Torn

Everybody want to put me in a clear, defined place, a corner.
Everybody want to label me.
Looks like I have to be either white or black. I have to choose my side.
What if I can't? 
What if I'm torn?

- I admire all Arab populations for an awakening moment. For seeking freedom. For saying "enough" tyranny. For discovering their potential.
- But I 'm scared to death when I see the power that took place. I'm afraid those freedom seekers are being killed now. And a darker force is crawling to steal what have been accomplished.
- I admire Tunisians, Egyptians, Bahrainis, Libyans, Syrians, Yemenis... revolutionaries.
- I fear Tunisians, Egyptians, Bahrainis, Libyans, Syrians, Yemenis...post revolutionaries.
- I respect the Syrian upraising when it begun.
- I fear the slaughter house it turned out to be.
- I can't but feel anger for the international dead silence and acceptance of atrocities in some places, while raging over others, depending on interests. But can't say I totally lost hope.
- I can't blame only the "west" or the international community. I can't neither blame only the "east".
- I can't pretend to be the victim all the time, to be right. I can't also play guilty all the time.
- I can't understand righteousness in watching Chechnyan, and many other foreign fighters and mercenaries' presence in Syria, killing, raping, kidnapping, while the "free world" is either watching or filtering what they want to see.
- I can't understand righteousness in killing Syrian civilians by their government, neither by their freedom fighters.
- I can't understand how reports of Sarin usage in Syria, are being politically used to nail the regime or the FSA (depending on political positions), while lives have been lost in a massive destruction weapon.
- I can't understand slaughter by anyone. I can't understand how blood is believed to bring justice.
- I can't understand how some believe by acting as bad as their enemy they can bring peace.

I'm torn.
I can't take a "white or black" position. Because all I can see is shades of grey where no light seem to come wipe all the blood and hatred.

    No sir, you left no more freedom seekers in Iraq. There are no more safety, peace, security. No more minorities (as their name indicates, they are not that important maybe).
     No sir, there are no more freedom seekers in Tunisia, they are now fighting to protect women and minorities from forced veil, rape, and primitive rights, simple basic human rights.
    No sir, there are no more freedom seekers in Egypt, they are now fighting to lessen the grip of Muslim Brotherhood on everything. Fighting to keep women safe when walking in the streets. Fighting to let minorities express their beliefs without the fear of attack and death.
    No sir, there are no more freedom seekers in Bahrain, I mean, did you ever see them in the first place? They seem invisible to the "free" world. And what about Yemenis? Do you have any idea what they are going through?
    No sir, there are no more freedom seekers in Libya. There is a lot of western oil investors, among mercenaries.
    No sir, there are no more freedom seekers in Syria. Real freedom seekers are shut out, they are trying to keep faith in their nonviolent dream. The rest is thousands of mercenaries (be it on Syrian Army side or Free Syrian Army). There are innocence killers, nihilists, butchers, beasts. There are hundreds of ruined cities, villages. Thousands of raped girls, shattered families, displaced...
    No sir, I can't hear Israeli fighters all day and all night over my head, and see them attack countries and believe that they are "merely defending themselves" as I couldn't swallow your "preventive wars on terrorism" before. Can't seem to cope with your position when you can't compare losses and see who is paying the highest price.
    No sir, I can't seem to see the "transitional phase" you seem to be sure of. I mean, I can't sit and say "oh, well, it happens, it's a transitional phase, let some more die, let some more fear worst nightmares, let some suffer...it is the price for freedom". I just can't. Because I believe life and peace have more importance in the 21st century, equally, for all races and nationalities.
    No sir, I can't sit and watch some of my people drag my whole land to an unwanted place. A war. A fear for our safety.
    No sir, I don't want to sit and say:"there's an 'international agenda, no matter what we try' ".
    No sir, I can't seem to find that "Arab Spring" you insist on calling despite everything. I lost it in the middle of hatred and death.

    I'm torn sir. 
 I just can't frame the situation I am witnessing. I can't take a "clear" position. I can't smell death and pretend one is totally right and one is totally wrong. Can't see that in wars civilians are just numbers, are just collateral casualties, are just victims. 

