وكمان عاملين إضراب!

الشغل الشاغل للناس من ساعة ما عرفت عن إضراب 6 أبريل: هو حاينجح ولا لأ؟

وبعد ما اليوم عدى بخيره وشره الناس بتسأل نجح ولا لأ؟

بس في سؤال المفروض يتسأل الأول: الإضراب ليه؟

الإضراب هدفه الاحتجاج على أوضاع البلد الاقتصادية والسياسية...احتجاج على العيش اللى الغلابة مش لاقيينه والميه اللى مش بتوصل البيوت والتعليم اللى زي قلته والمرتبات والمعاشات المضحكة والخدمات العامة المنعدمة والتعذيب في السجون يعنى من الآخر احتجاج على اللى خاربينها وقاعدين على تلها

يعنى مفيش حد مننا اشترك في الإضراب وهو متخيل مثلا إن الحكومة حاتقدم استقالتها بكره الصبح عشان بتحس على دمها. مفيش حد أضرب وهو عارف إن الأسعار حاتقل النص من يوم 7 (وحتى لو قلت النص مش هايكفي). الإضراب ما هو إلا توصيل رسالة، بس كده. تعبير عن رأي. لو الحكومة شغالة عدل المفروض الرأي ده يتسمع ويتاخد بيه مادام بيعبر عن حق. لكن بما إن ده مش بيحصل فالإضراب هدفه توصيل رسالة للحكومة إن احنا خلااااص دخلنا في مرحلة الثورة...مش حانبقى مش لاقيين عيش يسد الرمق ولا فرشة نضيفة ولا شارع نضيف ولا أمخاخ نضيفة تحط المناهج ولا مرتبات تعيش الموظفين من غير ما يشحتوا ويتبهدلوا في كذا مكان عشان يادوب يعرفوا يعيشوا بكرامة (زي حالاتي كده..آه والنعمة). عشان كده لو جينا قلنا هل الرسالة وصلت؟ أكيد وصلت. يبقى الإضراب ماله؟ نجح. أيوه نجح لأن الحكومة اترعبت وبعتت عساكر أمن مركزى وظباط عشان يخوفوا المتظاهرين. ووزارة الداخلية أصدرت بيان بتقول الإضراب ممنوع والدنيا كلها عرفت الجزيرة والعربية والبي بي سي...مادام الموضوع اتعرف إن المصريين محتجين يبقى الرسالة وصلت والإضراب نجح. يبقى من هنا ورايح المصريين مش هايسكتوا، مش هايخدوا على دماغهم ويقولوا آمين، اللى حايذلهم حاينضرب (زي ما اتعمل كده في رئيس جامعة عين شمس) وحقوقهم حاترجعلهم، حاترجع ببطء، بس الحماس والقوة اللي شفتها فينا حاترجعها أكيد.

American Idiot

And so a US navy-chartered boat killed a hapless Egyptian in Suez. The victim, a simple 'boatman' approached the ship along with two other boatmen in order to sell goods to large boats sailing through the port; the only source of income they know of in an increasingly corrupted country.
The 27-year-old died and left a poor widow and two children.
Needless to say, after the incident, the ship passed without being apprehended, without the shooter being taken in custody or anything. The just president of the US expressed some sort of sorrow for the incident, and stated that an investigation will be opened.
I did not expect the Egyptian Government to do anything about the MURDER. I just knew it would let it pass. Egyptians now are of absolutely no value or dignity, either in or out of their home. You can just beat an Egyptian up, set him on fire or hang him from his feet-all actions that should be punishable by the Egyptian Government, but Egyptian blood is priceless...meaning without a price!
Human life is priceless...and anyone who takes it away should be punished- this is the a b c of justice. So if the US has absolute brutish right to punish Afghans or Iraqis or those phantoms of the opera they are fighting in retaliation for the 9/11 attacks, if the US the upholder of freedom and human rights...why did it let its ship pass? Why are the lives of hundreds more valuable than the life of one humble person? It's the same misery, the same grief on both sides. The life of one nameless human being is not like stepping on grass then feeling bad about it. Justice should be done. Or else, accept that more terrorist attacks will be carried out and shut the fuck up.

