Bulleted

We took a long drive along the coast, the corniche. It was impressively enjoyable. I wish I had taken photos, because they would have told the whole story without the fuss of all the words. I don't know how to describe something that is enjoyable only to the eye.

Things that struck me:

• The color of the sea: dark dark blue, the scary kind of blue.
• The little resorts along the corniche that, although not humble, still look humble.
• The palm trees that, for once, gave an aesthetic touch to the scenery.
• Colors! Something you don't find abundantly here!
• The roundabout with the boats and fishies on it! So cute!

That's just about it. So, if you live around here, try that corniche morinng cruise. Worth 2 hours of your morning.

Peace out! Hahahaha :-)

Haya, 8 years old (but too short for her age)

Every day brings a new tear and a new experience to my life. I am currently teaching Grade 3 students, all girls. And these girls are capable of coming up with just anything, partly because they're kids and partly because of the interesting and intricate backgrounds that they come from.
Every morning at 7.50 the morning school bell rings. The girls rush to their classes creating a very healthy chaos along the hallway. They chat about everything, surtout about what they did the day before. Some of the girls go to afternoon French classes, some to swimming classes and others simply watch a lot of Disney TV and listen to High School Musical soundtrack. I don't know what else occupies their afternoon, but I am sure that this is NOT all that they are exposed to, to put it subtly!
AT 8.00, another bell is heard in the Elementary section and classes begin. Classes vary from English language to Islamic Studies, from swimming to Arabic language, in addition of course the stiff sciences that no school can go without.
On Mondays, I happen to have religion class directly after mine in Grade 3B. Today, Haya (student) decides to end my session with a song that she was confident to not just sing but perform in front of the class. It was a song from High School Musical, the movie. The girl is not more than 120 cm tall and weighs less than 25 KG. She held a hairbrush in her right hand (the girls have hairbrushes in their lockers in order to brush their hair after swimming classes), braced her legs apart and commenced. She knew every word, every move, every sway of the hips! The rest of the girls pitched in and a whole chorus was chanting to Haya's song! I loved it! I loved them! I felt proud of my class. What an active group!
But, ya haram, less than 2 minutes into Haya's performance, the Islamic Studies teacher knocks on the door. The girls scurry to their seats, take out their Korans and rush back to the carpet to sit in a circular fashion, shoulder to shoulder. The girls are suddenly quiet, disciplined, serious and obedient (and if I may be too bold, let me say fearing). The teacher plays a prerecorded rectial of the Koran and the girl follow with their fingers on their books. How did I get to see all that? The door to the class was not closed, and I just stood there at the door watching. I was dumbfounded. How could these girls switch so fast from being so playful and free-spirited to that serious and fearing mood?

What a sight! What a dichotomy!

Maryam, 8 years old

"I don't want to grow up, because when I do, my father will die. He's already 60 something years old."

Manama

Can I have another life, please? A second one that is, not a different one.

This weekend it's "Chill Out Weekend, All Weekend" on VH1, and a lot of the songs that are playing take me ages back and give me a very sad/happy feeling. You know, painful pleasure, pleasurable pain, that kind of thing. Then it hit me: I won't have another life ever again. I can't relive what is behind me, I can't accumulate years and I definitely can't pause life. And it saddened me to the bones that this is my only chance in life, the only offer I'll get, the only few decades that I have, and I don't know how to stretch them, make them last longer, make them pass slower.
After that, what happens?
I'd gladly trade my spot in heaven (to be optimistic) for immortality. Does anyone feel like doing the exchange with me? Despite everything, life does appeal to me. And you can quote me on this.

"Hold on, when you feel like letting go
When you think you've had too much of this life, hang on
Because everybody hurts"

I always hang on and hold on and I always remember that everybody aches, and it helps. But how can I hold on and what do I hold on to when a friend is dying and when the sweetest people leave this world unwillingly?

"Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on....Everybody hurts." - REM

In The Mood for Madea

Madea's Family Reunion

Don't Keep The Neighbors Up All Night

I changed my philosophy way back; around the time when I learned how to sew buttons on shirts, when Prince abridged his name, and when I learned how to burn CDs. Now it feels better. I feel more as an entity, and sharing ******** stories with friends doesn't seem as awkward as it used to. It's OK to be an alien sometimes. Too OK.

In the afternoon, the sun cools down a bit and I can go for a walk. But I don't. I choose to listen to more music and learn some more. Music is the only other thing that touches my soul- my alien soul, my colorful soul, my frightened and lucid understanding of my soul. It also takes me down that road that has a million intersections at the end of it, where you always make the wrong decision no matter how willing you are to give it a try.

Perfect break-time/ending (?) to a sunny day. And this new Blogger saves my drafts automatically now! Bright sunny day.