Overlate

It has been over three months since I updated this thing, so bear with me while I catch up and get back into the rhythm of this format. My absence has been mostly due to the fact that I've been laptopless for a while, and because I've been so busy with my PhD applications. But we'll get to all of that. I really don't understand how these months have passed so quickly. Almost an entire semester, just gone. Every day since I last wrote has been a challenge and a struggle, and all my focus has been on just getting through it. Now that I have, it is all blurry in my memory. But my trusty planner will remind me. The poor thing has suffered much, including the sad necessity of scheduling my social events and time with my friends. But anyway, I'm excited to remember with you, so let's begin.

A few days after I got back from Cape Cod, my friends Liz and Aaron and Kayleigh and Cassie took me to Boston. We went to a comedy show/bar in the attic above a Chinese restaurant in Harvard Square, which was hilarious in itself. The comedians were pretty good too. Half of them were PhD students. Haha I really hope I don't have to rely on my ability to entertain to get by next year, if I get in. Well anyway, afterwards we went to a bar, also in Harvard Square, which was quite unique in my experience; it was mostly open air, they had this huge terrace. Somebody's beer garden, it was called. I was certain our waiter was an Arab, but Kayleigh didn't believe me so of course I had to embarass myself by asking, and showing her. He was actually Bangladeshi. Haha, never again will I assume I know someone's nationality by their name.

The next day, one of my best friends, Robin, came back from break. She was picking up her fiance at 4am, so we decided we would stay up, like old times. With her and Sara and Emily and a bunch of other people, we went to the Dive bar for a little while. They had this awesome funk band, and we had a good time, though not as many people got into the mood of the night as last time... That was the week people started coming back to Clark, and a happy time for meeting up with friends, old and new. There was the dinner with Lauren and Jess, the afternoon looking at the art in the park with Molly and that bunch, dinner with Fahad and Darija, tea with Becca, and meeting the student that the ISP had sponsored to come to Clark, Fouad Ahmed. It was a pleasure meeting that man, and a surreal trip back to freshman year. He was very shy, polite, but excited, and reminded me strongly of myself when I first got here. We signed him in to his dorm, met his PA, oh man, it was like being a freshman again myself! Well well that year is long gone and there's no going back.

By about the 27th, 74 Woodland was once again fully occupied, and work was back in full swing, at the lab and at the UC. But with Labor Day weekend coming up, Liz threw a party, which was very fun. But that was just preparation for our plans for the next week. The week really started on Wednesday, with dinner with Alec and Sara, and a night out with Miah and Casey until 4am. The next day marked the end of a phase that had agonized and delighted me for half the summer, and I'll just leave it at that. Friday came, just in the nick of time, before I went insane with all the work I was putting on myself for the semester. Jeff, Kayleigh, and I left 35 Clement to go camping in a plot of land Liz had on the borders between Conn, Mass, and NY. Liz and Aaron met us there with Mike and Corri and Evan and a bunch of other friendly folk. That first night, we played a little Ultimate, went over to our campsite, which was a clearing in the middle of a corn field, with mountains all around. The weather was perfect, but the campfire made it even better. Half a bottle of gin later, I was ready to go whitewater rafting the next morning.

This was where we were staying. We never got around to a midnight swim in the pond but that's probably just as well. We got enough swimming done in the Housatonic River. Not that we sucked at whitewater rafting. It was just a somewhat mild ride for the first half , five miles or so, and there were trees and swings and beautifully warm water involved, and you can't just pass that up. Oh, and pirate raft battles. My raft won!

The poor group in the other raft were stuck half the time, and it didn't help that we had no scruples. Shoes and other improvised missiles were used. Not to mention the tried and tested aerial suicide attack. We even laid ambush for them at an island in the middle of the river. After all of this, it was decided that mexican food was in order, and we met up with Cassie. We had another wonderful night around the campfire, and prepared for hiking the next morning.

The next morning, we headed over to Liz's house, which was a few minutes away, made a glorious breakfast, threw a disc around, and laughed at the evil monkey and Kayleigh's inability to stop laughing.

This was on the way to the top of South Brace Mt. Damn it was beautiful. The hike was a bit steep, and someone must have fed Kayleigh meth (or that's how she reacts to bacon), but it was very much worth it. Wish I could do it every day actually. Oh well.

Oh, and here's all of us (except me, obviously) at the top of the mountain. Cassie and a few others had left us earlier, sadly. After hiking, we went back to the river to swim and dive off of some reputedly safe but fun boulders.

The place where my phone met its untimely end. From these terrifying heights that Liz is so nonchalantly surveying, I dove into the Housatonic, at a pool right below the falls that the dam had made. When they said boulders I imagined what, 10, 12 feet high? This was like 20 or more! 7 or 8 meters! Don't laugh, I don't do so well with heights. But with half the swimming/diving team there, what could I do? We had one last night at the campsite, pillaged and burned, and then came back Monday, this was the 7th of September. It was amazing. As soon as we left, the weather started getting nasty, and it hasn't been summer since. It was like we were gifted that last weekend of pure contentment, by Summer herself, in her delight over our merriment. As if she knew what a pain in the ass Autumn was going to be this year, and so tried to make up for it one last time.

August Cape Cod

My home away from home, that source of peace and hope amidst the fierce strangeness and the desolate isolation of my estrangement continues to be Falmouth, home of my brother in all but blood, Jesse Swain, and his family. This weekend, Jesse was not here holding for me his usual comradeship and loyalty, life having taken us on different paths. But to Peter, his brother, Mr. and Mrs. Swain, and his Nana, Mrs. Fuhrman, in nobility of spirit and kindness of heart, this mattered not at all. And not only did they treat me as a valued friend of their son, but as a son of theirs true and dear. And thus they have become to me, family in every sense that matters. For that, for them, I am blessed, and grateful. They and their home are in every sense august, a much-needed hint of inspiration in this otherwise difficult August.

I believe that's enough out of me. A taste;

For those days of happiness, for those nights of serenity and security, I owe them a great debt.