    Who gave you the right to decide if I die or if I live? If I have to choose between what you see is right or what you see is wrong? If I deserve a country or not? If I deserve security or not? 
    Or let me re-frame my question: what pushes you to decide to stand up for me or not? To say I deserve to be safe now, or I'm not that important? What Chart did you sign?

    I'm torn. I'm afraid. I'm angry. I'm sad.
    The worst part is, no matter what my opinion is, I'm just a victim project, my kids are just victims projects, my family, my friends, are just victims projects, and you don't give a damn.

What to expect when you're expecting?

That awkward moment when you realize you expected too much for nothing!
I hate it when it happens.
Expecting is a killer.
Expecting love, care, respect, from people you love, care for and respect, and not getting it...
Expecting a kind act, a smile, a kiss, a call, a laugh, a hug, a pat, a word, a look, and not getting it.
Expecting understanding, empathy, presence, and not getting it.

Expecting comes from unmet needs. And we all have unmet needs. We expect good things from people we love, we expect bad things from people we fear. In the middle comes the non-expecting zone from people we don't care much for.

Expecting occurs when we think we deserve something as humans. It ends when we have no more faith or confidence. When we loose hope. Even then, a small act might awaken expectation back. And off we go with another expectation round, with all the hurt it brings.

"Don't expect anything from anyone" goes the quote. Easy to say, tricky to apply. Our human nature has needs, our human nature seeks love and respect. We are social creatures, we interact. We do so for a reason: we expect a mirror effect. We want the mirror effect. So, we expect. Then sometimes we reach disappointment. Disappointment comes from people we care most for.

But expectation has no balance, no logic. We expect a lot from others who sometimes can't reach our expectations, and we are disappointed. We expect from others as we see others. We put them in a position that is sometimes too high for them, or too difficult. We think it's easy for them to do, but that is just our way of seeing things, and our disappointment is related to our expectations, not their act.

Maybe we should remind ourselves that expecting doesn't mean getting. Expecting is an expression of our needs and dreams. Maybe, then, disappointment would lessen. Maybe then, the hurt would not be a killer. Maybe then, it would just be a hard moment we can overcome.
Maybe then, expecting wouldn't be closely attached to disappointment.

But again, wouldn't that affect the amount of love involved with expectation? Must we love less, care less, to expect less?

So, to answer the question "what to expect when you're expecting?" my own opinion would be: "when expectation is related to personal relations, expect hurt, expect disappointment. It comes as a package when needs and feelings of both persons or group of people, are not on the same wavelength."

My Christmas

One more year, I am still alive, I'm lucky,
Again, I have my health, I'm lucky,
I'm celebrating Christmas one more time, I'm lucky,
I have my kids, my family, my friends, I'm lucky,

I still have a roof to keep me warm, I'm lucky,
I still have enough to keep me from hunger, I'm lucky,
I still have enough clothes to keep me from cold, I'm lucky,

I have no direct life threat, I'm lucky,
I can walk, see, hear, touch, I'm lucky,
I have a job, and many luxuries of life, I'm lucky,

Too many blessings and kindness in my life.
I do not always see them and feel thankful.
I tend to pretend it's all my personal effort.
I tend to take them for granted. 

Not today.

Today I wish a Merry Christmas to all those who lost a dear person,
To all those suffering lack of health and crying in silence,
To all who can't celebrate, for political, religious or fear reasons,
To all those who lost a family and will have empty seats today,

Merry Christmas.

Today I wish a Merry Christmas to all children and grown ups who have no roof to protect them,
To those who are under the rain, the snow, the cold, feeling left behind,
To those who are merely surviving,
to those who have no job, no food, no clothes, no love,

Merry Christmas.

To people in war, hatred, fear,
To those considered not worth a life,
To those in prisons,
To those in refugees camps, on borders,
To those jeopardizing their lives on boats heading to get a better chance,
To those who lost a country,
To those who lost their luck.

Merry Christmas.

For maybe today I see you, I feel you, my thoughts go to you...
But tomorrow, I might be you.

Meeting again, 22 years after.

It was yesterday...

22 years ago.

