28 Dec 2012

A mutual feeling

The end of December 2012..
I admit something not so new,
They hate me, and I hate them. It's a mutual feeling.

10 Dec 2012

Once Upon a Monday

The conversation is so bright, the master, his patient, and us.
The master kidding, smiling, and sharing.
Things I love…
-Please, can you sit upright for us?
-Yes sure.
His skin looks light brown, except for the areas of palms and soles, which are frankly pale.
Things I notice…
-would you mind if we check you for a while?
-not at all.
A student starts to examine him, his hands, his face, earthy face, his sights, pretending to be comfortable , he doesn’t seem to frighten us, he is so ready to help us.
-let's check for his breathing from the back of his chest. He's a good patient, and so cooperative.
-Nowadays, within the full bank of patients we have, almost rarely to find a patient willing talk to us or let us examine him/her. Everybody is wailing for their destiny, everybody just wants to leave, and only leave, with no more question!-
-oh yes!!!
The latter two lines are both engaged between the new young master and me. His English language is so close to my heart, and my words seem so close to his.
The tears in my eyes, I so hard can protect.
The master starts telling us how to examine the chest, from inspection to auscultation , passing over palpation and percussion. The master asks everyone to do it and I get to feel so confused.
-Please, I want you to hug this pillow as if you never hugged a pillow before! – so that his chest gets fully extended from the back- The master asks him with a kind of humor.
And he hugs it, so strong, he wants to obey, wants to help.
I so calmly approach him, the earthy-colored skin man, I so want to ask him, if I may hurt him or not , but something prevents me;  it is the very thing protecting my tears.
I put my hand over his back, I try to do percussion, my hands all tremble, from the little to the middle finger, my thumbs feel so stony stiffed.
The master helps me firmly press my hand over the earthy colored back, and I percuss.  He also asks me, like the others, to listen to the bruit within a lump over his left arm. I put the stethoscope with big worries inside me over it, and the earthy man drag it closer, so that the diaphragm is fixed on the right position, and I don’t know how to thank him.
My master also talks about my voice, "a very very high pitched voice you've got!! And I thing next time I should ask someone if you ever have a key specific for raising your voice a little!! Just a little!!" he laughs further.
His words and the surroundings are so blurred, more tears I have to shed. I do shed.

Sandybelle

21 Nov 2012

:S

speechless

صـــــــــــــــــمتي
ليس جهلا بما حولي
ولكـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــن
ماحولي لا يستحق
الكـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــلام

26 Oct 2012

What if

what I think is great, but it's not as great as something else.

10 Oct 2012

The Oblivion

It's a joke I can never laugh at...

11 Sep 2012

The Hard Mission

It was a hard mission till the time I could understand that the process of growing up was not easy at all. I have always professed I would be that so big one who was not but so ready to accept admirations from everyone else and was not but so busy to make friendships with everyone else. More precisely, I would so want to keep myself high and lovely in the other's eyes, I had learnt nothing more merit to work for, I was never good at other aspects, although I tried several , or maybe fewer, times to be so evil, but I failed, and I failed proudly.




That time, I was told that" he who makes no mistakes makes nothing", and I believed in it, and every time I failed I would pretend to pick up my success the next day. For a while, I was so busy with this, till my parents taught me about evil, and that everyone could be evil as how everyone could be good, they explained it to me many times, each time with a different way, till I completely understood what was going on with evil, and how "evil" evil was!





I have always pretended I would be that so lovely princess whose people would really enjoy being within her kingdom, who would do everything by herself, would cook, would study, would play with her dolls, and surely would rule the entire country with justice and peace. She would also share her army fighting against any invaders.




Right now, I very well can understand why fighting and army ideas have occupied a large area within the space of my brain that's already specialized for thoughts and creation, albeit I was still little, little not only before thinking about wars,but also little before even being able to care about myself independently I know by now, I would learn a lot about wars and guns, would hear and witness events pivotal around death and all kinds of misery –




I was that child who always waited for the time 2:30 pm every day to keep her eyes stuck at the TV screen thinking about the upcoming events of Sandybelle, Grendeizer or any one of those few – at that time- cartoon episodes I was in love with. As I would be so far deep within that lovely kind of imagining pegging out painting the pictures of peace and conciliation between goodness and evil, and how goodness would win at the end, I would found myself interrupted by the everyday very badly recorded video of كي لا ننسى"for we don't forget" series that the TV would always display before cartoon. It would carry plenty of scenes that belonged to the Iraqi-Iranian war in 80s. now I remember very well how frustrated I would be , and how a lot I hated war, and how a lot I didn't like Iran (War had always been a choice, that so bad and evil choice, and I was brought up to hate evil choices, but Iran was country and people, more precisely, for me, it was "a living thing" and my parents would really get mad if I used the word "hate" when I spoke about or dealed with living things, I would always like to forgive Iran and even America, for myself, we all could be friends and live on this planet, peacefully.