For their gift of the beloved waters, their silver and salt

For their sincerity and respect, for sharing their lives, their loves, their ideas, their feelings


For sharing the wonder of written word and masterful music
For keeping me from writing such lyrics of aloneness, or such music so brilliantly pained

Washburn Island

Menauhant Beach

Falmouth Inner Harbor

"Baked in the Hole" since 1982

The Falmouth Grille

Together all, at my graduation in May

I hope a day comes when I can be half so generous, half so kind. I hope you see a glimmer of how I felt, what I saw, that weekend. Let me assure you, every visit is just as precious, and wholly unforgettable. Beautiful people make beautiful places magic. I hope your every moment is so. Good night to you all.

New England Summer Pt. 3

The 28th of July dawned bright and beautiful, and a sudden urge took me to take a long walk and enjoy the brilliant clarity of the air. Two hours later, I walked into lab, and worked for six hours. Feeling highly accomplished, I continued my day of action with a bike ride with my friend Sara, to the Worcester Public Water Supply Reservoirs, along the bike route that goes there from Park Ave. It was as if that route belonged to another dimension, separate and apart from Worcester. You could not tell you were in a city, and it is at times like those, my friends, that I am happiest. Wind in our faces, and green and sparkling silver and blue everywhere, we biked for two hours and more, and I felt I could have gone on forever. I got back to my house, and found my bathroom flooded, as something had gone wrong with the pipes. I felt like this was going to ruin my day, but as soon as I had done, as if she knew exactly when I needed it most, my friend Liz called me, and asked me if I wanted to go rock-climbing. So we took off, myself, my friend Aaron, and her, and she gave me my birthday present, a night at the rock-climbing gym, and more importantly, a new experience. It was fantastic. I climbed, and bouldered, beginner-level climbs really, but I managed them and that was great, for I'd never actually done anything quite like it before. We came back and celebrated our energy and vitality, and then I was off to see Cali and Miah and Colin, and we played a rail-road track building game that was suspiciously like Risk. That day was the fullest and most satisfying of the summer here, starting at 5am, and ending at 3am. Crazy, huh?

On the 31st and 1st, I was with my friend Dave on a 4 1/2 hour car ride to Portland, through torrents of rain, and throughout we shared music, and laughed continuously, enjoying people-watching (car-watching) and being watched. We got to my friend Joe's house in Portland, and saw Carly, one of my best friends, there. Portland was such a good city, it felt to me like a larger version of Brattleboro, green and wholesome, but also quite the city, bustling and full of life. Half the time we were there, we played with their dog, Hobbes, the sweetest and most loveable golden ever. The other half we spent at Crescent Beach. That place was gorgeous, right off of a forest/marshland, with a stream bisecting the beach and running into the ocean. The stream was blood-red with iron in the water, and as it came into the sea it sank underneath the lighter saltwater, and caught by currents, made lovely patterns of red in the blue canvas of the Atlantic. I collected many rocks and sea-shells, relapsing into an old hobby of mine. Really, I just like shiny things. We had a good dinner at a tavern nearby, and when we got back, we made a fire outside. Sitting there, with Hobbes next to us, drawn close to the fire outside our home (cave), was such a primeval pleasure.

Sunday the 2nd we came back, and my friend Becky had finally come back from her trip to Jordan and was visiting in Worcester. Kind and generous both she and Emily were, showering me with birthday presents. We went to a cafe like we have back home, a rarity in these parts; we sat outside and chatted and drank our tasty brews. The Bean Counter, I believe was its name, on Pleasant St. Then we went right across the street to Corner Grille, far and away the best pizza place in Worcester. We shared thoughts on books we'd read; those days I was reading the sayings of Confucius, and thinking about the Bhagavad-Gita, so it was both a pleasure and a need to share them, some of the oldest and yet most intelligent writings humans have ever achieved.

The next day, the 3rd, was Monday, which was 10 cent wings night at Peppercorn's. I'd never gone, but Liz and Aaron invited me, and I was delighted for another excuse to try something new. They were quite tasty. The 5th was Taco Night at Downing, we made really tasty ones, after going to Peppercorn's across the street for free drinks at the COPACE social. We went and sat out on the Dana quad on the grass, and brushed up on our French. I also got the chance to help Sara with photographing the full moon that night. It was an odd scene by any account, but if you did not know what was happening, it must have been so weird; there we were out on the sidewalk, with a tripod and a camera pointed at the moon and trees and houses, and us counting time for the exposure, at like 1am.

The 6th I had worked at the infodesk all day, and was quite tired and ready to go to bed, when I got a message from Emily saying that it was the 1st anniversary of the Abbey, and they had live music, a really funky, good, band, out on the patio of the Dive. I was like, ok, I guess I'll go have a drink and listen to a few songs and come back. And that's what they thought too. But no, we ended up staying and dancing until 1am, they were so good. Half of Clark was there that night, and the whole night had very spontaneously gone from a regular music night at the bar, to an all-out dance party. Everyone was unselfconscious about it too, which is the mark of the very best dance music, I think.

The 7th was Friday, and after working in lab until 1230 or so, I had lunch and gave Arabic lessons to Sara, who is perhaps the greediest learner I know. She might even be as bad as I am. Then I went with my friends Liz, Aaron, Cassie, and Kayleigh and a bunch of other people (NEW friends!) to Douglas State Forest, a beautiful forest and lake area, with Atlantic white cedar swampland as well. The water was beautifully warm, and chock full of interesting fish and plantlife to look at. The water was clear enough to look at from above, even down to a meter and a half, and it was even better with goggles, seeing the sun's beams spear through the water and the plants and the schools of fish that circled me. We went to Coney Island Hot Dogs after, in Worcester, and for the one time this summer, I broke my rule about buying red meat, in order to have this new experience.

And so, that concludes my adventures this summer so far, and looking back, I have done plenty in these 6 weeks, and have had some of the best times of my life. From now on I shall try to write about my experiences as they happen, to keep them fresh and infused with the true emotions and sensations of the moment, and not as filtered memories. I can try, anyway.

New England Summer Pt. 2

Ok, so I decided I couldn't wait. Installment number 2, coming up. Armed with a bottle of wine and with the tasty Kasteel Donker (I have to thank you, Erica and Molly, for introducing us), I headed up to Tweed River Music Festival, in Stockbridge, Vermont, for the Fourth of July weekend. It was my very first time camping (or pseudo-camping), and my first time seeing a music festival. So, in a grassy field, next to the forest and the beautiful Tweed River, between the high mountains of Vermont, came to me yet another spectacular piece of New England culture.

