة اللي ملهاش إجابة، أو اللي مكانش ليها إجابة لغاية دقائق قليلة بعدها. 

يمكن علشان بمجرد ما ببص حواليه إذا بي كأني دخلت جوه لعبة من ألعاب الإثارة على الكومبيوتر أو فيلم من أفلام الرعب. المشهد كان سيريالي ومرعب إلى حد كبير: الناس حواليك عينهم محمرة جدا وبتتحرك ببطء وبتجهم كما لو كانوا Zombies أو أموات أحياء، بعدها بدقيقة بالضبط ابتديت آخد بالي من طبقة الدخان الكثيف والخانق اللي بتغطي الجو، وبعدها بدقيقة ابتدت تظهر الأعراض علىّ--رشح وتدميع في العين وصعوبة في التنفس وارتعاش وشعور بالبرودة. وبمجرد ما خطيت خطوتين في وجهتي المعتادة منطلقا ناحية التمثال متوسط الميدان للتوجه بعد كده لميدان التحرير ومنه للبيت، إذا بالحرب تضع أوزارها وتعلو ضجة الصياح وطلقات النار والقنابل المسيلة للدموع والصراخ، فإذا بي أعود مسرعا إلى نقطة الصفر كما كنت، وإذا بي أرى الضحايا المصابة محمولة أمامي بعيدا عن ساحة القتال والدماء تنهمر منها، وإذا بي أتسمر في مكاني دون أية فكرة عن إيه اللي بيحصل أو اتصرف ازاي.

ويمكن برضو علشان يوميها عرفت فعلا معنى من معاني ستر ربنا أو بركة دعاء الوالدين. دخان ودم ونار وظلام وفوضى سائدة على المكان وأنا في وسطها مجرد شخص موجود في المكان الغلط في الوقت الغلط، فكان لازم أحاول أتحرك في أي طريق علشان أطلع من المكان الكارثي ده وأوصل للبيت. ولكن مع كل خطوة ناحية طريق زي ما يكون كان بيطلعلي حد من تحت الأرض يحذرني إني أمشي في الطريق ده: لأ حاسب الطريق ده فيه ضرب نار .. لأ متمشيش من هنا، فيه مخبرين وناس بيقفشوا أي حد ماشي .. لأ خد بالك الطريق ده مسدود.

ويمكن علشان يوميها عرفت معنى إننا مسلم ومسيحي إخوات في وطن واحد. فبعد مناورات وتحذيرات عديدة وقفت بقلة حيلة في وسط جراج سيارات مش عارف أروح فين تاني، وإذ فجأة بتلات ظلال أشوفها بتقرب مني. ساعتها أفكار كتير بتمر في دماغك: هل هي دي النهاية؟ مين دول وجايين ناحيتي ليه؟ هما دول المخبرين وجايين يقبضوا عليّ؟ طيب أجري ولا أعمل إيه؟ طيب وأهلي هشوفهم تاني امتى؟ وبيتي، قد إيه بفتقده وبفتقد دفءه. في النهاية قررت الثبات والمواجهة وزي ما تيجي. ومع كل خطوة منهم ناحيتي كانت أشكالهم بتظهر أكتر وكانت ضربات قلب الواحد تكاد تسببله الصمم. توتر شديد فضل موجود حتى بعد ما عرفت إنهم مجرد تلات أشخاص عاديين كانوا زيي برضو موجودين في المكان الغلط في الوقت الغلط. كانوا شايلين علبة شاشة كومبيوتر فغالبا هما كانوا جايين من مول البستان القريب من ساحة الميدان وإنهم كانوا جايين يهربوا من المكان ده بعربيتهم اللي بالصدفة كانت العربية اللي كنت واقف جنبها. من أسماءهم اللي مش فاكرها ومن الصليب المتعلق في العربية عرفت دينهم المختلف عن ديني، بس من الموقف اللي عملوه بعد كده عرفت إننا ممكن يكون ديننا مختلف بس احنا لسه بني آدم زي بعض تربطنا الإنسانية، العمر واحد والرب واحد والوطن واحد. رموا الشاشة في شنطة العربية وإذا هم بيستعدوا إنهم يمشوا إذا بواحد منهم ألاقيه بيتجه ناحيتي، يبدو عليه نفس التوتر والخوف اللي بادي عليّ، وبيسألني أنا ليه واقف كده وأما عرف إني زيهم عايز بس أوصل للبيت عرض عليّ إنهم يوصلوني بعربيتهم لأي مكان في طريقهم بعيد عن الكابوس ده. ووافقت على الرغم من نظرات متبادلة من الخوف وعدم الثقة: ماهو ممكن يخطفوني في العربية دي .. ما هو ممكن يطلع مسجل ولا مخبر ويعمل فينا حاجة. وبصوت أزيز الفرامل مع البنزين طرنا بعيد وبمجرد ما وصلنا لمنطقة أمان شكرتهم وسبتهم ونزلت وبعدها أول تاكسي وعلى البيت بعيد عن أي أثر للحرب الدايرة في الميدان غير أثر الرعشة والبرودة وصعوبة التنفس الناتجة عن استنشاق كمية مش قليلة من الغاز واللي فضلت معايا لغاية ما غسلها دفء البيت وطمأنينته.

يمكن بعد كل ده عرفت أنا ليه افتكرت اليوم ده بالذات: علشان ببساطة هو يوم ماينفعش يتنسي.

The Book with the Red Cover I

"It just vanished?? How can that be?!" He kept on searching for that book for so long all over the apartment that he started to have doubts that he ever owned it or even read it before. He quickly scattered these doubts away though for he is so sure that not only did he read the book, but he also rated it and recorded this rating both online and inside his diary. But if that is the case, then how come he cannot find it anywhere, he thought. The doubts started to rise again, "I'm sure I had the book and read it before. I even remember its red colored cover and what it talked about. Could this be just some kind of dream or illusion?" 