I have always pondered the new points of view I concluded every time I spoke to someone.
I have always liked to predict the future's upcoming, I have always disliked to be surprised.
I have always wanted to be panegyrized, I really loved how it has felt.




I, besides, couldn't explain any violently so creative idea regards the way I had to have my breakfast or the car driving me school (I've always wondered why we didn't have dinner first, then school, then lunch, then sleep then breakfast and many other types of arrangement that were absolutely so far beyond being palatable)everything has done nothing but spread all over me inwardly, giving me that so calm, so easily infuriated, so easily made laugh girl outwardly.








I never knew that day would help me much getting older, the thing I was eager , and so eager for, "if I was older, I would be able to travel everywhere I wanted, would buy everything I liked, and would work anything I dreamed of" I always told myself.




It was that night when the conversation between me and my mom has been somewhat desultory, desultory enough to be worth of saving in my mind. The weather, the somberness of the sky with randomly scattered clumps of the stars, the sloppy breaths hanging out over us, and the moonlight.




I would bend my head into my mom's lap, and drown into my thoughts, and that time, like every time the moon was complete, I would ask my mom how it really looked for her, or whose face was really drawn over, I really believed that the moon was someone's face.




My grandmother was sitting in the kitchen, and somehow she was overhearing me, till she got felt kind enough towards my strictly asked question, whose face that was.




She would answer " this is Ali's face".




I would run to her and kiss her, I would finally not have to wait any longer for the right answer, since my grandmother was right in everything she told me, and that was really one of the biggest things she did, for me, at that time.




I would wait for night of 14-15th day, the other month, when the moon was supposed to be complete again, but it would be cloudy, and I wouldn’t be able to see it, and I really was the most miserable girl ever. Later on, I could pass over that shock, moreover, I learnt new things about weather and clouds, I would bravely and so far patiently keep waiting, night after night and month after month, and when I would find myself staring directly at it, the moon face, with no boundaries between us, I would ask again " whose face are you?? Are you really Ali's?", right now, for me, it seems I didn’t trust my grandma's answer 100%, I really believed I trusted it, but right now, I think I didn’t , however, it could be Ali's face, it could be another one's face, could be no face at all, and that's what I've learnt from geography later on, the total issue was about topographic reliefs, like hills or so.




Perhaps if someone else, someone who had to be in my age, told me the same idea my grandma had expressed, I would 100% trust it confidently, since that time, I was so far away from the art of criticism that I may – and only may- like talking about people in my age or those who are a little older, their behaviors, deeds and ideas, sometimes.




I know, I was not supposed to work hard and contemplate these simple troubles deeply, I just had to hunt them down in their natural habitat, and exactly that was what happened.








Still it is, a hard mission to precisely decode those chicks' squeaks. Throughout all my visits to the hatcheries, where my dad used to take me for fun, I kept listening to the chicks' , squeaks, as if they were a special kind of music coming out from the unknown. I would keep wondering , every time I entered a hatchery , after I had pressed on a sterilized piece of sponge located next to the door, to sterilize my feet, were these squeaks laughs, joyful or saddening songs? Or even intermittent whines??Although I heard the same trend of sounds in all directions, but a close examination of the vibrations of these squeaks would show huge differences among each other.




I would run amongst them, help the workers feeding them, and I would tell them in secret to eat a lot, so they would grow faster, and then , be able to do everything they wanted to do.




In sorrowful complaints, I would also ask my dad why they were crying, and he would be busy checking out the entire environment they lived in, and giving instructions to everyone was out there. I find it so highly appreciable, I didn’t feel any jealous for that big care he offered them.




I found myself to realize later, that those chicks' destinations were the same, they all would grow and grow till they would weigh enough for slaughter , then we would eat them. I cried many and many nights for that horrible destiny, and I "didn’t like my dad" any more, till I grew up a little more, to accept the idea, they were made for this reason, God had already permitted their slaughter, for our benefits, but surely God had not allowed slavery, humiliation and low demeaning life.




Right now, I really wonder, were or are chicks aware of their entrée into this mortal world? Into death penalty and life imprisonment until the execution? Were or are they careless or clueless just like newborn?!