Emily frolicking in the forest. I think we were continuously frolicking for that entire weekend.

River!

Camping!


Kris Delmhorst. She was pretty great, but I didn't realize how good until I heard her studio albums on Pandora when I got back. Bow Thayer & the Perfect Trainwreck were pretty awesome too, as was Jeff Foucault, who I believe is playing with Kris in this photo. At midnight, they stopped playing because of the neighboring houses, but they just went right on down to the campfire we had going in the field, and played and sang there. The music was live, and alive around the fire. Such good cheer, and such belonging and fellowship, I didn't know how to make my smile go away as my face got sore, nor how to make my self feel less blissful as all thought fled and everything but being ceased to matter.

It was off and on raining all weekend, but it made everything look so much better when the light came out, because everywhere there were rainbows. It was the first time I'd seen a rainbow coming down all the way to the ground, in a field as Emily and I were taking a walk towards Stockbridge proper.

It was a shiny, colorful weekend.

On the way back. So content.


All the land was classic and familiar, and yet, never before had I actually seen such a place. Warm it was, and welcoming, and green with life everywhere you looked. Wholesome, I believe, is the right word.

Well, that was an overabundance of photos, but seeing as how it was the only time I'd actually had my camera on me this summer here in New England, I figured it'd break up the drab dryness of the text to follow.

I have no recollection of anything that happened between that 4th and the 8th, our next stop. I believe I was recovering from all the happiness. Not used to it, you know. But if I had recovered, I went right back to it, on Emily's birthday. After celebrating at Downing for a bit, we went off to Vincent's, a really cool bar right here in Worcester, that I had never known existed. I think this video captures a bit of its spirit, and a lot of the talent of Frank Morey, who lucky for us, was playing that Wednesday, as every Wednesday, but of whom we had never heard. This night was all about hidden gems, as you will see.

So, after the great time we had at Vincent's, we decided to go to a club. This was another first for me, and I have to say, a very surprisingly good one. I believe it was called Club Fusion, down in the canal area, on Water Street. Had tons of fun dancing. And then, instead of going home like sane people, we went to yet another bar, the Dive Bar. Awesome beer, some more dancing, and we found ourselves heading to a diner at 2:30am. I have to say, that when people told me Worcester had basically invented diners, I did not believe them. And I thought I knew what diners were. Oh no. Not at all. It felt like I was in a movie, or a book. Sitting alone (for a few minutes) at the counter of the diner at 3am, getting some food in this trailer they call the Boulevard Diner, felt inexpressibly romantic. Not romantic as in Hollywood movie romantic, but romantic in the truest sense (to me); I quote my friends Mr. Merriam and Mr. Webster on this: "marked by the imaginative or
emotional appeal of what is heroic, adventurous, remote, mysterious, or idealized". And then there was the food. And the pleasure of sitting with friends in the booth and sharing it. I shall never forget, or else I will have gone from the world for good and true, even should I still be walking it. And then, at some ridiculous hour, one of those hours of the night I usually live alone while others sleep, we sat down to continue our celebration, and watched George Harrison & Co. perform their concert in Bangladesh. I don't know what time I came home, but I remember that it was dawn. Now that, my friends, is a night. Were it up to me, every one of my nights would be as full. But a prisoner of my society and my biology, I am shackled in the dungeons of sleep, that destroyer of time and killer of opportunity.

Barely had the sights and sounds of that night faded from my eyes and ears, when on the evening of the 11th I made dinner for all those that had given me such memories and stories. We spent half the night cooking together, making blueberry turnovers with Sara, and ma3mool, which are best described in English as walnut sugar cookies. Apparently they taste quite similar to Italian wedding cookies. Mediterranean blood will tell, and all that. We made sbanekh w rozz too, a homely spinach stew with rice and pine nuts, which actually turned out to be quite tasty, especially with the sangria Casey made, and the Lebanese wine (Clos St. Thomas 2004) I brought. The night flew by in pleasant companionship, and the only complaint was that we could not be as we were forever. Honestly, I would have been fine with 5am, but then, I am insane. And potentially, those two things could be related.

A week later, I found myself cooking again, for myself and my roommate Jason and his friend. We had a grand old time, though we might have overdone the eating part of the night, moving from dinner, to ice cream at the Ice Cream Factory (the Clark Cougar ice cream is the best thing in the whole world, by the way), then to grinders and Domino's pasta bowls (oh chicken carbonara how I love you!). All this interspersed with the cloud Rorschach game, a funny little run-in with President Bassett, and Planet Earth. Ah, good times!

My friends Lauren, Helen, Jess, Joe, and Dave, all came to visit me from out of town, and they were all wonderful guests to have. Then, suddenly, it was the 25th, the day before my birthday, and I had no idea how we'd gotten so far along in the month. I had no plans for that weekend, and was quietly resigned to taking the weekend in solitude and quiet. But at 4pm on the 25th, I was invited to go visit Jeremiah, up Watertown way, near Boston, with some friends, who were leaving at 5pm. I think the idea of just taking off appealed to me, and so I did. We ended up all walking around Watertown in matching green shirts that Miah had from his work, with a whale in a Viking hat holding a pitcher of beer in its fin on the front. Pretty ridiculous, granted, but also highly amusing. We went around the town, which had quite more than its fair share of Armenian and Turkish shops and restaurants. And I was finally able to find some arak, and had real Lebanese drink for my birthday night. We all enjoyed ourselves immensely, and a party just sort of happened without anyone ever having planned one, and we were at least 10 people there that night.

Early morning of the 26th, my birthday, found us heading back to Worcester so I could go to lab (like I had gone on the morning of my graduation). If only results would come proportionate to the dedication one puts into our lab. But oh well. Lauren, my American sister, kidnapped me in the afternoon, and took me to the Ecotarium close to Worcester for my birthday, and we got to walk around in beautiful woodland and look at a polar bear, bald eagles (they are ENORMOUS, I never knew!), and river otters, among other things. And my friend Sara made me a wonderful dinner, and the night faded quietly and pleasantly away.