As the perplexity kept rising, leaving him more bewildered with every passing minute, he finally decided to put an end to all this. So he reached his laptop, opened his account on that reading website, and searched through the many books he read and rated and reviewed. To his amazement, he could not find the book anywhere in his account either. "Now this is becoming weird!" One more thing remained, he thought to himself. So he opened the drawer, got the diary out, and went through its pages. Each page a day, each day a memory, and each memory a feeling associated with it. He could not recall when exactly he read the book, so he quickly but carefully jumped from page to page and memory to memory. On that day he had this wonderful sea trip, on the other day he met that girl he had some crush on for the first time, and that day, how hilarious it was, he acted the role of Tarzan and kept on roaring in front of the class in that silly self-confidence course. An overflow of mixed emotions flooded him that he forgot what he was actually looking for, and what diaries are made for but to act as the pandora box for one's deepest thoughts and hidden emotions. However, that flood of emotions did not last for long as the diary dried out of pages with no single reference to that book with the red cover.

Feeling lost and helpless, he no longer had any idea about what else to do. The sense of gloominess and perplexity kept filling the air of the room till a message notification peeped off the mobile phone. "Another advertising message from the service provider about some offer from their lame offers," he said grimly. However, the message was the farthest thing from that, and once he finished reading it, he just threw the mobile phone down and kept looking around him in suspicion and fear. We know what you are looking for, and we know where you can find it. Your book is in safe hands. "What the ...! This can't be happening! What on earth is going on here?!"   

حدث بالفعل!

يوم مرهق آخر في العمل حتى الساعات الأخيرة من الليل، حالة شبه إعياء من كثرة الشد والجذب والمجادلات والمفاوضات والمشادات وحتى أوقات الانتظار والترقب، انتظار لعميل جديد، لسيناريو جديد، لفرحة جديدة، لغضب جديد، ترقب للحظة انتهاء وقت العمل، للحظة ركوب باص المغادرة والانطلاق، للحظة الوصول للميدان الذي يبعد عن المنزل مسافة شارع طويل بعض الشيء، للحظة احتضان بوابة المنزل والمرور عبر باب الشقة إلى باب الغرفة إلى الاستلقاء على السرير ومحاولة نسيان كل شيء، نسيان كامل! ولكن مسار العودة يومها كان غير قابل للنسيان...

الميدان يبدو مختلفا بعض الشيء. أين الجميع؟ الميدان شبه خاوي على غير المعتاد. ولكن كان الشارع الطويل عكس ذلك تماما. الشارع مظلم بعض الشيء ولا يضيئه إلا بعض أعمدة النور القليلة التي تفرش نورها على استحياء على جوانب الطريق. أضف إلى ذلك طبعا بعض الأصوات البعيدة التي أصبحت معتادة لصياح بعض الجماهير الغاضبة وضجيج طلقات قنابل الغاز المسيل للدموع. وعلى الرغم من كل ذلك كان الظلام يخيم على المشهد بأكمله. وكانت كائنات الظلام في الانتظار. كان المشهد غريبا. العديد من الشباب من الجنسين مجتمعين في تلك القهوة المعروفة وعلى طاولاتهم زجاجات الخمر المحلية. سمعة تلك القهوة معروفة بذلك ولكنها كانت المرة الأولى التي يكون ذلك المنظر الشاذ على مرءى العين. وجوه مظلمة تراقب في حذر كل خطوة أخطوها إلى الأمام في طريقي إلى المنزل، لا يظهر منها سوى ذلك البريق المنعكس من أعينهم الدامية. بدأ القلق يتسرب ويبدو على خطواتي المنهكة، ومع شعوري بأنني مراقب إلا أنني فضلت تفادي النظر إلى إتجاههم والنظر إلى الاتجاه المعاكس، حين رأيت ذلك المشهد الصادم. ظلال لرجلين وامرأة يمارسون الرذيلة في عرض الطريق! معتمدين أن تسترهم الشجرة الصغيرة اليتيمة في الجزيرة الوسطى للطريق. يا إلهي! هل أنا في كابوس؟ ما الذي يحدث في البلد؟ ما كل تلك الفوضى؟!

علا صوت الأنفاس وزاد التوتر وتسارعت ضربات القلب استعدادا للهرب من الظلام سعيا إلى أي بارقة نور بعيدا عن تلك المشاهد الشيطانية. وأي هروب أفضل من الهروب من الظلام إلى النور، وأي سعي أسمى من السعي إلى الاستقرار بعيدا عن الفوضى.

تقلّب

أتذكر أول مرة كان اللقاء. لم يكن بالأمر غير العادي بالنسبة لي حيث إني لم أنتبه إلى أي شيء مميز تجاهك. مثلك كغيرك، زمالة عابرة، أو غير عابرة، ولكنها تظل زمالة أولا أو أخيرا. لا أنكر أني لاحظت بعض الاهتمام ولكني لم أقدر على تفسيره، حيث إني اعتدت ألا أحكم على الناس من المظاهر، فالمظاهر خداعة، والافتراضات وجاعة. أهي حكمة؟ أهي خبرة؟ أم هو خوف من ألم جديد؟ من تكرار نفس الخطأ؟ من عدم التعلم؟ من ضعف الإنسان؟

تلك الهالة من الحماس المحاطة حولك، لازلت أشعر بها. ذلك الغموض المحاط حولك، لازلت أحاول فك شفرته. ويالغرابة غموضك! عادة يكون الغموض من الهدوء والسكون، وهي صفات متناقضة تماما معك. فعلى الرغم من انطلاقك و أحاديثك التي لا تنتهي، ولكن ما يظهر منك هو أقل بكثير مما هو مخفي. خلف ذلك القناع من السطحية هناك عمق بعيد، أو كذلك أعتقد. 

ولكن اللقاء أعقبه لقاءات. والأمر العادي أصبح غير عادي. وطفت صفات مميزة من الأعماق إلى السطح، وتشبثت بها كالغريق الباحث عن طوق النجاة. وهنا كان الخطأ!