It seems like I, like everybody else, ever since came to this mortal world, I dreamed of being older, probably because those who were within my sight horizon were my parents, whom I trusted, whom I depended on totally and most importantly, whom I loved till I never knew any borders for that love, and still I do, if there were any boundaries for love, I have not reached them yet, I'm just drowning and drowning, nothing more, nothing less.






It happens , its natural perhaps, for man, since childhood, to imitate others and continues to do as a principle component of his daily life. To mention all the things that man chooses to copy would constitute a book of many volumes, and although I may find a spare time enough to think about that imitation , I just cannot be included within a kind of chaos life again , or let's say, I don’t want to be messed up anymore.




Since 2003, when everybody expected the true changes, things have started to be ruined all over again, one after the other, we were deceived by their outwardly patriotic intentions, and their masters' blond hair and blue eyes, I was deceived too.




I also was deceived by the idea of being a doctor, life is not as white as I have imagined, people are not as nice as I have polished my thoughts for.




And I wonder again, are chicks of today the same as chicks of the last date of my visits?




I appreciate their being so far different. Why not to be, since all personalities to abe figured out must primarily depend on the surrounding environment ,in addition to the conscience. And for this matter, all the factors seem to be different, or somehwat not that alike.





The former are those who belong to era of living amongst sounds of explosions, tanks and bombs, and they are dying without knowing who's killing who, who is destroying who, who is using explosives? For whom? Why? Till when? Where to?






Their sounds must be a trend of crying, crying for themselves, for their brothers, and for they live in the presence of injustice , darkness, ignorance and blackout.






The latter, are really those who lived in a relatively outwardly noiseless area, with tiring wars already had occurred, that happened and they must have suffered from hunger and confusion. They must also have cried for their being imprisoned in very tight cages, which didn’t allow minimal movement. They only saw darkness, and didn’t know, if it was the shinning sunlight or the warm moon light as they were barely able to see their food and water.






By time, I understand and to a higher degree, what Iran really is, I also understand what Israel is, and what are the spices of KSA, Qatar and Turkey, and what Arabs are really about. After I lived amongst, I also understand the meanings of being different, in the way you speak, the way you walk, and the sect, religion and nationality we originate from and I reach a conclusion, "difference is the rubric of the universe".






But this cannot and does never satisfy me, it is the same reason why the earth doesn’t calm down, and why man doesn’t understand it, this word itself could be a matter of confusion, especially for those who keep repeating and imitating, for the matter of living and imitating itself, only.





*if pessimism hits us, God will take away the ghost of hopelessness… God is always listening and responding in many and many ways.*

Amongst the dreams, the real awake lives, amongst study materials and bombs outside, amongst wishes and hopes inside, and in between the first time I came to this mortal world, and the last moment i will be in, when i will finally examine the true taste of departure, and after I have learnt and learnt and learnt, I decide I should have no longer looked for any meanings for breakfast or dinner, school time or squeaks, moon face or evil, and I am that very person who is really sorry because of wishing to grow up , I am really so sorry to grow up.







Sandybelle






Note : my school will start on Sept. the 23rd, i may not be able to write often, although i already was thinking of leaving blogging or even to make it rest for a long while.



2ndly, I bought a new notebook and i am thinking of how to start filling it up :D



3rdly, I feel i want to add this :D I miss Baghdad a lot, and I miss Chicago a lot .



4thly , I didn't enjoy this Summer vacation, but thank God anyways.



5thly, I am so worried about school and the next years, i am scared of the upcoming days, scared from study and mot importantly, exams :D



6thly, and most important to happen I will miss you my lovely readers. Don't worry, I'll be checking my e-mail and respond to all messages whenever i have an admirable spare time :D



BE BLESSED....