Ok, so its 330 am, about bed-time for me. I believe there's one more part left to this series, but that'll have to wait for tomorrow. I hope this deluge of detail has not bored you. It has been good for me to recollect and dwell on all these good memories. It has given my summer a depth and breadth I had not felt, in thinking only of the present and future. I hope it does something good for you too. Adieu.

New England Summer

Back from home, June 23rd. I need to remind myself with my bank statements, facebook, and my planner, of all that has happened since. It has been an amazing summer, but it is all just a blur in my memory, and what is now 6 weeks, seems to me like just one. Thankfully, I had a premonition this would be the case, and documented things much better than I usually would. There will be a time to reflect on this elasticity of time, and on my failing memory, but that time is not now. Now, I just want to show you my summer in fair New England. Mind you, it was not so fair, most of the time, and everything was grey and wet for days and weeks on end. But those days that it wasn't, they were celebrations of life and joy and light, and I am blessed to have had the chance to experience them. Just as I am blessed to have the friends who made it all possible.

Colin gets the first honorary mention, for picking me up from Logan. It was raining, obviously, and as always, worse in Worcester than elsewhere. But we got here safe, and thus in a kind of numbness and discomfort, I began this new stage of my life. I say discomfort, and numbness, not only in comment as to the weather, but also the almost vertigo-like sensation I had, in moving so quickly from Worcester, to Lebanon, and back, with just enough time so that as soon as I started getting settled, comfortable again with the culture and the atmosphere, I was off again, and had to do it all over again. I had people laughing at my rusty Arabic for a full month, and then, as it started coming back to its own, I was back, and people were laughing at my broken English. It is highly unpleasant to have my worlds so isolated from one another, and I suffer for it, even as I benefit, in complete immersion.

The very next morning after I arrived, I started my Master's research. In my lab, we look at a gene that's found in both humans and fruit flies (which are our research organism). Mutation in the gene is lethal in humans, meaning that humans cannot survive, or even be born, with it. However, in fruit flies, it only makes their wings shorter, and their eyes patchy. With a variety of experiments, our lab tries to figure out what the hell is going on. Theoretically, it's very interesting. Actually doing the lab work however, is the most frustrating and mundane business I have ever engaged in. I really hope it starts getting better soon; I have a full year of it still. We'll see.

Two days later, on the 26th, was the first Zombie Lair party I went to. The Zombie Lair was the home of some of my friends. I can only imagine that they have zombies as a primary interest in life. However, to Casey and Becca and the other denizens of the Lair, I am grateful, for giving me my first summer party of the year. That first week also marked a lovely time with my good friends Emily and Sara. At one point during which we decided some of us would go see Susan Tedeschi, the amazing blues-rock singer and guitar player, at South Shore Music Circus. So it happened that only a day or two after buying the tickets, on the 28th, me and Emily and Erica were off to the circus. The South Shore Music Circus lies in Cohasset, MA, a really quite charming place. We met our friend Jake there, who's house is practically right next to the venue, and he was a great host. I had no idea what I would find when we finally came to the venue, but it was better than I could have imagined anyway. It was a rotating circular stage, set in the middle of an enormous tent. Our seats were in the very front row, and I was sitting right next to the guitar rack the band was using. It was incredible. We walked in to the best opening act I have ever seen. Shemekia Copeland was her name, and she sang to us, unamplified on many occasions, and her voice still filled the venue, and her sound reverberated through the air and filled us with wonder and awe. I have yet to find a recording of her to match that sound, though her studio work is fantastic also. And Susan Tedeschi was also brilliant. she sang my favorite song of hers, Just Won't Burn, as her finale. Spectacular. It sounded a bit like this (sorry, couldn't find a better embeddable version:



This is the one picture I have of it, courtesy of Emily.


The 30th marked the day Cali was off on another of his traveling adventures, so we went to his farewell party. Him and Colin were excellent hosts at their home, the Sex Palace (um, what's with everyone naming their houses?).

On the 1st of July, Erica and Ashley threw their housewarming party at Carlito's Luxury Suites (again, with the names!), which was fantastic. I was running between there and the Zombie Lair, as my friend Jeremiah and I began our Wednesday night/Thursday morning traditions of lurking at the Lair in the evening and having Annie's (Clark Brunch) in the morning. That Wednesday was particularly insane. If I remember correctly, my friends Nick and Amy played for us at Erica's, the guitar and violin respectively. Nick broke his strings playing he played so hard, and Amy was breathtaking as usual. They really are fantastic, and its because of them I love Irish music so much now.

The very next day, Thursday, we began our preparations for the Fourth of July weekend. But that whole bag of shenanigans (a word that for me will forever be associated with you, Molly), will have to wait until my next post. It might happen tonight. Soon, anyway. And oh yeah, have you noticed that it's only been a week, so far, since I got back?

Mountain and Sea, Pt. 3

A picture of an old picture of me. Once, I was little. Once, I was limitless. I knew no boundaries to the world, to reality. Once, who I was and what I could do was infinite and free.



This is Basem. He is my best friend and twin spirit.
Any attempt to describe our adventures and history would be terribly mundane to you, but would fill books were I allowed to reminisce unchecked.
Passa is now engaged to another great friend of mine. May they live long and happily.



The eldest of my brothers, in front of some bar. We had some good times this summer. For the first time, we are old enough to enjoy each others' company as equals and friends. I can't wait for the years to come, as we mature and our brothers join us in companionship.



The house Gibran Khalil Gibran grew up in. This was the only room in the house. Seeing this brought home with unprecedented force how blessed we are, how spoiled, in these modern days; how greedy and demanding. How in foolishness, sloth, and vanity, we have complicated life for ourselves and harnessed our lives to that which is material and base. How ungrateful we are for what we have, how clueless of how much we take for granted.