لا يمكنني أن أقل أني لم أحذرك. لا يمكنني أن أدعي عدم معرفتك ولو للحظة لما ينتظرك في نهاية ذلك الطريق الشائك. لا يمكنني أن أتصور نسيانك لما حدث. وقد كان! تكرر الخطأ، نفس الخطأ! تبا للتوقعات! تبا للظنون! وتبا للطيبة والمثالية والخيال!

أتذكر أول مرة كان اللقاء، وأتذكر المرة الأخيرة. كم الاختلافات. كم التغيرات. ولم التعجب؟ الناس تتغير ولا يبقى على حاله إلا الميت. وهكذا المشاعر والعلاقات. تولد وتشب وتشيخ .. وتموت. 

ذلك الكم المهمل...

يوم مشرق جميل .. الهواء العليل يشرح الصدور، النسمات الرقيقة تداعب خصلات الشعر المتطايرة على استحياء، والشمس المبتسمة الحانية تنير المدارك وتثير المباهج. الجميع يتحركون بهدوء و سعادة و تناغم كأنشودة عذبة تطرب القلوب. الجميع يحتفلون بتلك الهبة التي منحت لهم، هبة الحياة. الجميع فرحون. الجميع، عدا تلك الورقة في كواليس ذلك المشهد الملحمي. هناك! ها هي، في الطرف البعيد من الصورة. ورقة ملقاة في جفاف و استهانة بعد تكويرها و سحقها. تكاد تحسبها ذات قرون من العمر من  كثرة التجعدات و قسوة منظر الكرمشة التي سيطرت على كامل ملامحها. تلك الورقة الوحيدة المنعزلة. ذلك الكم المهمل. تراها تود بشدة الدخول في المشهد، الانضمام للسيمفونية حولها. يغطيها الظل القاتم، يتلاعب بها التيار العابس ويتقاذفها طوب الأرض. تحاول أن تقاوم بكل ما أوتيت من قوة، تحاول أن تبقي ثنياتها مغروسة في الأرض في ثبات، ولكن ذلك لا يكفي. يخيفها كثيرا مصيرها المتوقع ومصير مثيلاتها وهو صندوق المهملات بالغ العمق حالك السواد الموحش والمهجور. وما مصير المهمل إلا أن يكون مجرد ركام، مجرد ذكرى عابرة.

Don't You Ever Learn?!

Don't you ever learn?! How many times will you have to fall in the same trap? How many times will you have to commit the same mistake? How much more will you have to intoxicate yourself with the poison you take with your own naive hands? Your disease is expectations and trust to those unworthy of any expectations or trust. Your tragedy is almost always a false companion, and your downfall comes from living in a fantasy world. A world where everyone respects the other, where people are sincere and friendly and true, where emotions are honest and pure, where care and interest are always at your favor, where it is easy to talk to anyone without losing the words for dead silence, where it is easy to listen to anyone without losing the silence to frivolous words, where you understand others' needs and your needs are being understood in return, where people are honest and intentions are clear. Such world does not exist!

Thoughts to Let out of the Jar

It has been some time since the last activity in the blog, so I thought of searching through the dusty archive, finding the thoughts jar, and shaking it for maybe a couple of thoughts just slip out of it.

Thought #1: If one's typical life journey should see its onset from childhood to teenage (driven by the will of the parents, spent at school, mainly preparing for work), reaching the peak at young manhood/femininity (driven by the will of the self, mostly spent at work), then falling gradually at the middle age (driven by the will of the society, totally spent at work), and finally decaying at the old age (driven by the will of age, spent at home as a consequence of an entire lifetime of work!), then is one's existence based upon work? It captivates you, it identifies you, it feeds you and feeds upon you: from an aim to a responsibility to a duty to a burden to finally a memory...

Thought #2: We keep on killing each other every day! But not the abrupt physical killing of metal and blood, yet a very slow mental and emotional one of depression and frustration and stress and anger. The perplexing question is, how many people had I and have I killed so far? The even more perplexing question is, how many times had I and have I been killed so far?!

Thought #3: We are living in a matrix of feelings and thoughts. He is thinking of she and him has feelings for her but she likes him and her thinks of he, a matrix of I and you and we, all wondering and wandering, all confused, all lost in codes and decodes.

Thought #4: Some people have a barbed wire surrounding their brain, so that whenever it tries to expand and extend its capacities and perceptions, the barbed wire keeps it limited and damaged but its blood crosses its separation barrier falling and clotting not only on their eyes but also on their active body organs, which makes it a matter of time till they get wholly stagnated and petrified!

Thought #5: When the person you're talking to opens his/her heart to you, you really start to feel it, and it is a very brilliant feeling. You start to sense the honesty in his/her words, see the glitter in his/her eyes, hear the pride in his/her voice, and sense the trust he/she laid upon you to share such private piece of information with you, to particularize you, to be from the very few, and sometimes to be the only one, to share such special moments in his/her life with. It is one of these instants of time when both the speaker and the hearer become so much connected in a way, at least for brief moments, so much unified into one entity, with the same line of thoughts, the same beats of the heart, and the same pure smile on the face. 

Thought #6: If you fight for others their battles this means that you became responsible for them, then you'll get attached, then you'll get too indulged and too attached, then as a normal reaction you'll expect gratitude, then you'll expect more than gratitude, then you'll lose it and expect so much, and then you'll be totally exposed to be attacked yourself, even from the one you have been fighting for, and this is the most painful attack. 

Thought #7: Respect yourself while at the strength of youth, so that your self respects you while at the weakness of old age.

Your Last Moment

What if your life suddenly comes to a halt? What if this is the last moment in your life? What if you sleep and never wake up? What will be the last thing you did? What will be the last thing you said? What if you were sitting in a bus or a metro or your car or anywhere and all of a sudden your heart stops beating? What will be your last thought? Will it be about yourself, others, your problems, your blessings, or envy, or lust, or even disbelief? Do you even care? Do you even believe in the Judgement after death? What if I tell you that this little thought can literally define your final Judgement and change your destiny from Heaven to Hell and vice versa. 