29 Aug 2012

Already Alive





One is tanned, and one is white.
She's holding her hand, and the hands swing in air, partly fixed to the seat and partly fumbling spots of softness in fingers. They stare at passing by opposite places. Every next minute " Hey look at…" they both exclaim interrupting each other, till the only thing they find themselves doing is looking into is each others' eyes.
Places pass by, or they pass by the places, the difference is no big, since the result is the same, everything and everyone is passing by.
She hardly can hide her poorly figured laughter, she's doing her best chastening the outwardly expressed manners. Everybody can realize then, its harder than she's really capable of, so, it liberates from the depth, smiling, giggling then bursting into unstoppable deluge of laughing.
"Don't you listen?! I'm singing!! I own a very nice voice, don’t I ?" the driver speaks to Rar who's sitting next to him, uncontrollably shaking his leg, so worried, so wanting to get out the car.
"Oh yes.. yes.. that's awesome.. yes" , the so called "yes" fills his mouth, slipping over his tongue, and apparently, he reflexively begins to undergo a very wronged headache.
The little jalopy offers nothing related to comfort features, and the two girls start discussing the project to send it to the closest museum to their mind!
Both white and tanned are captivated by the very well designed houses, very green streets and very burning sunrays. Closely approach each other, and quickly they are out the jalopy, seeing off the carping driver, all is going on coyly.
The correlated group has reached earlier, and all people are ready for the ill-arranged journey.
They walk, walk ,walk and walk.
White is holding her sister's hand, whispering in the glimpses of their so brown following shadows, giggling and saying how much happy they are.
"Two rivers"
White notices, " two rivers.. the two rivers" , translating the address and title the same way they really are, paying no effort for further necessary explanation.
This is the notice White will never forget. White thanks God warmly, wishing purely , stammering proudly.
She keeps her eyes fixed at the very closely arranged letters, considering it to be a miracle, no matter how important letters should be related that way, by curved lines, blue or white, both are beautiful, it's a miracle and nobody has to protest.
Walk is back, all are walking.
"Ashak!! How awesome you are brother Ashak!"
The usual cagey will to urge the noise turns into a very curative caprice to run and jump, jump up till reach the sky.
White is excellent in casuistry, and the credenda she started already to obey lead her to be older than behaving like children, knowing very well that jumping and running are the very rights she wants to get back from the time she was younger than teenage.
They keep walking, Ashak keeps making White laugh, laugh till she's no longer strong to support herself standing up. She's begging him stop speaking at all. Even the way he expresses his agreement makes her laugh. Laugh and laugh, as if she never laughed before.
"Ashak, God bless you" White and Tanned tell each other in God's observing.
"w hi el-shams teh'mes hamesهاي الشمس تحمس حمس" Ashak keeps saying (= this sun is so burning, it’s a very fashioned phrase by the Baghdadi very Iraqi youth).
They move into a cafeteria, choose a table below a fan that's ready to spread away all types of smell, even cigarette smoke. Ashak can smoke peacefully . All enjoy the ice-cream offered out there.. No one believes then how time passes quickly, till its so over, they are so sorry to leave.
The caespitose happiness, the six-membered group, and the guidance of daylight , all together go ahead, and White quickly begins to cram the members' minds it will never be the end, as long as they are alive, there's always a destiny and work to achieve it and be "together" all over again and again.
They cruise the streets, with the same way laughing. The countless observations awake a scare about being green-eyed, as old women, their childish thoughts care about that so called "green-eye" a lot, it’s the very thing they want to lose nothing, and the slowly dancing waves hint to the daily renewed corroboration, the cytostatic animation, the cataleptic injection, it's the cadent of their laughter ,the silver reflection of their tears and the charisma of their being are already told amongst the ancestors, already blessed, already alive. Forever, alive.

Sandybelle

12 Aug 2012

Importunity

12 p.m :)

It's all about "Mythical blindness"

............ and everyone lived happily ever after. The end!

2 Aug 2012

The letters game

"The Sun Can't Be Seen Except in The Clear Sky
Beyond the sun, there is something needs to be found. When I can say, write, do and help, what lies beyond the sun will be closer to me than my shadow..From the land where the sun shone for the first time..Mesopotamia"

Letters deprecate

"The First Lesson In Dictation
I'm the claimant hanged below, demanding for affiliation to the stone age, waiting for Godo and his palm fronds.".

31 Jul 2012

The 20th

I am the happiest to be 20.......
"safety, success, love, hope, truth, purity, beauty and glory, all together
while being in God's hand"

