Running Out of Time

A profound week, begging for a step back from reality.
Be it a moment to whisper a silent prayer, or a night of sobbing into the ever-patient embrace of a wilted pillow.

Grief, sadness and fear are the pits of eternal darkness that we spend our lives trying to avoid, yet the inevitability of succumbing to the full spectrum of human emotion means that we all fall prey at one point or another to the harsh and bitter truths of life.

And nothing brings a human to her knees more so than the weight of knowing how powerless and weak we are in the face of the Divine, the celestial, the destined.

Illness and Death.

The process of accepting ones fate, ones illness, a close ones passing, is both devastating to me and humbling. Having the faith to trust in the providence of the Creator is noble; something I don't understand, and hope I never have too, but at moments of sorrow, know I one day will.

On that day, may God give me the patience and wisdom, and ultimately the faith and serenity to trust in His plan.

And on this day, may the Lord give strength to those souls in ailing bodies, give them healing and comfort as only He knows. May the Gracious and Merciful grant patience to those caregivers who sit by their loved ones, and may their prayers be heard. May all those who have lost someone be guided from the darkness and pain back into the warmth and comfort of Love.

And may God have mercy on the souls of the deceased, and welcome them to the glory of Heaven.

إنا لله و إنا إليه راجعون

The End of the Fall

'How far can one go? When the dreams are dreams no more, and the wishes are attainable behind a certain door, how far can one go...We always wish for more, much more' - The End of the Fall

Knights, fairies, wizards and guardian jewels. Ring a bell? Maybe Harry Potter? Lord of the Rings? The Chronicles of Narnia? Maybe not if I told you that our protagonists' name is Majid, an Arabian embodiment of courage, adventure, modesty and honour. Developed so honestly and purely, you can't help but feel like you already know him.


Or maybe it's because I already do.


After reading this article in Arab News, I mentioned it to my friend Majid, who happens to be the brother of the author, Mostafa Fahmi. (Not coincidentally, Majid lends not only his name, but is also the muse and inspiration for our Arabian hero.) I suggest you read the article, but in a nutshell, what started as a personal project developed into a 40 chapter Fantasy, with interweaving mythologies written within an Arabian framework, in English. In a word, Unique. Unfortunately local publishing houses had another word, Dismissed.

As the article states, Mostafa started a Facebook group and invited people to read chapters from his book, establishing a fanbase. That's where I read the prologue and the first 8 chapters of The End of the Fall. Now Fantasy has never been my style of choice, so I started reading with skepticism. After the prologue and the first chapter, I printed out the other seven and curled up to finish them all last night. The story is a creative adventure, where imagination has no limits, yet is carefully sculpted in a way to lead the reader by the hand through this new world without getting lost, yet without losing the sense of discovery and suspense.

Yet what drew me through the 8 chapters was the characters. Arabian in spirit and close to the heart, you can't help but read on just to make sure our heroes are alright, seeing a bit of yourself, or someone you know, in every character you come across. For me personally, the spirited and compassionate fairy Fay, who is Majid's companion and guide throughout his adventure reminds me of my friend Faten, and I can't help but picture her flying around and sprinkling her fairy dust with determination as I turn from chapter to chapter.

I would recommend the light and spirited read to anyone, but alas it is not published. But I do want to be able to read the remaining 30 or so chapters, and therefore recommend you join the Facebook Group here, read a couple of chapters and see how it goes. Maybe with our support, we will be able to get The End of the Fall published.

On a side note, what saddened me the most about the article is Mostafa Fahmi's assertion that publishers rejected the book on the notion that Saudis don't read. An ignorant statement, at the very least. A dangerous perspective and oversight in reality. Mostafa is contributing to a vacuum in the market, which exists not because there is no demand, yet because it is a niche that has yet to be filled, and The End of the Fall represents an excellent first step towards serving this market segment.

And speaking of first steps, "Dreams will always be dreams, but if we believe and take that step, they will be dreams no more. It is our decision, and it's our choice to act on it. It took one first step to fall into the well, as it took one first step to cross the rusty wooden door, but it will take many other first steps..." - The End of the Fall

Losing Track of Time

On a whim, a hurricane of sorts swept me off my feet last week, and where I landed, well let's just say I was not in Kansas anymore.

Beautiful beautiful Beirut.
Simultaneously superficial and shallow, yet cultural and deep, this city embodies a hypocritical enigma.
And after just a few meager hours in the city, I feel like an hypocritical enigma; Who am I? Where am I? And where the fuck are my toes?


My experience with Beirut has had its highs and its lows. In 1998, after an 18 year absence from Lebanon, my Mother decided we would go to Beirut for the summer. Up until then, summer vacations had been either with grandparents in California or grandparents in Lausanne. To me, a family outing meant 12 - 15 people on a busy day. In Beirut, we always had some sort of 'family' stay over, and there was no less than 15 people crashing in the 5 bedroom flat on a daily basis. Whereas North American and European holidays had meant bedtime at midnight, Beirut meant bedtime at sunrise - and this at the age of 12. For lack of a better word, I was fascinated.

It took three more years before I spent another summer in Beirut. This time around, I wanted to kill myself. At 15, life in Beirut meant beach, movies, karaoke, and as simple and beautiful as that may sound, it was not the Disneyland or the shopping or even the companionship I had known from Cali, Switzerland or even Amman, which I had just visited for the first time. Granted, I was also 15 and a teenage pain in the ass. Sorry Mama.

And then, right after that dreadful summer, something happened. Everything changed. Beirut and I embraced...and what an embrace it was. From then on, I looked forward to summers and winters in this Pearl of the Orient. Like a selfish lover, I would tease myself with sporadic short trips, bursting with life and action, and never stayed long enough to get bored. This way, I always managed to miss Beirut before I ever left her.

But like any unhealthy, dishonest relationship built on deceptions and games, it was too good to be true. Winter 2009. How I hate you. How I hate you for taking a source of simple, pure familial joy and nationalistic pride, and throwing it back in my face as a distorted, seductive, sadistic satisfaction.

To Beirut I quote, 'I feel like a hero, and you are my heroine' - Boys Like Girls

Just like any good ol' fashioned destructive abusive relationship, I cannot get my fill. Just like any good ol' fashioned destructive abusive relationship, I can no longer differentiate the good from the bad from the ugly. From the very very ugly. Because after all, this is Beirut, and if it's ugly, there is a procedure to fix it, and nobody really cares if it's good or bad.

The last trip (3 days? 4 days? I don't know) plays out like a continuous reel in my head. Actually scratch that. It plays out like a disambiguated record that keeps skipping - I feel like I'm losing it, have lost it. Not my mind, but rather track of time. I should shut this blog down, pack it up and leave.

But just like Alice, after spending 3/4/however many days in the rabbit hole, I have emerged with a brand new perspective. I've been back for almost a week (side note: this morning I woke up at 8:30am thinking, 'Wow, exactly one week ago I was getting ready to go to bed!') and the perspective remains. Which tells me, this time around it might just be real deal.

I'm not blaming Beirut for my bad habits. She's just doing what she does best; placing me under a magnifying glass, scrutinizing all my faults and misgivings, but it's for my own good really. So I'm not vowing you off. I'm taking a break from you (God knows how long it will last this time) but in the meantime I plan to fix my flaws.

The true test of time will be returning to your lap, and bracing myself for the image you will then choose to magnify. I would love to yell out and say 'Make it Beautiful, Beirut', but instead I beseech myself, and whisper 'Be Beautiful, D, and Beirut will follow'.