And what will be the last thing you look at? Will it be the sky and the trees, the ground, some application or game on your mobile phone, lines from a book, verses from the Quran or the Bible, or some private message of the person next to you, or maybe some body part of some person from the other gender?! And your tongue, what will its last words be? Will it be a praise, a prayer, a comfort, a truth, or a curse, or a lie, or a sacrilege? And your whole hygienic state, will it be clean and immaculate or defiled and stinky? Have you ever thought about this? Have you ever considered that in a moment, a single insignificant moment, you can ruin a lifetime? 

The Hole in the Floor

"A hole in the floor may not be much." He sat looking at the floor for a long time. Finally, he fell. I ran to him and with all my might I reassured him. When he got up and walked into the shadows, he stopped. Light glistened on his forehead. Every move he made was uncertain. He was so shaken. I all this time had not made a sound. He turned to me and nodded. "Good night, Mr." I said. 

(The pic is a random page from Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird. Words were taken from it to form a very short story.)

ملخص لموضوع رسالتي لدرجة الماجستير

جامعة القاهرة

كلية الآداب

قسم اللغة الإنجليزية وآدابها

القوة في التفاعل اللغوي في الخطاب داخل الفصول في إلى أستاذي مع إعتزازي ومدرسة المشاغبين

مقدمه

أحمد محمد علاء الدين 

يوليو 2015

تركز هذه الدراسة على استراتيجيات الطالب للحصول على قوة اللغة من خلال الخطاب داخل الفصل الدراسي. يتم إلقاء الضوء على ذلك من خلال تحليل نصوص عملين أدبيين و هما: إلى أستاذي مع إعتزازي و مدرسة المشاغبين. يعد الفصل الدراسي صورة من المجتمع، كما يعد مفهوم القوة ناتج طبيعي عن التفاعلات الإنسانية بداخل أي مجتمع. و لذلك فإن تحليل التفاعلات بين الطالب و المدرس يكشف النقاب عن العلاقات القائمة على القوة داخل الفصل. و سيتم تحليل تلك القوة من خلال نموذج البدء- الاستجابة- المتابعة IRF لسينكلير و كولتهارد الذي صاغوا قواعده في عام 1975. وتم إدخال بعض التعديلات على النموذج السابق ذكره لكي يتناسب مع تحليل النصوص الواردة في الدراسة. و من خلال التحليل المنهجي للتفاعلات داخل الفصل ظهرت بعض النتائج الملفتة للنظر. استخدم الطلبة استراتيجيات عدة لمقاومة قوة المدرس، منها: إلقاء الأسئلة، إحداث الفوضى و الشغب، عدم الانصياع لكلام المدرس، الكلام في الفصل بدون إذن، اللجوء للفكاهة و للردود الساخرة و غير المهذبة. جدير بالذكر أن المرات التي بدأ فيها المدرس الكلام داخل الفصول التي تم تحليلها تتعدي نصف إجمالي مرات البدء بقليل، وهو ما يدل على شدة المقاومة لقوة المدرس. علاوة على ذلك، على الرغم من إنه من مظاهر القوة لدى المدرس تحديده لطالب محدد للمشاركة في الدرس إلا أن ذلك لم يحدث كثيرا في النصوص التي تم تحليلها وهو ما يقف حائلا أيضا ضد قوة المدرس في الفصل. يضاف إلى ذلك عدم ورود استخدام الأسئلة بكثرة من قبل المدرس في الدروس. كما واجه دور المدرس كمدير الفصل مقاومة شديدة من الطلبة (من خلال الكلام بدون إذن، توزيع الأدوار على زملائهم الطلبة، وعدم الاكتراث لطلبات و أوامر المدرس و إحداث الشغب و الفوضى). من ناحية أخرى، لم يواجه دور المدرس كصاحب المعرفة كثير من المقاومة، حيث إنه كان من النادر مشاركة الطلبة بتجارب شخصية و بأفكار للمناقشة في الدروس. ومع ذلك، عندما تحدى الطلبة دور المدرس كصاحب المعرفة في الدراسة كان ذلك تحديا لمعرفته لأحوال الدنيا و ليس لموضوع الدرس. و تظهر الدراسة تطور العلاقة بين المدرس و الطلاب من التحدي و المقاومة للتعاون و الاحترام. و في النهاية تكون الكلمة الأخيرة للمدرس.

I Have Seen Death

I have seen death.

I have seen death in a sacrificed sheep, with blood flowing from the cut arteries and veins beneath its neck, forming rivers of red to wipe off the dark spots on a floor of sins; with legs struggling back and forth to keep swimming in the seas of life, but eventually submitting to the still valley of death; with a pumping heart still playing its vibrating rhythms for some time, giving the flashing light code of sailing in a ship sunken to the deeps and sailing no more.

Ain't life so fragile?!

I have seen death in a butchered chicken, clucking and cackling, and flapping hard with its wings to fly away, and running with its legs on an invisible track, but in vain, for those wings are not meant to fly high, and the legs are running but on an airy track towards nowhere. 

I have seen death also in a dying cat, in an expiring dog in the street, lying down totally helpless, decaying in dead silence, and turning into a main dish for the death-eater crows and weasels and flies and other minute creatures and parasites.

Ain't death a gift as much as life is?!

I have even seen death in works of art, on papers of novels and drama and poetry, on stages of theaters and cinemas, on screens of televisions, on waves of radios, on virtual codes of artificial intelligence.

I have seen death further in the ticking of the hands of clocks, clapping for the death of a second and the birth of another; in the blowing of the winds of air, one breath inhaled, another exhaled; in the hitting of the waves of seas, carrying both what is lively and what is lifeless; in the spinning of the Earth of our world, a day born from dawn and passed away from dusk; in the sweeping of the dust of time, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. 

Ain't death all around us?!