Links (In Arabic)
http://nilewise.blogspot.com/2008/03/2008.html
http://tahyyes.blogspot.com/2008/03/blog-post_25.html

من وحي أزمة العيش

بيقوللك مرة حسني مبارك نزل الشارع

لقى فرن العيش عليه طوابير كتيرة

قال إيه ده؟ هي الناس خلصت فلوسها وجاية تشتري عيش؟

Jolie Pregnant Again

Ah, Jolie. Adopt me.

El Shazly at her best

أحد ضحايا نصاب مدينة نصر: يعنى إنت ممكن تشكي في ابن الوزير؟

منى الشاذلي: أنا ممكن أشك في الوزير نفسه

...........................

من حلقة إمبارح

Praying for Gaza

and sending messages to Avaaz calling for IMMEDIATE ACTION!

Generation Gasp

You can't tell me what to do! I'm not a child anymore!

A generation gap is supposed to be that lack of understanding and communication between people coming from different generations. (Yeah, as if there was no punk subculture in the 70s) Ever since I started teaching, my entire perspective changed. I feel I've grown ten or twenty years, when in fact my students are of my same age, sometimes older.

I insist on having order, and forcing order to unruly teenagers in my book means getting angry, or punitive actions; kicking them out of class, yelling...etc. Frankly, I never liked being yelled at and never respected a teacher who does so. Whenever I imagined myself teaching I would promise myself to control my anger if someone is rude. Afterall, no one appreciates authority, and you are a symbol of authority. Change your attitude to fit a calm and strict image of a teacher,but lo, instincts prevail. Always.

Students, and people in general, have the ability to drive you off the edge. Yes, you actually fly off the handle, lose grip, choose whatever idiom in the Webster English-English Dictionary there is. They do. I once had a student who, although smart, was offensive, aggressive, cowardly and even had a stinking breath. It was the worst kind of person you could deal with and I had to deal with him every single day of my life. I had to hear all of the delicious names he used to call his classmates - in my presence. I would advise him, listen to him, warn him, yell at him. Nothing worked. All I got in return was a heart attack.

But I've loved them, every single student I taught. It was like an insinctive passion that drifts beyond my control, like a mother to her newborn. There are, of course, some whom I would not like to see again, but it has never been so bitter to the extent of hate or wishing anyone to be pulled apart under a train or anything. Afterall, teachers should be impartial. If it is love you should give, give it to all. And...hell all the same.

Today, I was proctoring an exam, and amid the hustle I found a student attempting a conversation with the one behind her. I was aggravated, and wanted to let her know that I'm watching over, but just asked her calmly,"Do you have a question?" She blushed and shook her head.

A moment later, the girl behind her started moving her lips. I was livid. I motioned to her firmly,'The girl at the back...move to the middle of the bench.'

I was flabberghasted to even be a witness of the coming scene, let alone be part of it. She looked at me, banged at her desk and shrieked 'DON'T YOU CALL ME "GIRL AT THE BACK"! YOU SHOULD TELL ME,"PLEASE MOVE..." '

Happily, I didn't have a mental block, I didn't faint or burst into tears. I immediately yelled back, 'What should I be telling you? And in any case don't tell me what to say and what not to say!'

She kept protesting for a moment and the elderly professor present intervened.

I could see that she was shaking and for some ten minutes she didn't write anything. Call me a demon, but I couldn't care less. I was quite at ease when the professor whispered to me, 'I know this girl from last year. She's a cheater. You did the right thing.'

In fact, I felt horrible. Not because I yelled at her, believe me I would have had no pride left if I hadn't, but because I suddenly found myself a stigmatised figure. On the other side. A person on the other shore who does not feel for the students and who was yelling at one while she was having her exam. I knew quite well that this was what the other students thought, and every now and then I would look at them and feel guilty. There was no way I would have allowed her to cheat. And no way I wouldn't have told her that she shouldn't be talking in this disrespectful manner, to say the least. But I know that they would have none of it. Now I am part of their built-in horrid image of a teacher. I did my best to clear it by being unnecassarily nice to a couple of them, anyway.

This girl was in fourth year, probably for the second time, so as I get it she was my age or one year younger at most. Then, how come we are so different? I mean...how come we couldn't manage getting this thing done without clashing and irritating one another? I felt like there was a huge generation gap between us!

When I was a teenager (assuming I have actually left this status behind), I didn't always feel that I fit in. Or maybe this really is the way of the world for teenagers. Other girls wore flashy clothes and I didn't. Other girls were loud, talkative and popular, and I wasn't. Others were lonely and alienated, I still wasn't. Teenagers smoked hash and had partners, and I didn't.