We were young women filled with dreams and expectations, eager to finish school and fly away.

We were the same class of girls in our school. Some of us friends since kinder-garden.

We left our seats for other groups of girls and spread our wings away from childhood.

Each one of us took a path. Some married their first sweethearts, some did travel...

Life took us away from each other. We wanted to see the outside world, the “real” life. We wanted to leave that childhood and youth behind. Life had a lot to offer and we were ready...

22 years after... one simple photo brought back a whole life. A single photo, posted by one of us. It was our school gown, the one we wore for years, filled with wishes and love written by all of us to each other, with drawings and hearts. We wrote those words on the last day of school, before going for good.

And suddenly, through social media, we started finding each other... Few days, and we were over 18 girls chatting online.

I insist on the word “girls”... We were women outside this chatting box, inside, we rediscovered the girls in us, still alive, still fun, still hilarious!

A reunion dinner was a must.

So, 22 years after, we did it, we met again.

22 years after, we're still the same. With life stories to share...

22 years after, we came back with a big number of kids, two divorces, one remarriage, one breast cancer (won battle), one dead child (lost battle), two single ladies, three living abroad, great professional lives...

22 years after, we came with tons of stories, some sad, many funny and happy.

22 years after, I was amazed to see myself discussing kids, labor, work, disappointment... with the same girls I used to talk dreams, expectations, love...

22 years after, it was yesterday.

22 years after, it was so long ago, yet so close.

22 years after, we are still those girls filled with hope, topped with a few years of experience, some wrinkles, few disappointments, big hearts, and wisdom.

22 years after choosing to go away, life brought us back together, through one simple school dress, to remind us that true friendship doesn’t just fade, doesn’t just go, and doesn’t need a daily reminder to exist. It’s just there. Period.

I Need a Break.

I need a break here. Need to stop.
I need a break from your anger, from your wrath.
I need a break from your sacred wars.
I need to pause. Take a breath.
I need silence.

I need a break from your hatred, your scary mind.
I need a break from the nightmare I see with open eyes.
I need to pause. Need a breath.
I need silence in my head.

I need a break from your killing, your explaining.
I need a break from your arrogance.
I need your silence.
I need to pause. Need to breathe.

I need a break from your theories, your ideology.
I need a break from your judgement, your philosophy.
I feel like choking, need to breathe.
I need your silence.

I need a break from your world, your colors.
I need a break from your black and your white.
I need a break from your wrong and your right.
I need your silence. Need a breath.
I need to pause. To forget.

I need a break from watching you, hearing you.
I need a break from suffering because of you.
I need to pause. Need to breathe.
I need your silence.

I need my sky, I need my dreams..
I need my innocence, my colors and my wind.
I need a long break. I need a deep breath.
I need a long silence.
I need to live.

Kaboom!

 

 Reuters

Kaboom!

I pressed the button.

Kaboom! I saw it go off. Bam!

Felt so strong. Felt so proud. I did it.

I watched the moment of silence that followed.

I stopped time for few seconds. Then everything started to collapse, people started to moan.

I walked away calmly. Tried to play scared on my way out. No one saw me, everybody was shocked, everybody was in disbelief.

If it wasn’t for my security, I would have told them I did it. I wanted so much to show off. To say I’m the one who stopped time. But as planned, I had to run quick, and reach my hiding spot before leaving this place.

Kaboom! The sounds and images keep playing in my head!

Kaboom! I broke lives.

Kaboom! I killed an "enemy".

Kaboom! What will follow is my aim.

Kaboom! I proved my beliefs.

Kaboom! I killed the threat.

Kaboom! And few more with him. Who cares?

Reuters

Kaboom! The price to pay for my beliefs.

Kaboom! They will become numbers with time. They will be the same old victims. Kaboom! Who cares?

Kaboom! I killed some kids. I can live with that knowing I reached “him”, I eliminated “him”.

Kaboom! The plan has been executed.

Kaboom! I did it for the "cause".

Kaboom! Sometimes we have to sacrifice lives along. Don't they all say that?

Kaboom! Now reactions are just as expected.

Kaboom!  They are calling for hate.

Kaboom! All over again.