The top picture is of the view looking out from Gibran's tomb, which is in the lower levels of this memorial built to him, shown on the bottom. His tomb is placed in a small cave in the mountain behind the buildings. Our trip here was phenomenal, and one that was, for me, in any case, an intensely spiritual one. My very own pilgrimage. For of all moral codes that I know of, that we humans have been exhorted to follow, his is the most true and pure in my heart and mind. He is verily my inspiration, and I cannot describe what I felt when I stood before his burial place, and there, where I had expected none, was his epitaph. It is the only piece of Arabic poetry that I ever learned by heart with just one reading.

ana 7ayyon mithlak, wa 2aqifo ila janbak
aghmid 3aynayka waltafit, fa tarani amamak

I am as alive as you, and I stand with you
Close your eyes and turn, and you will see me in front of you

I will not say I felt his presence, but I will say that the way I felt coming out of that cave was something I had never experienced before. It felt like I had been hailed from across space and time. I felt like I had been succoured from my aloneness, and had been joined on the abandoned paths I have chosen for myself.

My admiration and self-definition grow, as I contemplate the grace and forethought of those few words, that offer hope and support even in death. Such gifts are precious; so few and far between, for those seeking peace and goodness. So it has ever been, and so it always will be.


Random aside:
I read a quote once, in my aunt's house, that has stuck with me ever since.

Home - Where each lives for the other, and all live for God.

Even if you do not believe in God; read God as truth, energy, goodness, purity of thought and spirit, or read the individualized collective projection and personification of our ideal evolution as moral and social self-aware creatures. Read it as you may, but read the thought behind the words. Do that, and generalize it to the whole world, and you will have in a nutshell my moral philosophy. And maybe you will see why it so resonates in me, in its spirit, its simplicity, its rightness.



The mountainside in the evening. This is not a particularly good photo, but in my defense, there is no camera in the world that can capture in one picture the way those lights sparkled. How they glimmered upon the mountain between the pines, glamorous and yet humble, bowing before the light of the stars, and seeming to reflect them in worship upon the Earth. How they shimmered and twinkled, like some fabulous necklace of the gods, gold laid there in homage to the beauty of the land of the mountain and sea.



Thus the sun sets on the land of mountain and sea.
Thus the grey rain-curtain of this world sets in,
and thus dissolves the silver glass, into mists and memories.

For now

Mountain and Sea, Pt. 2

Sunset from my roof... You can see the Mediterranean
if you look for the Sun's reflection on the horizon.

One of the things that has not changed, indeed that might even have gotten worse while I've been away (or I've become more aware), is the Lebanese knack for ignoring order and authority. This was particularly blatant, but things are the same in much subtler ways as well, and much more vital ways to the progress of the nation and its people.

This summer, I went to the little village that the Bou Zeineddine family is originally from (not where I live now), called L'Hlaliyeh. Tiny little farming village at the bottom of a valley isolated for the most part from the rest of the world, that is where I had to go to vote, for the very first time, for my representatives in parliament. Rationally, I thought of the whole process as frustrating and futile, as even my candidates were not of my liking to begin with (old guard political elite, backwards in thinking and action), and because I vote in a district where the process is quite unnecessary. As it stands, Hezbollah took and will continue to take all 7 of my MPs. To make matters worse, if you ever need an example of Lebanese disobedience and disorder, try getting them to stand in line. Which is, of course, what we had to do to vote. The line, if it ever forms, quickly degenerates back into a mob at the center door... Curiously, howerver, in my experience the Lebanese tend to be model citizens when they are away from the country. I can find no satisfying explanation.

My mother and father, at a restaurant they took us to in a little village called Ihdin, which translates literally and metaphorically as Eden. It is every bit its namesake, or at the very least, the area within which it lies does. The restaurant is quite spectacular; I think we were at the lunch table for more than 2 hours, and when we got up there was nothing left for the staff to clean. Mama and Baba, as we call them, are the perfect example of the constant in flux... They are my foundations, the rock upon which I build my life and my self, unshakeable and positively noble in their commitment to us and in their determination to provide us with the best they can. Their love is unwavering and the one element of my life about which I am totally and utterly secure. However, time leaves its marks on them too. To an outsider, those things that do change may seem small, insignificant. To me, who have studied their every move and thought insofar as it were available, such differences are profound.

My uncle Akram is in the background. He lives and works in Kuwait with his family.

Normally, I hate group photos, but I absolutely adore this one, perhaps because it is more natural than your usual portrait. This picture is of me and my brothers in our kitchen, having dinner. Dinner is not an occasion, nor even a proper sit-down meal, most of the time. We usually just have sandwiches or something very light like that. My brother Firas is sitting next to me, and the youngest brother, Fidaa, is sitting on the other side of Faisal. In addition to my brothers, the little one on the eldest of my brothers' (Faisal, 18) lap is my cousin, Maher. We call him Meemo. He is the joy of the family when my Uncle Akram and his wife and children come back from Kuwait for the summer. his brother, Mazen, is in the corner. Their sister, Mona, goes to American University of Beirut, and had exams at the time, I believe. The girls on the left are also my cousins, my Uncle Ray's daughters, Shadia (Shadow) and Rania (Rinno). They normally live in Arizona, and come every few years for a few weeks in the summer. The summer in general does not really start until the end of June/beginning of July, seeing as how that's when schools and universities give out, and when most employees can take time off. This was somewhat frustrating, as I left right at that time when summer was really starting, and you could feel it in the air. The tourists come flocking, the restaurants and cafe's open, concerts and festivals abound... There is a different sense to the atmosphere of the country when summer really starts. Though you wouldn't be able to tell by the weather, which is absolutely gorgeous from May up till September. Rain or cloud during that period are quite rare.

Now, to explain how it is I have so many cousins around... My house is actually three houses on top of one another, each for each brother in my dad's family. They each built their own floor over years and years, putting in another segment every time they saved up a bit. Uncle Ray's floor is STILL not complete. To my knowledge, they never had a mortgage. Simpler days, maybe, but logic says there is no need for any different today.

Well, here we are, my nuclear family. By now, I am the shortest of my brothers. Which is strange, because I was ahead of two of them when I last saw them in 07. Oh well. In the meantime also they have become athletes, playing basketball and table tennis. Faisal, the eldest of them, plays in college these days, and won a tournament with his team in Egypt. I am holding my lute there, but expectedly, I had lost everything I knew about playing since I laid it aside to come to college freshman year. My dad and I busted it out because the family decided we were going to have a music night.