29 Jul 2012

Tahtooh

I get myself into this beautiful car and I keep holding my breaths so tightly.
I look through the window, and I find it difficult to concentrate at different things at the same time, however, I do my best and I succeed in minutes and fail in others.
It's like Baghdad with all of its walls and doors, all streets and shops, all trees and earth bulks are of my own and nothing could stop me from showing my exaggerated eagerness for the divine providence to defend me against that big flow of thoughts.
"Good idea to spend the night with your beloved uncle, Sandybelle, right?" my uncle murmurs loudly, breaking the silence. I grin back and say nothing.
I find a way into his house, which I like a lot from the beginning, despite the small size. Its modern with cute decoration.
He tells me where to sleep and goes to bring me orange juice, which I ask for after a while of considerable coquetry.
We talk a lot, my uncle, his wife and myself, about different things, and she starts talking about marriage and boys, I inspirationally find a good excuse to go to bed.
I just want to keep thinking before sleeping, as usual, but it happens and I sleep quickly, no wonders since I arrived today at 1 pm after 7 hours- long way, and it's 2 am.
Only two hours are my part of sleep. At 4 am, my uncle awakes me, and I have a bath and we go to my grandparents' house, where everybody is ready for the trip, except those who are in my age or younger who prefer to stay in bed , enjoying the excellent air conditioning. I shouldn't stay, I should accompany my mom.
I kiss the couple of lovebirds (which my other uncle has brought yesterday)by air.
" I'm going to bring A and his family" as I hear it, I jump up quickly, and cry " I am coming!"
They stare at me weirdly and I smile back.
As we reach A's house, I get out of the car and stand at the gate and feel my legs tremble, and as I spend a few minutes wondering why, A opens the door and " Oh Sandybelle!! It would be better if you came with us to sleep with Zayyoni , we couldn’t sleep from his crying, he wanted you a lot, he just slept from the tiring weaning!". I stare a while, and say nothing, I greet my uncle's wife (A's wife) and immediately carry Zayyoni, he opens his eyes, and as seeing me , he says "Sandona inti wakeeha, leish me jeti yammi elbarha?"
(= Sanybelle, you are rioter, why didn’t you come to me yesterday? ) and sleeps back soon.
I cant help my eyes from tearing a little and I hug him.
Then, we all get into a taxi to "al-nahdha garage" where people can rent cars to take them to different cities in the southern Iraq.
"Omara" was our goal.*
Tahtooooooooooooooooh! Come on! get up!" I speak to Zayyoni, and I am about to continue when his mom interrupts " what tahtooh?" and I am like" oh, well.. yes. I meant to.. ok ,this could be a nice nickname for Zain –despite Zayyoni is what I used to say and what it's the most suitable- **
" but doesn’t fit, does it? " his mom responds. "no it doesn't" I answer. And as I am trying to find a good admirable thought to change the subject, Zayyoni saves me here and jumps up to hug my neck. Repeating my name, making me feel the happiest person in the world. " ok ok, she's your fiancée son!" his mom says, and he just winks at me, and says " laaaaaa laaaaa hahahaha" (la=no).
I giggle a little thinking such a big devil he could be!! Lol
"Sandona, let’s read together" Zayyoni, bringing me a magazine, and I start to read it for him, trying to tell him a little about the alphabet, he interrupts me and says " Sandona, that's enough for reading, now, tell me a story", and I tell him several stories, what I remember the most is that of the battle between the sun and the wind and how the sun won it by making the man take off his jacket. He likes it a lot, shouting" Sandona tfoooooooooooooz" (= Sandybelle wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiins).
Then, Zayyoni picks up some finger chips and asks me to help him eat. This finally makes his mother fidget his many requests telling him he is annoying me. Frankly he is not, but I agree with his mom just for he should always understand that everything mummy says is true and right.
It is midday, and we are still on the way, we passed through Hella, then Kut, and I don’t remember what else, and I am always fond of Hella. as we were close to Hella, I whispered to Zain "tahtooh , I miss you" and Zain kept repeating, TAHTOOOOH.
It's very hot, and the sun is burning, on this way, I really realize how bad is the situation these cities live, and how horrible is the condition for most of the citizens, and I keep wondering, what's been happening during these 8 years? There's a very very big difference between the south and the north, despite the truth of presence of most Iraq's riches in the south.