And now where do I fit? If I am the same generation as they are and still feel a world away...where do I go?

افضحوهم

إسلام نبيه اتفضح واتحاكم واتحبس بعد ما هويته اتعرفت

السفلة اللى تحت ممكن قوى يواجه نفس المصير لو نشرنا صورهم في كل مكان

في المدونات

والإيميلات

وفيسبوك

إن شالله يا رب في الشارع

افضحوهم

قوادين بقى ولا شرطة مش مهم

بس مفيش بنت تستاهل يتعمل فيها كده

افضحوهم

...............................................................
نقلا عن الوعى المصرى

هذه صور الأشخاص الذين يظهرون في فيديو الفتاةإذا كنت تعرف أحد أو كل هؤلاء الأشخاص برجاء الإتصال بنا

Wa2el_3abbas@yahoo.comورجاء كل من يقرأ هذا أن يمرره ويرسله لكل من يعرف

suspect 1

وهو المشتبه به الأول ومن يضرب الفتاة ويطلب منها خلع ملابسها

الشخص الغامض الذي يظهر ملوحا في الفيديو

شخص آخر غامض يظهر في نهاية الفيديو قبل التوقف عن التصويروملامحه هنا واضحة

لقطة نهاية الفيديو ويظهر فيها المشتبه به رقم 3وخلفه مرآة تعكس ما في غرفة النومويظهر جزء من كتف المشتبه به رقم 2وهو من لوح للموبايلالى جانب مشتبه بهم جدد يظهرون لأول مرة في الفيديو4 و 5
أكرر مرة أخرى

إذا كنت تعرف أحد أو كل هؤلاء الأشخاص برجاء الإتصال بنا

Wa2el_3abbas@yahoo.com

ورجاء كل من يقرأ هذا أن يمرره ويرسله لكل من يعرف

Hmm...

How Will You Die? created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as You'll go down in flames for what you believe in You thoughtful leader, you. Although your love for country is undying, you'll be repaid with one of the more brutal forms of death. Ropes, chains, yelling, screaming, limbs flying apart.... Hey, at least somebody will win an Oscar bringing your story to the Big Screen. You'll go down in flames for what you believe in 80% Heart attack 70% In front of your computer 60% Stroke.... Massive stroke 50% You will die utterly alone. 35%

عودة عيد التحرش

والشاهد مالك
أعلق وأفتح الجرح؟
وللا أسكت وأموت بحسرتى؟

أنا مش معاهم (عن أحداث إسنا)

أنا اتربيت مع مسيحيين

عشان كنت فى مدرسة انجيلية

طول 13 سنة كنا خلطبيطة فى بعض مش مفرقين بين مسيحى ومسلم

الشلل كانت مخلطة، الصحاب، الأنشطة اللى بنعملها إن وجدت يعنى

مسيحيين فى مسلمين

ماكناش بنقف لحظة نفكر لأ دى مسيحية ماقعدش جنبها وللا لأ دى مسلمة ماصاحبهاش

ولما كان مسلمة بتشتم فى مسيحية كان المسلمين يهزءوها

الموضوع ماكانش موضوع طفولة بلهاء

حتى لما كبرنا فضلنا أصحاب وصداقتنا قوية

وبالرغم من إن الزملا فى الجامعة بيكتروا بس برضو فضلت بقدر المسيحيين وباحترمهم

والواد أخويا وهو لسه فى اللفة كانت ماما بتوديه حضانة ماسكها راهبات وماكانتش بتخاف إنها تأتمن ابنها عليهم

وباستغرب قوى من اللى يهاجمهم عال فاضى والمليان أو مايحبش يتعامل معاهم

يعنى مابفهمش الصراحة

حضرتك اتولدت مسلم واخترت انك تبقى مسلم والمفروض ان حضرتك متدين (أصل لو مش متدين فارق معاك اختلاف الأديان ليه بقى) ، جارك اتولد مسيحى واختار إنه يبقى مسيحى

يعنى كل واحد حر إنه يعبد ربنا بسلام ويروح دور العبادة بسلام

ايه المشكلة بقى؟

حط نفسك مكانه كده، واحد مايعرفهوش شال الحجاب من على وش واحدة منقبة عشان شاكك إنها سرقته