And I have seen death in me. I have seen it in an illness that drives me to the peak of snapping and fainting out; I have seen it in the pain of a lost love, a lost dear, a lost self; I have seen it in the disappointment and desperation of getting hurt from those whose harm hurts the most for it comes from a very close distance; I have seen it in words that kill, in looks that injure, and in silence that suffocates; I have seen it in cursed knowledge, in troubling ignorance; and I have seen it as the great leveler, the inevitable.

I have seen death, and death has seen me, like it has seen everyone in this universe, and sooner or later, by the end of the road, no matter how long it is, we are going to meet. Your life is the mirror of your death, so let goodness and useful knowledge and love and faith be the reflection.

The Life Metro

If one's typical life journey should see its onset from childhood to teenage (driven by the will of the parents, spent at school, mainly preparing for work), reaching the peak at young manhood/femininity (driven by the will of the self, mostly spent at work), then falling gradually at the middle age (driven by the will of the society, totally spent at work), and finally decaying at the old age (driven by the will of age, spent at home as a consequence of an entire lifetime of work!), so is one's existence based upon work? Do we work for ourselves or for others? And do we exist for ourselves or for others? Or for work?! It captivates you, it identifies you, it feeds you and feeds upon you, and then it dismisses you: from an aim to a responsibility to a duty to a burden to finally a memory.

"I am terribly sorry, but you left us no choice. The final decision has been made, and your services are no longer required." With these cold words Omar left the manager's office, bleeding from the wounds caused by the bullets of words the manager shot at him, shockingly struck by the blinding lightening of astonishment, stunningly startled by the deafening thunder of numbness, caused by words of disrespect, words of underestimation, words of dishonesty, words of disloyalty, words of gossip, words of injustice, words of sympathy, and even words of empathy. And there he is, still standing a couple of steps away from the manager's office, staring at the floor, so quietly, so peacefully, but only from the outside, as from the inside no quietness or peacefulness is involved, but battles of emotions, of thoughts, about the self and about others, about the past and about the present and about the future, about work, about life, and about his whole existence.

Too many emotions to handle, too many thoughts to perceive, too many words to endure, and not too many wafts to breathe: suffocated, strangled. The atmosphere is turning into airless vacuum, places are turning into dark boxes of solitude, and walls are jails of barbed wires, getting closer and closer, till they tear your flesh apart, till they get you totally crushed. And the people, they turn into hollow shadows, with no marked features, no faces, no details, just piles of dust surrounding you, staining you, infecting you till you turn like them. And you, you cry inside in pain, down in the cage of depression, your body responds with weakness, and your mind joins with indolence. Yet, you can feel it all: your lungs are not producing much oxygen, your chest is so contracted, and your heart....well, it is going bloodless! So Omar takes a last look over his office, where a considerable piece of him lies, and he tries to collect that piece with him, yet he cannot, for it is shattered along his other shattered pieces in this ominous place. And he leaves earlier than always, but more painful than ever. And he leaves once and for all.

The way home this day felt different, the metro felt so much crowded than ever, the heat of people's breaths, the smell of people's sweat, the multiple shoulder hits from the passersby, the darkness of that closed underground, all unbearable. And inside the tube he gets. The way home felt so much longer this day: "Everything seems different today. Worse. Much worse! 'And if you were tough and cold-hearted people would abandon you.' Well, physically this is not happening since I am stuck to the flesh of the men next to me in this canned tuna box! And if you were nice and kind people would stab you at the back! And nobody cares! And why should I care anyway that nobody cares?! Everybody uses you; everybody wants a piece of you, and what is dramatic is that you simply give it to them willingly!" The metro stops and the door opens, to unload and load, flesh beside flesh over flesh, and Omar is still inside.

He goes back with the time machine of his mind to the last week in his work, when it all started. It takes only one mistake, one little mistake, the slightest deviation from the road, a single wrong step and you will be exposed to the booby-traps of the enemies of success, and if you are not well prepared, you will fall an easy prey for others' envy and greed. You put your trust on a person you thought you knew well. You believed everything that person says, everything that person does. You believed in the best of him. You saw something in him and ran after it like a little child, till you got captivated. Like a puppet, you got manipulated, you got used, you got played with, and like a puppet, you faced one of two eventual fates: either you got broken and damaged, or you got thrown away. He cannot imagine how naïve he was, how ignorant, how straight and clear, such an idiot! But it is of no use now, isn't it? The anger and frustration and anxiety and disappointment are forming a poisonous aura around Omar, inhaled not only by him, but also by everyone around. Realizing that, he sets the time machine back to the present, at least temporarily. And with this shift in time, another stop comes, another unloading and loading takes place, and in the tuna box remains Omar's status.

You are the hero of your own drama, and you keep on fighting and fighting. And like every hero, there comes a fall. But like every hero, after the fall comes the rise-up. It is a funny feeling to feel so attached to something or someone while you already know that even life is lifeless, so eager for stability while you surely know that change is inevitable, and so depressed about your existence although that very same existence is part of a universal chain of existence that cannot stand without it. Life goes on, and so should you. Another stop comes, along with another unloading and loading, but this time Omar is not there, for it is time to keep going after a long stop, and it is time to really and finally go home.

What Are You Seeking?

     Is this a disease? We went on separate ways long ago, and I have not talked to or seen you for some considerable time, but I am still thinking of you! I have met plenty of girls, I have had several potential life partners, and my response to all of them has been a decline. Maybe that is because I do not really see them, but I see you through them. I do not really seek one of them, but I seek you in one of them. I seek your beauty. I seek your personality. I seek your smile. I seek your intelligence and cleverness. I seek the way you talk, the way you dress, the way you used to look at me, the way I used to feel for you. I seek the bond we have had, some kind of heavenly bond without the least interference from you or me: it is just there. I seek our resonance: someone to understand me like what you did, someone to understand like what I did. I seek you, the cure to my disease.
     If I am in peace and recovered from the lovely hostility of your invasion to my lands, why am I still having a state of war inside? And I know that it is just me, as you have already got over this. Maybe even on the same day when our clouds went apart, when our rains stopped hailing, when our soils became solid dry. Maybe it was just me from the very beginning. And maybe it was not. Is this some kind of self-torturing? Am I that vulnerable, that fragile, that perplexed? Am I that human?? I recovered from your addiction, that is a fact, but I am still longing for the slightest countenance of you, the soonest encounter with you. I seek the peace of being there for you, being there with you. Or maybe I seek the peace of being totally away from you.