Usually, we all sit together after dinner (or any other meal), and talk; politics, the garden, travels (for Dad and I), food, village gossip, and more politics. However, occasionally, we have entire nights where everything anyone says turns out to be hilarious, and whenever that happens, it practically becomes a live comedy night. And sometimes, my brother Firas (who is an excellent pianist) will give us an impromptu concert, and my other brothers follow suit, Faisal on the guitar, and Fidaa and Dad and Uncle Akram singing folk songs and the adults include songs from their childhood days in Kuwait. Mazen breaks out his electric guitar, and Rania sings Broadway tunes. Meemo acts out everyone's silly moves, until we get into charades. This music/entertainment night is entirely new to me, since when I left none of my brothers could play that well, Fidaa's voice was still changing and quite terrible, Mazen, Rania, and Meemo were too young, and the adults kept their night to themselves, but rarely had a good time with it either. Well, either way, we had never in my experience been so connected as a family as we were at the end of one particular night this summer, when we stayed up till 2 (astounding record for the adults) having a good time together, enjoying music, laughter, food, and reveling in our belonging. So I guess some things do change for the better, though I find that no change is good or bad, for with every change there is both a bright and a dark side.


So, this is as close as we're probably ever going to get to a family photo; my family, Uncle Akram and his family, Uncle Ray's family, and my Aunt Samar ('Amto)... minus Mona, Uncle Ray, and Grandma (Te'ta). It is almost impossible to have everyone together at the same time anymore. Though it IS impossible to get Te'ta to be in ANY picture, so I guess the point is moot anyway.

Well, thank you for following this series, I believe there are one or two more parts still, but then we can begin analyzing the shenanigans happening Stateside since I got over here, and the random thoughts, ideas, and imaginings I get which started this whole thing. Until then, peace!

Mountain and Sea, Pt. 1

How is home? Everyone asks me that, as if I could explain, in a few words, the effects of those years of absence and the tangible reminders they bring of Time's erosion in my return. Or as if the ecstasy of coming home to where your spirit resides and grows in the love of those who matter most in the world to you, was so banal as to be expressed. I try to find words that describe how good it feels, how painful it is, and wish that you were here in my heart to experience it with me. But every joy is tinged with regret that it cannot be shared, and every pain is made sweet in its dedication to those who embody the purpose of my life and its meaning.

To all those I have come to care for so deeply in my new life beyond the sea, would that you could know, beyond what I could show, the depths of my life and self, the roots of my being. Those roots that are nourished in love and goodness, wholesomeness and earthiness, and that though you may stretch me twice around the globe, will never leave this land or this people.

And you the founders of my life and self in the land of the mountain and sea, would that you could know, beyond what I could show, the breadth of my life and self, the branches that grow outward and away, higher and wider, towards the light of humanity and awareness. Those branches, pruned and guided by the unerring hand of experience and openness, of friendship and the unifying quest for truth. Those branches that, though you may strip them bare, will blossom again, and though you tear them off, can only lead to my rebirth, if only from the barest seed.

I am unspeakably blessed, and yet cursed with having to make the choice between them, always, to favor one, while the other withers, moving between, as the race with time is set, before something snaps, and everything comes falling apart.

I come to see Siddhartha's metaphor of life as a river to be more and more accurate as time goes by, as things and people pass by, ever changing, yet stable and predictable. Thus, after two years of absence, I find my home; completely changed and yet still the same. My memories are shattered and scattered to the winds, mere relics as relevant to the present as leaves in the wind. And there is in my heart and mind a great unease at the pace with which it has all unravelled, at which the solid years of my existence, the bedrock of the secure familiar I have in this place and in my people, has worn away. The fear of death and decay, the worry of insecurity, instability, and the fragility of it all, is now sharp upon me. Not that I fear for myself, though I may sometimes. It is for those I love that I fear.

I have ever taken boundless joy in seeking out love and friendship from those who would welcome me into their hearts and lives, the wardens of my self, makers and mirrors of my soul. But with every one comes a new worry, and a burden upon my heart and an agony of shame and disappointment that I am powerless to give them all they should ever desire, to shield them from every harm, and lay the light of truth and happiness on them.

But the sharpening of this bitterness, sadness, and regret, is hardly noticeable, in the delight of renewal, and the fulfillment of connecting and reconnecting. And if there is complexity, and pain, and confusion, with regard to the people around me, with regard to their lives and their bonds with me, with each other, and with the All, then in me there is only serenity, gratefulness, and wonder when it comes to this land.

My greatest pleasure in my short time here, apart from my time with my family, has been exploring this blessed mountain range on the sea, historic refuge of the oppressed. More will come on that note, later. And I promise, next time, my entry will be much less esoteric, and will include details of all that I have spoken tonught, and also some fun (or not so fun) stories of my little adventure back in the homeland.

With that I bid you good night, be safe, and peace be upon you and yours.

Honors Thesis

So, my honors thesis is complete, and for those of you with any interest in what my life has been dedicated to for the past year and a half, here's the abstract of the 80pg monstrosity that I have birthed.

'Leadership is intangible, and therefore no weapon ever designed can replace it.' -General Omar N. Bradley

'I suppose leadership at one time meant muscles but today it means getting along with people.'- Gandhi

'The great leader speaks little. He never speaks carelessly. When all is finished, the people say, “We did it ourselves.”'- Lao-Tzu

Although a prodigious amount of research exists on the topic of intergroup relations in conflict, the argument over the applicability of positive intergroup attitudes and the other ideals of principled nonviolent movements that foster them is not adequately addressed. The role of principled leadership in particular in conflict management and prevention has not been examined. An experimental design for an adaptable conflict simulation addressing this factor; the Leadership, Intergroup Attitudes, and Conflict Simulation (LIACS), was developed and tested. Results showed that two personality factors; Social Dominance Orientation and the extent of the circle of moral regard were correlated to increased positivity of groups' political actions. And despite there being no significant differences in intergroup bias and attitudes using the measures selected, the use of principled leadership rhetoric did significantly increase positivity in communication between groups in a conflict scenario, as well as decrease potential conflict escalation through the reduction of hostile actions.

Conversation

There was a conversation the other day that I thought was important to preserve. Here it is, for all you breathless followers of this electronic version of my random mind:

1: I feel inadequate

2: how are you inadequate now?

1: a - I'm ugly.

b - I work in vain.