Kaboom! So predictable.

Kaboom,! Right where we want them to be.

Kaboom! They started to fight.

Kaboom! They will be more and more divided.

Kaboom! Some will try to calm the game, but Kaboom again no one will listen.

Kaboom! Been there before.

Kaboom! I will win my case.

Kaboom! I pushed the button of hate.

Kaboom! Revived their trauma again.

Kaboom! They will answer as expected.

Kaboom! I stopped time, stole lives, ruined others. Took an eye, took an arm or a leg. Took a home.

Kaboom! Now they will fight who owns martyrs fallen on the ground. Will use them, shrink them.

Kaboom! Hate is so easy to trigger: one button. Ask me, I know.

Kaboom! They hate me, but will never find me. I'll be either dead or away. Who cares?

Kaboom!  Dead or alive, I win. I rest my case.

Lost women of Arab revolutions.

    We came from many countries, from the East and the West, gathered in Amman for a conflict transformation conference. We came to meet, to learn, to teach, to discover, to unite...

    We met after so many changes in the Arab world...Arab Spring, as some like to call it. We met in the middle of the turmoil. In the middle of the total makeover. In the middle of madness. In the middle of change.

We met while people are unleashing the beast inside them in many places. We met while men are playing war and women and children paying the price on the short and long term. We met while democracy of numbers is killing democracy ethics.

But we met.

It was a break time, a sharing time, a discovering time, a peaceful time, until one late night...

    We were out in the city, having non-alcoholic beer and watching a football match between Germany and Greece.  Cheering for Germany to please Lucia, our German friend on the table, while she supported Greece "their country is in crisis, they need to cheer up a little”.

    Few minutes later a half Jordanian half Palestinian girlfriend joined us with two other ladies. One, Syrian, with a lot of make-up and an unsuccessful plastic surgery but with a lovely smile, the other, Iraqi, younger, more corporate and reserved. Both blonds.

The game wasn’t over, but Germany was leading 3 to 1.The group wanted to stay a little more, I was tired. Lucia too. We were about to say good night and hail a cab, when the two newcomers suggested a lift, on their way back.

"Sleeping Girl" by Roy Lichtenstein

    Amman is a busy city at night, and traffic made the trip longer. Lucia wanted to know more about the region, about the people, and she started asking questions. They started telling their stories...We were at the back, it was dark. We were ears, just ears...then we became ears and hearts...

Make-up was out, smiles too, replaced by sad whispers of despair...

    The Iraqi fled her country few years ago, now lives and works in Jordan. Her homeland is too dangerous to live in. “People go out in the morning not knowing if they’ll get back alive”. Her Iraq is so close, yet too far... I couldn’t see her face, but I felt the tears in her voice. Then her silence...

    The Syrian is married, and lives in Jordan. Her family is still trapped on the outskirts of Aleppo. She calls her mom everyday to hear some scary stories. She can’t go there, they can’t come here. Her mom tells her to forget about Syria, she longs to go.  Crimes, mutilations, rape are her daily feed.

On the same morning her mom shared a nightmare with her: two bodies of neighbors floating in the local river... Her voice is sharp, loud, filled with anger and despair. Her only link to her country is telephone line. She lives through those invisible waves of sounds and words.

    The night became heavier. The city lights blurred. I was in a strange city with three strange women. Two blond heads in front with no country, lost in a remote city, trying to look good and alive, dreaming of “going back”. 

Two of many others, who asked for change, for democracy, who were everywhere. Two of many who were among the first to pay heavily the freedom they wanted. Two of many who discovered they were not welcome in the new Arab picture. Two of many who are scared to death for their security and their lives. Two of many who committed the crime of being women. Two of many afraid of rape.

I may become like them one day... I’m on the edge too.

    We became three lost souls in a strange city in my head. Lucia was our visitor. Our tourist. 

    When we reached our hotel, I ran out of the car with a heavy heart. Lucia was in tears, hugging both ladies with empathy.

In the elevator we stood in silence. When it stopped on my floor, she just hugged me and said :”what  a sad way to end a night!”

I smiled...thinking: “what a sad way to live a life”...