The Guide to Completing an M.A. Degree (or Any Degree) in Cairo University (Hence, in Egypt): Based on a True Story, Shamefully!

This is to document the M.A. in Cairo University in steps:

1- Postgraduate office: ask about requirements for applying for the M.A. program.

2- Get the requirements. They fit. Get the papers, complete the missing papers, and pay the fees (about a 1000). Try to be patient as it's still your first encounter with the postgraduate office employees and the stupid routine and the rigid rules and the unjustified expenses, and you'll have lots and lots of future encounters with all of these, so you don't wanna end up exploding; at least not now.

3- Prepare for the written test. Take the test and keep on asking for the result.

4- Passed. Prepare for the oral test (the interview). Take the test and keep on asking about the result (manta fadelhom ba2a w ma3andaksh sho3'l !!).

5- Passed. Prepare for the preliminary year.

6- First term: attend the lectures, be patient with most of the professors, do the assignments, and take the final exams of each subject.

7- Second term: attend the lectures, be patient with most of the professors, do the assignments, and take the final exams of each subject.

8- At some point you'll be asked to sign things from an "academic advisor", just find him/her and sign the papers, it's just routine; the academic advisor himself/herself doesn't know more than you do about it!

9- You did very good work at the preliminary year, congratulations! Now, it's proposal time...

10- While working on the preliminary year, try to have an idea about the topic to be for your proposal and try also to find out about the possible supervisors for that topic in order not to waste time.

11- No matter what you did or do, you WILL waste time looking for the topic and for a supervisor as no one is there to guide you or help you and most probably no one understands anything, and the employees are good at one thing: putting hurdles in your way!

12- You did acrobat and had lots of errands and talks to settle on a topic and a supervisor, start the process (collecting data, reading, filtering, picking, highlighting, writing, revising, rewriting, checking, rewriting, double-checking, rephrasing, rewording, re-ay 7aga, triple-checking, seeing other research papers, going to the university library, finding it's absolutely good-for-nothing, searching other sources, making sure to stick to the University's unclear and unorganized guide for style of research writing, somehow it fits, it's time to submit your proposal then).

13- No, no, no. Did you think you'll have a smooth step in your M.A. in the lovely CU?! No way! Go to the department secretary office then to the postgraduate office then to the secretary again then to the postgraduate again and so on till you generate petroleum! Pay fees, stick to the style, change, update, communicate to the supervisor, the time for the next department meeting is close and time is running, errands errands all the time (bala work bala life bala zeft ba2a!).

14- I'm sorry to tell you that you will not be able to go to the seminar meeting! What!!!! Why???? You just have to have ta7rir 3elmy exams (a couple of good-for-nothing exams, which only serve for adding delays and increasing stress and frustration, and of course, collecting money. Every step needs money for these people! Tegaara di msh ba7s 3elmy!!).

15- Wake up from the irony of having to have a test in Arabic, and wake up from the JOKE of having to have a test in a foreign language (mine was Italian!), what does that have to do with the research, ZILCH!! Wake up to fall into another joke, that you'll have to translate your proposal and print it and submit it too, all signed of course!

16- Passed and woke up men el mahzala di, print ba2a yeegy 5amanaashar tamanaashar copy of your proposal (lots of copies: as far as I remember, they were like 30 or so!).

17- Wait and prepare for the proposal seminar at the department meeting, and beware! It's gonna be tough!

18- You did it! Now your proposal is registered. But hold on! As I told you, nothing goes smoothly at Cairo University town! You need to wait till the approvals of the faculty and then the university committees come (ya3ny 7aaga baseeta .. masaafet a month or 2 keda! You think of complaining?? You just wasted about a year before looking for a topic and a supervisor and doing the paperwork before the proposal stage, so magatsh 3ala dool..).

19- You got the approvals, it's time to do the thesis.

20- Research writing steps again and again and again...

21- Lots of errands to write and revise and update and correct and finalize the thesis.

22- The thesis is finalized el7dL, now it's time to get back to our mostly beloved postgraduate office and routine and rigidity and stupidity and money suckers and suckers bas men 3'eer money!

23- You want to submit your thesis for the viva? I'm sorry to tell you that, but you just can't! You have first to get us an ICDL original certificate. Yeah we didn't say that before and we are saying it now! You also have to pay fees and fees and fees, just give us your bloody wage! Also there are some papers to finish with the department secretary (maho ana el marmatoon bta3 ahaleeko ya wlood el.......!!!). Go do all that and come to us in order not to miss the next department and faculty and university committees meetings!

24- Of course you missed the next meetings, so you'll play on the ones of the next month (as the meetings happen once every month, another source of delay!), but you finished all that routine shit! Good. But still one more thing. (WTF!!!) You'll have to attend the academic writing course and you'll have to pass it! (Academic writing?!! I already finished writing my thesis for God's sake! I don't need it! I can even teach it not take it! Are you nuts?!!!). Sorry, pay its fees and check its schedule (of course things like work, life, common sense, they just don't exist!).

25- Fine! So you attend the stupid course and you keep on checking for its result and you pass, but the committees meetings?? Well, another ones missed, wait for the next month's! Oh God, give me strength and patience!

26- Ok. The committees approved your thesis (after printing it of course several copies), so shall we do the viva? No we shan't!! Pay other fees, go contact your supervisor to contact the examiners to set a date and communicate that date to the Public Relations office to see if it's a vacant date to reserve the room for viva, and pay the reservation fees, and go to the security office, and inform them about the determined date, and get the data show guy and pay its fees, and get the banners guy and pay its fees, and get the ropes guy and pay its fees, and plan the food and drinks and roses bouquet and reserve and pay their fees, and print final thesis copies for the viva and see if any fees are not paid (mahomma esta2ta3ook ba2a 5alas!). Done? Take your file with lots of papers to be filled in from the supervisor and the examiners and pass it to the supervisor.