2: a - your opinion of how you look doesn't matter, and the people who matter like how you look.
b - we're students, we haven't done work yet so how can you label it as vain already.

1: I just feel like I'm going nowhere. I've worked hard all my life and it's for nothing. the world is going to shit.

2: First off, why is it necessary to feel like you are going somewhere? there's nowhere more worthwhile than nowhere.
Second, you've worked hard because working hard is part of who you are, I hope, and not because you aim to achieve something.
And finally, the world is going to shit and there's nothing anyone can do about it. law of entropy: its gonna happen sooner or later.

1: I've been bleeding into entropy forever. Can't I just disappear already?

2: why? is there any more meaning or peace in chaos and nothingness? or is it cowardice that turns you away from that which tries you?

1: That's the thing: I never turn away. I bombard into it. That's suicidal and I don't like it.

2: Don't do it then. Live in apathy and fear.

1: No. Apathy is against my nature.

2: Live in pleasure and the present then, for there is nothing inherently better about the alternative.

Return

I have refrained from writing new posts to honor my grandfather's passing and to give my words to him their appropriate place at the top. Five weeks have now passed, and the world has moved on. I just want to thank those who expressed their condolences. You were precious few. God grant the rest of you the little consideration necessary to express your sympathy for your friends' losses.

A lot has happened in the interim, and I would I know satisfy those gossip-thirsty among you with many juicy tidbits, were I so inclined. Unfortunately, I think gossip is poison and hold it very much in disdain and contempt. Yes, I am being pretentious, but I am done being politically correct about my views. I will not abandon my humility, but I am a coward and a hypocrite if I do not express that which I believe is truth. And in the meantime, if anyone wants to call me out on my pretentiousness, if anyone can find in my actions or thoughts a hint of hypocrisy, by all means slap me in the face with it. I am done bringing myself down for others, I am done being 'one' of 'them', and I am done investing all I have in people. I have spent the semester chasing after that which I cannot have, and it has cost me dearly in honor, pride, time, and resources. More importantly, it has cost me my own sense of self-respect.

Recently, something happened that could potentially change much of this. But my own incompetence and pathetic desperation will work to ensure that the law of inertia remains intact. So now, I have only my return home to look forward to; my 5 weeks of heart-wrenching yearning and the inevitability of impermanence and the death of many things both physical and sociopsychological. The great experience of the banality of bureacracy, the fetid corruption of my nation, and the rotting of its breathtaking innocence by the touches of greed and consumerism. If only you knew what it was like, if only you knew so that when I spoke to you of this you did more than categorize what I say into neat little emotion/personality slots you have deemed appropriate for me after your judgment of who I am. And yes, you have judged and categorized and made assumptions about that. I at least will admit that I have and that I am aware of it, and that I try to revise them as often and as accurately as I can based on everything I ever experience in my interactions with you.

But for all of that, the love of those I love, my love of the land and its bounty, my love for my home and its grace and its truth; these are more than enough to make me anxious to leave already. God knows I have not loved anything or anyone, or been loved, in two years of this cold land. I am too nice, apparently. Or too lonely. Or too serious. Or too unattractive. Or too intimidating. Or too opinionated. Or too different. Or too conforming. Or expect too much. All these (and there are many more) are real things that have been said to me. Or have been implied, when the culprit was not an individual but a larger entity such as a group or the community or even this whole culture. And the question then is, if so many qualifications and conditions are set upon one by the people of this society just for simple, honest, true caring, is that caring even worth seeking out, is it worth anything, is it even real? Love is most beautiful when unconditional, unreasoning, and instinctive. But what do you do when the real thing is not around? You look for the closest alternative, obviously, because there is nothing worse than having nothing at all. But what if you give all you have, and fail at finding even the crudest semblances, the faintest of shades? What does that say about you as a person?

My Grandfather

My grandfather, my jiddo - an agent of the Light if ever there was one. Pious and courageous in his faith, he lived a full life, and faced his death with grace. In his mighty spirit he held all that is good and pure in our culture, and all that is worthy in men everywhere. He spoke only truth, and gave of himself without thought or desire soiled by self. In joy, he upheld the respect of all those he knew, and shined at them with fellowship and amity. He held himself with dignity, and yet was not too proud, and dealt with all fairly and in good faith and spirit. Gentle as ever a man was, and humble, and virtuous in all his conduct and thought, he wrought only the good, the ever noble, in thought and deed. In his patience and self-discipline, he inspired us to be more, to move beyond desire, beyond self. A gentleman through and through, refined and cordial, he was more princely than any prince, despite - no - because of, his suffering, his toil, and his humble means. In his heart was love of life, family, friends, community and country, and his duty to them was no duty, but instinct, as natural and as certain as the passing of Time. Like a crystal his love caught and concentrated his every virtue and beamed it out at all those around him, so that we were made better for it, for him.

Time has taken him from us, ripped from him the garment of his body, and set him elsewhere. And though his passing may be the blessing of others, with his spirit in new raiment, pristine white, or enjoined and whole with the Universe once more, our loss is hard to bear, in a world where so few remain with his wisdom, his honor, his soul, brave and true in its gentleness, unshakeable in endurance and integrity, mighty in love and character. It is my only hope that I may aspire to find him still in my life, and to found him in others', to preserve and elevate his essence in all that I do. All that is left to me is to fight for that cause, and pray that I achieve but a fraction of the purity and humanity that characterized my grandfather, in my worshipful eyes. God bless and protect his soul, and keep those he loved from harm, and give to us the strength to ensure that his self and what it stood for, his memory on this earth, never wanes.

I pray, Grandfather, that Gibran, that great mentor to whose wisdom I owe my being, and whose acquaintance I owe to you, spoke true:

What is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered? Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

But regardless of whither your grace has landed, jiddo, (and I know it is a good place and bettered by you), I swear, in your name and in God's, in my life I shall not cease; I will rage, rage against the dying of the light!

Music

I learned oud, or lute, for 3 years. Even though I gave up in exasperation and despair of ever being this good, I find that I miss it now. I wish I could create beauty, joy, or goodness by virtue of a talent, or knowledge, or skill. Would that I could flood the world with the reservoir that is my soul. But I have been given no tap, and that which I strive to fashion for the moment in every moment is ever rusted, blocked, a crude and pathetic attempt at elevation above the mundane, at becoming more than a consumer of the efforts of other beings and things.