غلطان وكان المفروض يطلب البوليس ماقولناش حاجة

ايه اللى دخل الدين فى الموضوع؟ على أساس إن النقاب هو خلاص رمز الإسلام ؟ واللى يشيله يبقى هاجم الاسلام؟ ليه مادام هو مسيحى وهى مسلمة يبقى اعتبرنا إنها قضية طائفية وإن باقى المسيحيين لازم "يتربوا" بإننا نضربهم ونكسر الكنيسة؟ يعنى الموضوع خرج من إنه خناقة بين اتنين لمعارك طائفية...الناس ما بيصدقوا الظاهر حد يطلعوا الغضب اللى جواهم عليه فابيطلعوه فى بعض

أعتقد المسلمين اللى بيهاجموا المسيحيين بيهاجموهم لاعتقادهم إنهم حيروحوا النار، أو إن فى مخطط سرى لتحويل مصر لدولة مسيحية، والسببين أسخف من بعض، هو انت يعنى مالك الملك عشان تحكم على الناس إنهم ملعونين وداخلين النار؟ واللى يشعل الفتنة ويكسر دور العبادة ويرهب الناس ماعليهوش ذنب؟ ولو كان فى هذا المخطط السرى السحرى يبقى حضرتك تتمسك بتعاليم دينك اللى بيقول لا ضرر ولا ضرار

مش حانسى لما "صديق الانترنت" سردجان وهو مسيحى من صرب البوسنة، وكان بيحكى لى عن المناوشات اللى بيعيشها كل يوم ما بين المسيحيين والمسلمين هناك وإن المسلمين ماشيين على سكة التطرف، رديت عليه قلتله هما مالهمش دعوة بالإسلام ولو كان يعرفوا سيدنا محمد بيعامل أهل الكتاب ازاى ماكانش ده بقى الحال ، أنا توقعت إنه حايرد يهاجم الإسلام وللا يقوللى كلكوا كده عمى مش متقبلين أى تغيير، لقيته أحرجنى وبيقول "أنا عارف إن محمد كان عادل، وإنهم مش متبعين تعاليمه"

المشكلة الحقيقية إن فى ناس بتحس إنها مهددة لو مالقيتش اللى قدامها نسخة كربونة منها، أفقها ضيق لدرجة إنها مش قادرة تتخيل مجرد فكرة الاختلاف وإن اللى قدامك بنى آدم زيك ليه حقوقه حتى لو مكتوب فى شهادة ميلاده مسيحى

وإحنا بنخاف من المختلفين عنا فى الديانة والجنس والبشرة والعرق والقدرات والميول الجنسية والطبقة الاجتماعية وحتى فى اللبس كل واحد شايف إنه صح وأى ابن ستين فى سبعين تانى عايز الحرق، ناسيين إن الفروق دى أساسها كيان واحد، إننا بنى آدمين

فلما عرفت اللى حصل فى إسنا من غباء ومعاملة لاإسلامية لأهل الكتاب، ماأملكش غير إنى أعتذر لكل مسيحى حايعدى على هنا، وأقول له/ا: أنا مش معاهم