65% of houses are made of mud, or mud with bricks which you can very clearly recognize, against the architectural art bases.
We reach Omara, and my uncles start telling us, mom and I , how things have changed, mom is about to cry, and I stupidly ask "mom what's wrong?"
"its my hometown Sandybelle, and it passion, you know what? I can remember everything happened here" and she keeps telling me stories about lives here, stories she never told me before, what caught me most are stories of nineties , when people of those cities had a war with the ruling regime that time, and how bodies and blood were in streets, how guns were sold in streets and how all shops were closed and every family had a consolation of one member or more.
We reach a court, where the main business has to occur, and as I get out of a car, I start to feel , or people's looks make me feel, very bad, guilty, as if I have done a crime.
I pinch my uncle wife's arm, asking her what's wrong, " don’t worry, they may think you've come from a different planet" and keeps laughing. I get crazier, and I can say I wish I was a mouse, so I can hide, or the fastest panther , so I can run away with no one notices!
Then, I realize, I had to wear an Abaya over my usual daily clothes ( a shirt and trousers).
I feel so sorry . and while I am blaming myself, Zayyoni cries " I want to go to a bathroom, right now, I need, now now now" and we were shocked, it was not a suitable time for this, at all, NOT FIT AT ALL!!
His mother and I start to look for a W.C , no one knows where, then, finally, a policeman tells us where, and we thank God, and reach it when the handsome Zain refuses to enter, explaining " it's awful , its dirty!! The smell!! The smell!! I cant!'
Oh no!! another problem, no Zain , not this time!!!
I keep begging him to enter, his mother too, but the obstinate officer keeps the "no".
He starts to cry, and I hug him tightly, " please tahtooh, this time, for me, only this time" and my legs tremble back, and I am in a big mess, wanting to be two halves, half to beg Zain and half to think of my legs trembling this dawn when I was thinking about Zain and Tahtooh. " Sandybelle, your leg!" Zain's mother says.
" no its ok, no problem" I answer.
I cry too, and look at Zain's mother who is about to show terrible madness says" Sandybelle, what's wrong??"
Then Zain "Sandona, you cry?? Leish tibchen la tibcheeeeeeeeeeeeen!!" (=why you cry? Don't cry!!)
"you stop crying first" I reply.
And there's a pause, and I catch Zayyoni from his hand and help him go into the toilet.
Everything then turns peaceful, and we ,the three, sit together, Zayyoni sitting in my lap, and I bend my head to his mother's shoulder.
Then, I decide to stand outside the room, which is very crowded, and I carry a bottle of water with me. An old woman comes across me, stares at me, and I stare at her too, I am not brash, I just enjoy it, she turns back completely, and returns to me . I am so scared, but I cant cry, I am scared from the wrinkles of her face, then I pretend to be careless, but she breaks down the legal silence, and asks for some water, surely I don’t hesitate and I give her the bottle immediately.
All she says is " this water seems to be from heaven, and you are a bird from the heaven!" (= hatha mei men el-janna, 'w inti ter men el-janna), I say nothing, and she leaves peacefully.
Business is over, and we go to a bank, after that, we have a journey all around, by car, there's a new bridge being built, only one beautiful street, where we park the car and enter a restaurant for W.C
Time is around 6 pm , the sky is very clear and marvelous. I freely can draw the picture of both Zayyoni and tahtooh (Yahya) on , my name is up there, and the sky totally is a someone's single name. .Also freely, I enjoy remembering my legs trembling, and realize it being of no danger and no fear, it could be just a call for Tahtooh.
Really, I'm so eager to meet my beloved little princes, Zayyoni , and Tahtooh.
Sandybelle
*I am doing my promise about writing something about my visit to Omara :) , and I did my best to remember every tiny event with the exact sequence, and thankfully i could remember most of the speeches and places. and i thank you a lot for making me remember that awesome day.
** in Iraq, we are used to use nicknames while calling people we love, and these nicknames are derived from the original names, as Mohammad – Hammodi
Sandybelle- Sandona ;) ;)