Later

Tonight I have no urge to do anything. I just want to put everything off until later. If I could, I would put all of life on pause. Since I am deprived of that particular talent, I have to settle for being 'unhealthily' good at procrastination. I don't know why my severe lack of motivation is worse these days, but I do know the weather is not helping. I went down to the Cape for a night, and it was so beautiful I did not know what to do with myself coming back. There were so many stars I could not be sure of Orion's lines. And, there was family. The closest to family that I have away from my family. They are in mourning, as am I. He was a fine man, and always kind and generous to me. I will miss him.

It is important to know want, to become a truly mature and responsible human. And not just know the fleeting desire and the shallow, in the ignorance of youth, but true need biting felt at the height of awareness and intellectual capacity. At the same time, while it is an essential developmental milestone, I believe that its extended presence hinders growth and creative potential. A system that employs techniques whereby need is incorporated into learning could be quite powerful, especially if combined with Socratic disturbance. Educational systems are key to the natures of people and their societies. Theoretical exploration followed up with trial implementation of experimental methods needs to be encouraged a lot more than has been done in any of today's societies. I hope to do some of this work myself...later.

I've been thinking a lot lately about pressure, and the strangeness of that construct, and the incredible variation that exists in people's interactions with it. Stephen King mentions it significantly in his The Langoliers. Maybe I'll come back to it.

As hard as we try to distance ourselves from our origins, parade our transcendence above the physical, the sensory, and the bestial, we cannot but fail. We are cruelly, inexorably linked in reason, emotion, and behavior to our physical state and all material influences upon it. Free will exists, and is a powerful driver of human history and civilization, but in most of our everyday lives, for most of the everyday people, it is but a mirage. Would that knowledge be upsetting? Should it be? What is our need for control, and where does it come from? Is it pride, or is it fear? A sense of and need for agency are built into us neurologically, and I find that fascinating, because there can be no human without it, and yet some are able to recognize that it is often false. Just one more example as to how people are not and cannot be equal, either in their rights or their responsibilities. Controversial, I know. I guess I'll try to address that particular issue in the future as well.

If there is time. Think about that. You do not have the time to do all you wish, to discover all you do not know, to answer every question and fulfill every need, to pass through every experience, sense every sensation, feel every emotion, and think every thought that you ought to. What does that do to your morale? Because mine's not happy about it.

Pitch

Cannot see, cannot know, cannot feel, no thought, no emotion, no time. What passes? Am I? Too much too soon too fast too good too bad.

Tried to be well, tried to be right. Tried to be more, tried to be all. And with every trial I resent myself more. Tonight, there is no person on earth I can say I like. Tonight, my faith in possibility, my hope for transcendence is gone. Tonight, I cannot respect my self, cannot respect my people, cannot respect my species, and am not impressed with existence. Insignificance permeates my core and renders me paralysed with revulsion at the world. My world. For my world is not your world, and there is no one in it.

Perfection is an illusion, and strife for the high and the good, for the beautiful and the right, for meaning and purpose, is a mockery and a handicap.

This is truth to me, absolute and immutable, as the world stands, and as I stand in who I am and what I am. But there is nothing like failure to draw the thoughts out from the dark recesses of the mind, where they are hidden lest they devour the will and the heart for life. And there is no failure like the failure to satisfy oneself. The disappointment, the frustration, the utter hate for one's incompetence, and the bitter contempt at the surrender of one's ideals, are just the beginning. And there is no hypocrisy greater than the need for self-satisfaction in refuting the ways and lives of the self.

Twisted and uneasy my mind continues to refuse me contentment, and as if conspiring with it, the world veils its beauty and its joys from me, and all that is left in me is fear of life and death in equal measure, and a terror beyond comprehension of an insanity that is all too real in the abysses of my dark hours.

2/8/09

False hope is more hurtful than no hope at all. Consideration and respect are things of the past. Honor is quaint, and decency a relic reserved for the eccentrics. All is weighed on the cruel balance of profit and ego, the cost-benefit societal poison.

I should start assuming that everyone I meet is a liar and pretentious two-faced hypocrite. On the rare occasion I'm wrong, it'll be that much sweeter. And since we're assuming things, it seems the healthiest option to assume myself incapable of achieving anything I want from the outset. Do you not find that as soon as you want something it becomes infinitely harder to achieve? And if you were so fortunate as to have the ability to stop caring about, or to kill all desire for it, do you not see that that which you have forsaken comes unbidden? How is that reasonable? What kind of cruel irony is that, and who is laughing? To give of yourself, to be passionate, is to be taken advantage of. And the more you give, the more they will take, until you are nothing but an empty insignificant echo of the full-throated roar of the ocean that was your soul.

And yet there is no nobler way of life. But then who cares about nobility in this brave new age?

Quotations

"For still there are so many things that I have never seen: in every wood in every spring there is a different green. I sit beside the fire and think of people long ago, and people who will see a world that I shall never know. But all the while I sit and think of times there were before, I listen for returning feet and voices at the door." - J. R. R. Tolkien

‘Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.’ - W. B. Yeats

"There they stood, ranged along the hill-sides, met
To view the last of me, a living frame
For one more picture! in a sheet of flame
I saw them and I knew them all. And yet
Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set,
And blew. Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came." - Robert Browning

"Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light!" - Dylan Thomas

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty- that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know"

"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health,
and quiet breathing." - John Keats

"Out beyond ideas of right-doing and wrong-doing there is a field. I'll meet you there." - Rumi

"The thought manifests as the word. The word manifests as the deed. The deed develops into habit. And the habit hardens into character. So watch the thought and its ways with care. And let it spring from love, born out of concern for all beings." -Buddha

"When you have reached the mountain top, then shall you begin to climb." - Gibran

I shot a smile into the air
It came to Earth, I know not where,
Perhaps on someone else's face
In some forgotten quiet place.
Perhaps somewhere a sleeping child
Has had a happy dream and smiled
Or some old soul about to die
Has smiled and made a little sigh;
Has sighed a simple final prayer
Which lifts up gently in the air
And flows into the world, so wild,
Perhaps to wake the sleeping child.