عيد سعيد

هى صورة قديمة بس باحب لطفها

كل سنة وانتوا طيبين

لأ أنا مش باحب أتعاكس الصراحة

لسة شايفة دلوقتى برنامج تسعين دقيقة والدم غلى وطق من عروقى ومدلدق دلوقتى عالأرض من واحدة مجهولة وبيئة كمان بتلبس بنطلونات ضيقة اتكلمت قالت إنها بتحب تتعاكس, ولو كانت سكتت عند هذا الانتهاك الصاااارخ لكرامة البنات المصريات ماكنتش استغربت، لكنها كملت وقالت عاااادى جدا : أكيد أى بنت بتحب تتعاكس!!!!!
أنا كلبشت فى ركبى وردحت: نععععععععععم؟ الله يخرب بيتك يا شيخة
الإجابة كانت لسؤال عن جروب الفيسبوك "الحملة القومية لتوسيع بنطلونات البنات" وبغض النظر عن الجروب اللى أنا ماعرفوش واللى يحبنى فى الله يبعتلى لينك، أنا مش عارفة البت الخيخة دى عرفت منين إن ملايييين من البشر هى أكيد ماتعرفش واحد على ألف منهم بيحبوا يتعاكسوا زى بسلامتها؟ إزاى أجزمت بكده يعنى وليه معتبرة نفسها سفيرة لينا كلنا؟ وليه البرنامج سمع وجهة نظر واحدة بس وماكلموش واحدة تانية بتأيد فكرة الجروب مثلا
عموما أنا اتكيفت أوى لما كملت وقالت إن المعاكسات بتبقى سافلة وساعاتبتضطر تقف تتخانق فى الشارع وطبعا اتكشفت على حقيقتها إنها غبية ومتلغبطة ومش فاهمة حاجة، يعنى منييين بتحبى تتعاكسى ومنين بتتخانقى مع اللى يعاكسك؟ شيزوفرنيا دى واللا ايه؟ ولا حضرتك ماشية بمبدأ عاكس آه، تمد إيدك لأ؟
وأنا من منبرى هذا أقر و أؤكد وأعيد وأزيد إنى مش باحب أتعاكس ولا أصحابى بيحبوا يتعاكسوا ولا أى بنت قابلتها فى حياتى بتحب تتعاكس واللى عايز يتكلم يتكلم عن نفسه عشان احنا مش ناقصين قرف
ورجاء أيها المعاكس لما تشوفنى ماشية فى الشارع لابسة ايشارب ومكشرة (قورتى وعن أنيابى كمان) وباصة قدامى وماشية
مشية العساكر اعرف إنى مش باحب أتعاكس وحط وشك فى الأرض وخللى يومك يعدى على خير و يا دار مادخلك شر
والمدونات الحبيبات الجدعات انتوا كمان اكتبوا رأيكوا للمرة العاشرة يمكن يفهموا إننا مش مستنيين واحد يقوللنا ايه اللى بيحصل ده ايه اللى انا شايفه ده عشان نحس بثقتنا فى نفسنا
بنات...هجووووووم

قصيدة فى حب مصر

مكتوب فى شهادة ميلادى مصرى
ايوة بحبها

بشتم فيها و اعزها

بشم مع هواها تربها و برضة بحبها

بستنشق دخنها فى عطرها

بعشق حواريها و شوارعها و ظلها

لجوامعها و كنايسها و معابدها بشتاق لها

لكل ركن و كل حبة رمل فى حضنها

بحب الفراعنة و المماليك و البورسعيدية

بحب الاهلى و الزمالك و الاسماعلاوية

وبحب السوايسة و الداميطة و المحلاوية

من الصعيد جنوبا الى المتوسط شمالا بحلم أضمها

انت لسه بتسألنى بحبها

ايوة بحبها و بعشق اهلها

و حفضل أحبها

حتى لو ظلمنى ناس منها

حتى لو ضربنى ظابط من أمنها

حتى لو زاد الفساد و طال الزاد و قل الخير فى حجرها

حتى لو ملقيتش اللقمة فى ارضها

حتى لو اتحشرت فى المترو بحبها

حتى لو وقفت فى اشارتها ربع قرن بحبها

جوعت ولا شبعت بحبها

بحب البلد دى بكدبها و صدقها

بمجدها و عزتها بجيشها و شعبها

سألونى و أيش حلمك قلت أموت فى رملها

....................

وأنا كمان بحبها و باموت فى دباديبها

القصيدة لأحمد المصرى

God. I hate screamers.

Have you seen one of those stupid videos where you are asked to watch intently at a certain video, looking for clues to some puzzle, finding a number of differences between two pictures or simply following a maze, when suddenly a ghost or some crappy graphic image pops up?
Oh God, I was fooled into one of these computer pranks yesterday and I still haven't shaken the image off my back. Mind you, it's a widely circulated video on Facebook's Advanced Wall and similar applications, and it lures you because the front image is that of a man and a woman kissing.
So, as if I've never seen two people kissing before, I was tempted to watch the video. I strangely found myself being followed into what seemed like a maze in an empty flat. I expected the worst, but for some reason I continued watching, and before I knew it, a ghost girl popped up and a loud scream ripped through my speakers!
I quickly hid my eye and jumped into the air. I think I kept shaking for ten minutes. When my breath evened out I was angry. I felt like a victim. It's true I'm a sucker for horror movies, but at least willingly. I watch a movie and I know in advance that this man's head will be chopped off nice and clean. I shake and have nightmares but at least I knew it would happen.
But to be betrayed and fooled in this way...