27- Calm down now ... or Panic! It's your viva! It's your day champ. Go get them tiger...

28- It's been a fierce war, but you came out of it with few scratches, and the M.A. is YOURS! WOHOOOO...

29- Is that what you think? Wohoo?? The postgraduate office is still there and the routine and stupid paperwork and rigid rules won't just die! So you receive a huge paper full of things to do after the viva! I thought I was done with that M.A., well, not really!

30- So you make lots of errands to make sure everything is right and you print the final official copies of the full thesis (9 copies, bankruptcy is eminent!). And you make a summary, Arabic and English, and a separate abstract, Arabic and English, and a certain paper for their database, all signed from supervisor (msh la2eeh ba2a, etsarraf! aw et3attal 3aaady .. 3ezz el talab!!). Don't forget also to make 3 CDs having also these same stuff. Finish all these and pass by us so that your file can go to the (freakin') committees. And when you submit all these, be pretty sure that they will find something missing or not done the way they like to practice their favorite hobby which is ennohom yefassa7ook shwayya!

31- Miraculously everything is done under the quote "fa a3'shaynaahom" and the approvals came, so give me my M.A. certificate now! Fine, go pay its fees (nothing moves without fees!!!). 

32- So you get the certificate (no matter how ba2a) and you request to get your file from their archive and you break a massive '2olla' once you get your papers, in order not to fall prey to such stupidity, rigidity, backwardness, disorganization, disrespect, depreciation, deterioration, blackmailing, theft, arrogance, miscommunication, and negativity again.

[There are other things that happened and still happen, but these are the greater portion of the picture.]
Disclaimer: This documentation seeks to reform rather than to inform, so let's hope for the best.

Be a Master of the Masters' Path: An Academic Non-Academic Degree for Life

It's been a while since I last wrote here. All the reading and writing went to a halt for a single aim: the Master's degree in English language. And voila, the thesis is complete, the defense went well, the post-defense corrections are minor, and the 'Excellent' M.A. degree is official, praised is He. Now it's about time to get back to reading and writing, so shall we?

     Let's write this piece in an academic way: A research question, a hypothesis to predict the answer to that question, a review of the related literature, an analysis and the findings out of this analysis, and a conclusion to give bluntly the answer to that research question. After all, according to Hatch and Farhady (1982), research is the most systematic way to answering questions. So what would be our research question here? Let's make it the following: What's next? Too general and wide I know, so let's narrow it down and make it: What would be the path to choose after reaching a step one has been so longing to? A little plain, but it's much better.

    Before seeking to answer this question, let's set the hypothesis. Well, it is hypothesized that one step is naturally followed by another step, for that's what the human being does anyway in his/her life: moving from one step to another to another, without stopping unless death reaps him/her. The hypothesis is pointed out, so let's move to the review of the literature.

     For the review of the literature, one would provide some of the steps taken and paths chosen by some of the masters. Dale Carnegie prefers dealing with life as day-to-day compartments. If the past is history, and the future is a mystery, the present is a gift. However, having a vision with strong language and solid will is crucial, to have a goal to aim at to move from a day compartment to the other. So it's about the present and the future. George Orwell, however, has a different approach, arguing that he who controls the past controls the future, while he who controls the present controls the past. So it's about the past and the present. William Shakespeare, on the other hand, believes that it's not about the time or the written destiny. We make our own destinies through our deeds and decisions. We are the products of our 7 ages of man, an all-time journey.
     Moving to the master of all, PBUH, things become a little clearer. This life is to come to an end inevitably at any moment, so it is considered weakness to get so attached to this life and so detached from death. Deterioration and corruption are increasing, and holding tight to the rightful path is a real challenge, though a doable, a must-do one. As long as you are fair and decent, a true man, and chaste and with good morals, a true woman, what's next won't really matter, for it is in His light. It's a life of hard work and diligence and discomfort after all. And remember that the darkest times are the ones nearest to the brightest lights of a new dawn. 
     The data to be analyzed is the different possible steps to take in light of personal preferences as well as others' experiences. After reaching a life goal, the possible paths are either to the front, or to the back, or from side to side, or just standing still. Let's see the weight of usefulness of each. Moving to the front goes along with the natural course of events in this life, showing much learning and development and progress ahead and beyond. I would rate the usefulness of this path to be 100%, full weight, full mark. Moving to the back is actually the direct opposite which would happen if for a second one would be deceived by his present status, that he/she reached the top, that no one can reach him/her. The bells of false hopes and over self-confidence and arrogance are ringing one's doors so loud to the extent of deafening him/her from the obvious common sense. A plain 0% for that for sure, not any benefit at all.
     A sort of seemingly safe path would be to move horizontally instead, from side to side. While it stresses one's current status and expands one's horizon, he/she would stay on the ground, with no ambition or growth opportunities, with no aim to fly in the sky and shoot for the moon, for if missed, the stars would be the destination. Though it is convincing for some, the rate for this path  will not exceed 40%. The final path is not actually a path, but a point in space. To remain still. All the world is running around you and you choose to stand still. Believe it or not, it has the same effect of going backwards. To keep up with the fast pace of this world, you need to move or you'll be trodden on. So I believe the path to be chosen cannot be any clearer.
     In a nutshell, one's life usually reaches a crossroads after reaching a life event or achievement. The masters' path is the one that made them glorious and remembered and taken as good examples to follow, full ahead, forward and upward, inward and outward. No backward, no compromising hesitant side walks, and no standing still. Carnegie, Orwell, and Shakespeare might have different approaches towards life, but they surely agree on the importance of time and stress on the criticality of not wasting that limited, running, flying time. Muhammad, PBUH, above all of them provides a life guide to follow, to win both the lifetime and the aftertime. The Prophet says: "Take advantage of five matters before five other matters: your youth, before you become old; your health, before you fall sick; your wealth, before you become poor; your free time, before you become preoccupied; and your life, before your death." 