19 Jul 2012

Ramadan Kareem


Ramadan Kareem to all of my friends..



It was supposed that I visit Basrah this Saturday, by plane, but I'll go on Sunday, by car, and i am hesitated, since the way is very long, and here, Summer is burning, and i dont trust car air conditioning system that much..anyways, let's see what's happening..

The other night i wrote this,

"Petals falling
droplets running down my cheek
I'm now alone, in the scenery that we once saw together..
I was afraid to remember, so, i closed my eyes,my heart and the door of my room!
and I tried so many times to erase it, that big fear..
My love, the drops overflowed.. I wish i could protect you.. but right now, i feel i can do, and i am only waiting for days to pass over my path, the time i need to be fully independent, fully able to make you proud of me, despite the truth of my thinking, and only thinking with no mere belief, that it means nothing to you..

Even if i get hurt, i will keep trying, keep keeping trying..

I've been watching over you closely more than anyone else..

And here is the very everything ,my name, which you include, my life, my work, my hobbies, my family, my buddies, my future, my role, my prayers, my shadow, the shadow that you are closer to me than, and MY LOVE, all Over there, flying over the sky of places I am interested in , where I live, Mosul, I am in love with, Baghdad, and *Chicago*...


Sandybelle




3 Jul 2012

Tanned flowers


"you know? I expected you to stand by me to a farther extent than you really did. Though, it's ok, since there's no difference anymore."
And I bite my lip till it bleeds, not that renewed tragedy ; every single day, every single night, is a very new tragedy.
I'm not a player, and it is not a play. But I doubt it could be just a very bad dream. I keep biting my lip till blood is enough to be directed inward and cover my lower teeth, I am not scared of blood any more, blood has become a matter I've got used to deal with in my job. But this time, I feel scared till my lip starts trembling, and a stupid idea of I may have lost the motor nerve supply of it comes to my mind. Then, I run to the closest tape, and I rinse my mouth.
I keep staring at the glistening screen, and keep re-reading the status, and every time I do, I think it's the first, perhaps it's due to the sleepy inspiration which already weakens my muscles, mind and soul; It's no long time since I banished the last nervous attack I faced, in  my college, amongst the lies, stressors, study, and sings of attempts to make you fail, fail and fall and fall just to lower than your shoes limit, or as deep as into a hole you yourself might mistakenly have dug looking for a well of sorcery and deceit a well of oil in this rich land – as they say, and it's rich in both- or someone else has done, willingly or not, someone as possible as you might have considered to be really nothing. In both chances, you're considerably, the only loser.
My hands tremble, and I start to cry again. I put my head on the pillow, and drown into sleep, thankfully, no dream about this issue captures me, perhaps finally God doesn’t want me suffer any more, I mean, God already doesn’t want me suffer, but this time, he decided to make me realise this, realize it by my simple narrow-horizon mundane thoughts, caring very much about my faith, the faith that can never ever escape from me, my mind, my brain, from my brain's sulci and gyri, from my cellular compartments and my blood, the blood that part of which has oozed scaring me, pushing me towards the tape.
My friend, my friend till February. When we both decided-with no frank agreement- to put an end to that friendship, and I trusted it, but the friend was likely to be only pretending, I don’t know what was the his/her aim, I don’t know what was the all going on.
No one asked about the other except for the helpless words from a time to another, that I really believed they were only for our friendship's agony.
And it was all going as it wanted to go, but the friend has never left my heart nor my mind, I really found S a true sincere friend I could trust, although every time we talked, S would mention things I hated a lot, they all were only about failure, sadness, misery,,,etc.. and I, I really would get crazier every day, and this was reflected in my deeds and thoughts, and I almost would change to a person like S, for S kept saying he/she was like me in the past – so, I could be like her/him in the future, or even in the present- then, I told myself , I must never be, I was born not only for myself, and it's not me who chooses, its God, besides, and this is the most important thing, I should stay me, if I changed, who would help S?!
I kept saying this, believing till my bone marrow, it was the agony and that if I was in S's place, I perhaps would be the same, S told me I was good and innocent and lovely, and asked me never change, and always warned me not be the same she/he was.
I kept trying comforting S, but nothing worked, even, S never told me she/he would feel ok when I talked to him, I was feeling guilty, and so weak, that I could make no change.
And I started to think, what's the benefit of being a friend while you are doing nothing. I even thought I would be just another more load. I decided to be away, despite the big feelings I owed S.
It was Sunday, the last day of my exams, S talked to me saying her/his father was at the end.
I was asleep by then, when I woke up in the morning, I read the message, and I responded that God really knows what he does, I had really nothing to respond with, I was in a very big mess, no sleep for two subsequent nights, my mom was not at home, besides, S has used to respond to me that way, so I underwent no big trouble to find suitable words, to talk with my usual way or event to ask why, or what was going on ; then " he died this morning".
I was SHOCKED, even though S her/himself has expected this, since his/her father's stage of cancer was advanced and kept telling me this, but I didn’t believe, because I couldn’t, because I really believed in miracles..
Silence for hours, no talk, no sense.. nothing I knew to do. Finally, I remembered something called "crying" I used to do frequently, but I cried so hard, I felt I needed something bigger than crying to do, it’s a feeling repeats for the third time,  I really didn’t know what did I have to do.
I wanted to call S, but" what must I say?" I said to myself. Besides, I was sure that all his/her relatives will come, and there will surely be no time for chatting. "and S' sisters? I added" and I kept crying with myself, drowning my face into the pillow and my tears into my whole face.