عقربة قدام الحرية مول...احذروا وعوا

يوم السبت كنت خارجة من ايليت بتاع الايسكريم اللى قدام الحرية مول مع بنك بلوم ( دى غير البنك) و منال صاحبتنا وكان الرصيف اللى حوالين شريط المترو من الناحيتين متكسر و متدغدغ و مليان رمل و حفر و طوب, استغربت هما بيكسروه ليه و هوا كان زى الفل؟ يمكن كتر فلوس و فضا. داهية لا يكونوا ناويين يشيلوا المترو؟ ده متعتى المفضلة. المهم عدينا نص الشارع و جينا نعدى على الرمل, منال حطت رجلها و لسة انا حاحط رجلى لقيت عقربة مطرح ما كنت حادوس!!! أى و النعمة عقربة. وسط الناس ووسط الزحمة وأضواء المدينة. أنا صوتت و شديت منال بعيد... هى تقوللى يا بنتى جرادة أقوللها لأ عقربة, تمان رجلين من قدام طالع منهم ديل رفيع , و المصيبة كمان ان لونها كان لون الرمل. و كنت لسة شايفة فى جورج نسيم بتاع الدهب اللى فى الكوربة ساعة على شكل عقربة كبيرة قوى, ممكن يكون تمنها عشرين الف مثلا, عشان كده البوست ده كان المفروض يبقى فيلسوفى اشتراكى مشترك, بيوضح الفرق بين العقارب اللى فى المحلات اللى بآلاف الجنيهات و العقارب اللى فى الشارع اللى بتعض الناس.

أنا خفت عليكوا وقلت أقوللوكوا عشان تخلوا بالكوا لو ماشيين على رجليكوا هناك, لحسن تناموا بالليل تحلموا بعقارب بمبى زى ما جرى لى

:D

Men, whatever is wrong with you?

When you're twenty four, young, successful, ambitious, respectable and loved by many, you look forward to an engagement enthusiastically. You imagine spring days and hot summers spent with whom you cherish and breathe a sigh of relief that God has given you all that you've asked for.
When three months later your relationship ends because your ex refuses to certify that his apartment, your future home, is his, and instead documents that it's his mother's, you break down. What's wrong if the apartment is his mother's and not his, I wondered? Well, in the future, if your husband dies, your mother-in-law could have the right to throw you and your children out in the streets. If she is wicked of course, and in this jungle, you really have to take precautions of all the roads that diverge infront of you.
But you're just 24, so after the shock is over and after all the tears and sorrows are spent, you sit back and think of the long days ahead, of all the chances that will still present themselves in the future. You just know that you did nothing wrong, that the blame is not on you. That you are still fresh and lively and oh, how many young and presentable men would be interested in you. It can't be the last chance. There are no last chances when you are just twenty four.
The days go by and you are now twenty seven. You have lost hope of ever settling down. You will live and die a medical spinster. It has ended. It is all, all over now. Twenty seven year olds are too old and wasted to marry. Ripe and mouldable twenties and maximum twenty-ones are the cat's meow.
Until a familiar face arrives. A face you wouldn't have even dreamt would think of you. A dreamy, innocent face. A successful neuropsychiatrist, mind you his profession. You blossom again, you keep thinking; is it true, is it even possible, that I have found the love of my life? The love that would linger on behind a loaded and almost unbearable life? At last I will have a child of my own, to raise and pamper and adore and take good care of and die for!
Everything goes smoothly as it should be, a couple of arguments here and there but who doesn't argue? I believe that the lack of arguing is a problem. The lights are turned on, the engagement party is prepared, the few, intimate guests share little chit chats and heart-felt laughs, soft music is played...
'Dah benna m3a-ad...
w law w7na bo3a-ad...
akeed rage3 w law beny w ma beno bla-ad..'
You start preparing for the wedding, you choose the wedding gown and your tailor starts cutting and mixing...you gather bits and pieces of your future household...wrapping it up to protect it from the dust.
But you have arguements from time to time, naturally. You are hurt but you try to 'come on yourself ' because you want this story so much and cannot imagine that it could just end, and that your nights would return darker and heavier. You try, but you fail.
This, in short, is my sister's story. Today she broke off her second engagement. You know when tragedy occurs for a second time, you just suspend your belief for a while. You go through a phase of denial. It can't be true. She isn't going to go through another break-up - oh, no, she won't. But she went through more than just another break-up this past week or so, and the way I see it, for no logical reason. Her fiance had female friends whom he used to go out with and call frequently. When my sister objected telling him how this is unislamic and that she wouldn't accept this kind of relationship in his life, he replied saying...
'So, are you the one who is going to make decisions? Are you the man of the house or what?'
Imagine this! This is how an adult, educated, religious Egyptian guy thinks. This is how he thinks in the 21st century. That being the 'man of the house' means that you make orders, and that your partner or whatever armchair you are married to has to obey silently and that is that.
It doesn't mean that you make your partner feel safe. It doesn't mean that you forgive. It doesn't mean that you tolerate. It doesn't mean that you accept your differences, knowing that she accepts you as well. It doesn't, of course, mean that you enjoy those differences. No. Being 'the man' in a relationship means that I do what I see is right, and not take into consideration my partner's opinion. She is a woman. She lacks religion and mental abilities. It means that I choose to live our life the way I want, because, come on, I am the man. What would she want more than a successful, handsome and religious husband? She should just take it and shut the fuck up.
My sister is no angel. Yes, when she's angry she sometimes hurts me with her words. But as soon as she calms down she runs up to me and hugs me - a hug that wipes out any bitterness in my heart. A hug I never see except in idealistic TV sitcoms.
How come men lost the ability to tolerate? I keep imaging myself in my deathbed, and wonder how people do not imagine themselves in the same position. In my deathbed I wouldn't wish I had lost someone just because he was once rude to me. I was intolerable myself at times. Sure I was. In my deathbed, I would know that this human bond that ties me to all those I know is the most valuable thing I ever had, and ever will in another life. What with the tensions, what with normal everyday issues...they will pass. They will pass and love will live on.
How come people do not realise this fact and just find the easiest solution to abandon one another? HOW COME? Yes, my question is to men though I know there are same-minded ladies out there...but I want men to answer me. Why would you trade loyalty and comfort for sheer arrogance and control? What would happen when you eventually control your partners and turn them to speechless models of patience? Would you be happy then? Is this your way to paradise?
Whatever is wrong with you?