هل تعلم؟؟

أعلم أنه عليّ الصبر. أعلم أنه كلما تعجلت أكثر كلما صار المراد أبعد. أعلم أنه ابتلاء. أعلم كل ذلك، لكن إلى متى؟؟

إلى متى سأظل أنتظر؟ إلى متى سأظل أعلم لكن دون جدوى؟ أين و كيف و متي؟ تدور التساؤلات في ذهني كالدوامة القاتلة. ولماذا؟ تساؤل يفتح الباب للهب من الجحيم. لماذا؟ تساؤل يأكل من جسدي حياً.

أعلم أنني صرت محاطاً بأسوار تُبنى من الشكوك.أعلم أنني تراودني ظنوني عن نفسي. أعلم أنني لازلت ألح و ألح، أتعجل المجد أم أتعجل البؤس؟! أعلم أنني ضاقت بي نفسي و مللت الابتلاءات. أعلم أنني أفقد الثقة، أفقد الأمل، أفقد نفسي..

لازلت أعلم كل ذلك. فقط أعلم.

أو هذا ما كنت أظنه!

أعِلمٌ هذا أم جَهل؟!

The Funny Feeling

It's a funny feeling! Remember the many days and the many people you got to know and lost and the few days and the few people you have got to know and acquired, and kept, and won. Think about the many times you felt something is so close to you, so near that you can even touch it, till you find that, that's not it, that's still not the time or place for it, that's not what you want, that's not what's written (as if you had even the slightest idea of what's written!). You felt so sure that you will get what you want, what you asked for and ask for over and over, till doubt sneaks into you, and you don't get what you want, or what you asked for, and you end feeling rejected and lost and doomed. It is said that if you don't get what you want now, you will get it later anyway, since it's all part of a divine test, but in such state of doubt, you doubt not only the test, but also the questions and the answers and even the final scores! You even doubt your whole existence.

The funny thing is, day after day you find out that you are not alone in that. What's even funnier is that day after day you start to realize that what you want and what you ask for is not necessarily what's right for you. The funniest thing, however, is that, deep inside, you already know all that! You have this inner feeling, which each and every one already have, of the truth of things, yet you still keep it inside and instead go after blind surface feelings of perplexity, worry and stress, anger, and doubt. Remember everything you said and regretted, every word you wrote and erased, every step forward you had and followed by a couple of steps backward, every look you made and quickly took away, and every thought that came to your mind and then you directly ridiculed. You have second thoughts even of this writing, but still you write it, and still you share it: Is it hope? Is it trust or beliefs? Or maybe none of that.
It's a funny feeling to feel so attached to life while you already know that even life is lifeless, so eager for stability while you surely know that change is inevitable, and so depressed about your existence although that very same existence is part of a universal chain of existence that cannot stand without it. Life goes on, and so should you.   

No Worries

You got to ask yourself: What's the worst that could happen? 

Why to worry when you know that nothing can happen unless it's meant to happen? Your day is a decision, and your life is its result.

Why do you think you can't find something when you badly need it, and when you don't need it you find it all around you? And why o why do you find lots of obstacles coming out of nowhere to delay you only when you are in a hurry? And why in the world would the clock hurl when you want it to slow down and waddle when you want it to hasten? Because you are angry, or maybe stressed and worried?

What's the worst that could happen?? That you won't find what you are looking for? That you won't get what you want? That you will miss your appointment or reach it late? That you will lose something/someone dear to you? That you will even be face to face with death? So what?! You only get what you need and lose what you don't; you only find what will guide you and squander what won't; and you only live according to a universal clock which is counting down and soon will stop. 

The worst that could happen is not to die but to live your life a dying person, led by stress and giving up to your worries, for you will neither enjoy what you are doing nor be able to even do it, and all what you will get is an expensive receipt of some damaged body organs, a receipt to pay by your health: a lose-lose situation.

Seeking a win-win situation, where you live your life happily and successfully? Lose your worries. How can that happen? Consider 3 simple steps in 3 even simpler words: 1) Smile. 2) Breathe. 3) Pray.

Embrace positive thoughts and language and lose expectations, relax and listen carefully to yourself and others, and count your blessings faithfully and take nothing for granted. You will be amazed how simple a cure can be for the deadliest and most painful agonies.

Run!

Run son of Adam, run! The world is a crowded running track and the start line is a couple of steps, or rather heads and feet, away from you. You are all on your own, no friends, no family, no acquaintances, just you. Feeling nervous? Why should you when everyone around you will do the same as you?! Feeling in doubt? Well, there is no going back. Only forward and ahead. And the clock is ticking...

The countdown has started. You can feel the pumping of your heart beating simultaneously with each called number. The voices are getting higher and clearer. The breaths are getting heavier and deeper. Five! You look around and see the people all looking forward, present with their bodies but their minds are already somewhere else. Four! So you look down to the ground, wondering where would they be to join them. Three! And you raise your head up to the front yourself, looking far but farther than you could ever have imagined. Two! You can feel the rush of the blood to your head, and the rush of adrenaline to your muscles. One! It takes only a second to start a race or to end it; one second can change it all. Go! Runners, Go! Run to meet your destiny..

So you penetrate your way among the crowd, and the crowd penetrate their way across you. Past and before you. Through you. You are losing track of the details around, having in mind only 2 things: a clock that has never stopped ticking and the group of runners that you are following and that are following you. And the longer you run, the heavier your steps become, so close to be heavy enough that they would cling to the ground and no longer be in motion. But against all the odds, you keep on moving. Sometimes sprinting, other times jogging, sometimes accelerating, other times decelerating, sometimes hurling, and other times staggering and almost stumbling. Running around the corners, deflecting and detouring. Jumping above the bumps, defying the sweat and pain. Determined to finish the race. A race of glory or a race of shame, you shall reach the finishing line: the choice is all yours.