Once my mom told me, "Shams, if you ever see a person lost her/his parent recently, be sure to leave her/him alone till she/he wants to talk, no matter how strong is your will to speak to her/him" and what urged me more to trust the silence I was in, was that I remembered when my mother had lost her parents, and how dad had left her by herself till she had said she had been better, " after all, it's God's role " mom had said.
And I did this, with all my love from the depth of my heart, with all my sadness, passing over my usual hotheaded nature, I did the same.
Besides, I was half to believe, half not to.
Right now, I have no excuses, and I am not planning for any, it happened like this. S, in her/his city away from mine, thinks I am rude or something like this, or let's say I don’t care about what she/he thinks as much as I care for the thing I did, I did it from my heart, never meaning to let him/her alone, and I believe, no word, at least for the moment, can make any change.
Oh God, you really know how I feel.
My dear friend,
No word I found in all the dictionaries I own can help me.. But allow me to say, I keep praying for your father, as much as you confidently kept talking about him and how great he was, I loved him, , I pray for him who is in Paradise right now, keep praying for you, and your family.
My friend, what aches me more is that we live in two separated cities, but I believe in God being closer to us that our souls, not only our shadows.
My friend, just believe I am that same person who still and will always consider our friendship to be a flower, a flower I raised up with our praying, our beliefs and trust. And this flower is Iraqi, it's tanned. It's the same flower I will plant next to your father's  tomb.
And my aim, is that you know, I still love you … My friend.
By the first moment we had, by the  first name we said, and by the first goal we decided to work for, I swear, you will always be my friend, no matter how bad I misunderstood you, how blurred your speeches and intentions were, and no matter how hard to say I may lose you forever right now..
No matter, how "no difference" is there anymore.
I will always love you...  my friend..

Sandybelle



26 Jun 2012

Pseudomonas aeruginosa

Last night, I couldn’t sleep well, I slept a little, for only 30 minutes or a little less.


Little things have carried me far away, beyond man's limits. It was not the sky, nor somewhere higher, or even lower, it was a place I didn’t know, and I am a little confused to describe.

Out there, I just could realize that every single light coming out a window was not a mere collection of photons, it was a blazing star, and the flame of each had a story, they were stories about growth, death, poverty, glut, blusterer, blaming God, roguery , praying for rain, praying for forgiveness, drawing maps of the universe and last kind criticize all the latter.

I trust myself, I was staying in my own bailiwick all time long, and not my real soul nor my real mind are those who've got big winds to fly, even if I suppose they have; those big winds obtain neither invitation nor agreement to enter. I just had a heart , a rocket escaping over the happiness, and over the missery.
It was somewhere no magic things were present.. and no fear. they were partly real, and partly fabled.

And now, I can't help my *voluntary* muscles from raising up, permitting a larger place for more oxygen to leak in, and I say leak in because the pressure outside has really become stronger than inside. – this , however, gives no clue about the fabled part of the story, the place of the stories.

Khalid , -a teacher in microbiology laboratory- came in , and he greets us, and I , despite the yawning, pay an admirable attention, and grin itching my cheek. – micro lab was the most enjoyable lab ever this year, I liked every single subject, beginning with bacteria, passing over fungi and viruses and ending with antigens and antibodies.

The LCD projector is turned on, and the opposite side starts to glow up and my eyes, longing to sleep, tear..

Suddenly, all the seperated  parts are brought up together, and all this big life is hidden somewhere behind these shiny tiny parts. And this time, these photons again , give no clue, nor any evidence.

Perhaps I deserve this kind of LCD projectors, life away from noise, higher to which, all aims and desires burn up in colors of gratification.
Alaa asks me for a pen, as Mr. Khalid showing us the agars, and test tubes.

Pseudomonas aeruginosa , that can live at temperature of up to 42 C, and at a pH of 9, had got a very sweet smell and I liked it a lot.. And it gave rise to many colors, the one I liked the most was the green, the pyoverdin.

I , then, approach the agar more, and the sleeve of my lab coat sticks between the edge of the LCD projector and the pinch edge, I take it out, and keep I watching, trying to really see those very tiny organisms, and trying to talk to that aeruginosa, hoping they can share me the events about the photons and the stories..

By now, I learn another one more little thing, languages are different, and it's , yes, impossible, that I can talk to a bacterium.

I turn my head, and go back , close to the same point where the sleeve have stuck.. and I touch it, it's got a green light, that was shinier that aeruginosa's .

The green colors, and photons and the LCD, were the only common bond between this real and that partly real worlds..amongst these separated words.. Both and all, belong to the same universe..



Sandybelle

P.S. Since last year, I have not written down anything, and frankly, I had no reason other than being so busy with study.

I finally finished my exams, the day before yesterday, and I am on my way to the fourth year level.

From now on, we'll be dealing more and more with patients and hospital. I am doing well with study, and no big news regards college, except the study itself.

Up to the moment, I have got no friend I can share my life with ( I mean here in my college) and I really pray and hope I can find.

No big plans for the vacation, no big plans for the soon future.. I already stopped planning, and I just will let it be just the same it always wants to be............................. (it's all in God's hands :D)

Ah, something else, I am learning to arrange my time, between my study and my hobbies, especially blogging, the thing I miss SO SO SO MUCH.