Candle in the Dark

I'm shining like a candle in the dark...

when you tell me that you love me !

حلم عبثى

كنت واقفة محلولة الشعر وسط الزحام

وفى صدرى مرارة الاحساس بالاهمال واللامبالاة

تركت البيت بعد أن فاض بى الكيل من تجاهلهم لى

فجأة رأيت أبى ينظر حوله بتمعن مرتديا تلك الحلة الرمادية المحببة الى نفسى

جريت اليه و سألته بتلهف

أتبحث عنى أنت يا أبى؟

نظر الى بشىء من الخجل

!!!وقال ...بل كنا نطلب وجبة الغداء من المطعم المقابل

....................................................................

ذكرنى هذا الحلم بقصيدة توماس هاردى, فيها تتعجب امرأة عمن ذا الذى ينهش قبرها؟

هل هو حبيبها فى حياة قد مضت؟

لا...لقد تركها حبيبها تمضى مع ماضيه وتزوج ثانية

من؟ أعز أقاربها؟

لا...فما الجدوى من زرع الورد على قبرها و هى الآن فى قبضة الموت؟

أعدوتها هى اذن...التى تنهش قبرها الآن؟

لا تكترث عدوتها بمكانها الآن...ولا تستحق كراهيتها بعد اليوم

انه أنا يا سيدتى العزيزة...جروك

أرجو ألا أكون قد أزعجتك

حقا!!! كيف أنسى قلبك الصادق؟

كيف أساوى بين وفائك و غدر بنو جنسى؟

سيدتى, لقد نسيت أن هذا قبرك

لقد جئت كى أدفن تلك العظمة هنا

حتى لا أجوع فى تسكعاتى اليومية!

Ah, Are You Digging On My Grave?
by Thomas Hardy.

"Ah, are you digging on my grave,

My loved one? -- planting rue?"

-- "No: yesterday he went to wed

One of the brightest wealth has bred.

'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,

'That I should not be true.'"

"Then who is digging on my grave,

My nearest dearest kin?"

-- "Ah, no: they sit and think, 'What use!

What good will planting flowers produce?

No tendance of her mound can loose

Her spirit from Death's gin.'"

"But someone digs upon my grave?

My enemy? -- prodding sly?"

-- "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate

That shuts on all flesh soon or late,

She thought you no more worth her hate,

And cares not where you lie.

"Then, who is digging on my grave?

Say -- since I have not guessed!"

-- "O it is I, my mistress dear,

Your little dog, who still lives near,

And much I hope my movements here

Have not disturbed your rest?"

"Ah yes! You dig upon my grave...

Why flashed it not to me

That one true heart was left behind!

What feeling do we ever find

To equal among human kind

A dog's fidelity!"

"Mistress, I dug upon your grave

To bury a bone, in case

I should be hungry near this spot

When passing on my daily trot.

I am sorry, but I quite forgot

It was your resting place."

تعليق على ما حدث

I wanted to blog about some personal incidents and events…I even woke up and fell asleep forming the draft but never actually writing anything…local news, however, sprang out suddenly and I just felt it necessary to have a say, to make a comment – or even to scream.
Last Tuesday I was checking omraneya.net when I found the title clear and bright, 'Islam Nabih sentenced for three years in jail.' And it felt like a million pounds! I haven't blogged about Emad El Kebir before, or how he was arrested for no apparent reason than trying to defend his brother who was being harassed by the police. And what was the Captain Islam Nabih's reaction? He stripped him from the waist down and together with a Corporal they beat him up and sodomised him with a stick! And to spite him even more, they videotaped him. A total fuck. Bloggers, human rights activists and even unheeding Egyptians knew about the case Emad filed against the policemen , and everyone was holding his breath until the verdict came in. Immediately afterwords, I waited for Al3ashera Masa2an…and the show hosted the lawyer of the defendant and the accused, and later Emad himself. Significantly, however, an anonymous policeman called in and among moments of silence, stuttering and a disheartened voice, he wondered how on earth they were supposed to treat such thugs? And insisted that they face hell to restore order to the streets, and that no one is cooperative, and that they feel hated and even inferior!
Okay, respected policeman – what the heck do you expect us to feel about policemen when most of what we see from them is either cruelty or indifference? Thousands of our friends, family and beloved ones are run over every day by high-speed vehicles. 22 people died of torture in the past year – torture you have committed, respected policemen of this country. Girls are molested every half an hour in the streets of Cairo or so they say in broad daylight and do not find one single policeman to run to. Not one. It's now a myth that Egypt's streets are safe…those who are supposed to provide us with safety are simply NOT THERE. Women's bags are being robbed and the women dragged along by cars, helplessly trying to regain the few pounds left to feed the children, and what the hell are you doing? Sodomising innocent people. This is your policy, your religion.
The following episode of Al3ashera Masa2an began with a call from a high-ranking police officer, professional liar and nutcase. He insisted on the good examples of policemen that are never given as much attention as the few corrupt among them. But I was amazed at how he commented on the killing of a girl in El Matareya area while trying to stop the police car from taking away one of her relatives. She tried to block the road, but the car just went on, hitting her, then running her over. 'What were they supposed to do? She was the one who hung on to the car!' i.e. The bitch got in our way. The bitch had to die. This is their logic. There is no talk of pushing her away or even pepper-spraying her (which in another context could also be considered an excessive use of force), but they just killed her…Simply.
The sentence the infamous policemen got is a beam of hope, as considered by many, including myself. However, this trial is a double-edged weapon. It is an attempt to silence humanitarian voices that are accusing the government of ignoring incidents of torture. It's like the Ministry of Interior is telling us, 'See? We've sentenced a policeman to prison and hard labour. Shut the fuck up now.' It is intended to grab our attention away from all of the 22 murders and God-knows-how-many torture cases that are being examined or forgotten in Egypt. Last Tuesday, I was hopeful, but deep down I was terrified, deep in my heart I hoped so dearly to God that other tortures don't go undercover, for there is no worse feeling in this world than injustice.

As Salama Ahmad Salama says in this week's edition of Al Ahram Weekly, we Egyptians are so used to catastrophes that nothing can shake us anymore, to the extent that tens of our young, ambitious and frustrated youth drowned while trying to cross over to Italy and not many care, not a lot of us noticed. What's done is done, nothing can be said more than what's been said before about illegal immigration, their hopes and dreams together with their blessed souls and any spark of light in their families' life was just washed away – finished. Done.