Contemplation

To regain that sense of being serenely composed, one may find solace from within and consolation from without.

Nanonovella IV:

The skin remembers
what memories echo
of a touched soul
and a dwelling mind

Rewriting letters is really hard; to think back to the exact emotional state is way too heartbreaking.

Nanonovella III: Words

Whispers, ever so overwhelming, quiver my core.
Trembling, whispering your name captivates it.
Though joy and relief it brings me.
Grants me hope, to keep promised whispers, forever more.

I have so far been successful in avoiding the horrible events that some have decided to present us during such a festive time. I have also deliberately refrained from writing about it, mainly because I refuse to jump in amongst idiots to end up with a pointless row.

However, glancing so swiftly at the newspapers and some blogs these past few days to notice the (not so) pleasant news about our (not so) safe Bahrain, a thought revisited me since it last did when I had started a “straight-forward-times” blog. Perhaps people could do with a “good news” reporter, or, quite disturbingly yet so plausibly, people could do with a “bad news” reporter. I reckon that readers wouldn’t be satisfied either way, not the Bahraini public at least.

Why? Because “good news” will be regarded as being spin-doctored and “bad news” will be regarded as being incitive. Because the majority of Bahrainis have some sort of extreme neurotic attributional bias; i.e. if its good then its because of internal factors (because of us), and if its bad then its because of external factors (because of them). The majority’s thinking is logically flawed by the lack of subjectivity, bias, historical hatred and narcissism.

I snapped out of it, and thought to myself of how pointless it would be to try and report good news (or even bad news) to the public. Its already hard to find “good things” to cover, and bad news will only be taken any way but constructively.

I started feeling some depressive mood creeping in, but then I was save by another thought, derived from my passion for linguistics and communication. “People need dialogue!!”, I so simply figured. Perhaps the public could do better with hearing what they, only so far, think is the opposite opinion.

Scrutiny is ever so unresolvable when it comes to news of events, incidents, and happenings. It is less problematic when we have dialogue. We can simply talk some more. I don’t think we’ll have a problem there, for all we do is talk.

Do you have something to say?

This second is a first of rewritten letters I had dedicated to a special person. Enjoy.

Nanonovella II: Words

He spoke of science for years, and speak he does no more.
He writes of a woman, unencumbered words, that he adores.
Worlds apart, she still wonders of his nature.
Apart, he wonders if his still thought of.

I spent the greatest night in Bahrain, so far, last Friday at the Jazz Night event organized by Elham. I had tried to practice playing a few numbers, but unfortunately I’ve not managed to play anything reasonably well enough. I guess I’ve always been too hard on my playing, however, this changed after having attended these jazz sessions.

I’m faced with a great difficulty now. I already find it hard translating my thoughts into words, and to attempt translating music into words is well beyond my ability. Let alone jazz music. Let alone great jazz music. So, I will be selfish and won’t share the eventful night, and instead, I will share my thoughts about how it transformed me.

At the end of it, everybody had already left, and the event host was already cleaning up. I stuck around for a while, along with a young and brilliantly pleasant piano player whom I had the opportunity to be a fan of (even for only one night). He was at the corner of the main hall, lightly stroking the keys. Slowly walking towards him, not wanting to distract him from playing, he noticed me and invited me to play something with him.

Now, the first and only time I’ve touched a piano was a few years back, at university, sitting next to someone I dearly admire. She taught me a few chords. This time was my second. The young pianist slid to the side, inviting me to sit down and play “what I felt sounded right”. I told him that I wouldn’t know what to play. He showed me a secret chord and told me to “have at it” and play whatever keys within the scale.

And that was the best I’ve played on a piano in my life, so far at least.

I woke up the next morning, scatting while I got out of bed, skipping down the stairs in alternating intervals, and finally running a tea spoon on differently sized tea cups while making breakfast. I was humming throughout the day. Today, I’m going to get my own music keyboard. I’m swapping the rock and pop CDs with jazz and blues ones. And, like jazz, I won’t be too hard on myself. Like jazz, I’m going to be colorful. Like jazz, I’m going to be quite unpredictable.

Finally, I would like to thank the host for delivering one of the greatest nights I ever had.

I’ve been spending far more time on editing, customizing and tweaking my theme compared to posting (and even responding to comment, I apologize for that).

So I had an idea, which grew out of a friend’s request to help with their wordpress theme. Since I’ve been playing around quite a bit with wordpress and PHP (its a shame not to share good things), I will be offering to edit and customize wordpress themes on request. I’m also up for setting up blogs, and publishing the material for those who aren’t too friendly with web technologies (or computers in general).

Blogging is a revolutionary medium of communication, and so, by helping those who (for any reason) didn’t get around to blogging, free expression and thought will be promoted and, more importantly, exercised.

Finally, I’m not a programming guru, however, my experience is reflected in the blog. If you’re interested, you can contact me via email (see page footer).

Some brilliant idea I intend to keep with, suggested by a brilliant person!! Nanonovellas are very short stories (lines). Here’s my very first :3

Nanonovella I

His memories of yore and yours, echo bluntly off empty bottles.
Drained, damned and diluted, his long lost soul lingers away.
He bled. He ceded. He fell.

Yesterday I attended the Elham event at Albareh Art Gallery and Cafe. Performances of “punk folk” acoustic music, photography, poetry and paintings filled the evening with muse. It is quite difficult for me to describe it in
detail, so you will probably have to go to one to really get what its all about.

But, what really left a great impression on me was Laurence Brown’s segment on digital photography. Laurence teaches at university, and that is exactly why his delivery appealed to me. Whatever subject one is speaking about, it sounds more compelling and engaging when the delivery is entwined with passion and love for the subject.

Even when speaking in technical terms, which most take as boring and confusing at certain times, I felt such immense interest that I thought I will end up buying a camera first thing in the morning the
very next day.

The love for colors and light showed in his stories; the trouble that one needs to go through to reflect the right amount of light, provide the right amount of saturation, and achieve the all so sweet depth in
the final print. This light, this saturation and this depth, is also what I search for in text.

I can barely remember the last time I had so much passion for what I do.

I’ve almost completely stopped reading newspapers, and some blogs for that matter, and instead long for the more interesting and personal conversations I have with people when we meet for coffee.

This is because I feel that the material I read in newspapers and in some blogs is somewhat dull. The reason for this is not because they are not interesting (although most aren’t quite often), but because the platform they are contained within is not engaging enough; it is just not stimulating enough.

I have a passion for the written word, make no mistake in thinking otherwise, but I can’t help but remain reserved with it in some specific situations. I, for example, love the idea of text messaging and sending emails from a fancy gadget that one keeps in their pockets, but I get quite frustrated when there’s meaning beyond the text to be conveyed, I think it is ought to be spoken and heard. It doesn’t help when one is predispositioned to think that meaning extends words all the time.

Same goes for newspaper and blog material. Although authors proudly include their names on by-lines, their stories and articles rarely show minimal authenticity. Some think that going with a picture, so as it would presumably speak a thousand words, is witty, however, they fail to relate to it in any possible way. Even some readers’ letters and blog comments lack a justified reason of existence, where readers write disgraceful plea letters and blog commentators write “hmm.. interesting.. thanks for posting..” comments without any useful input.

Sometimes I find myself without a topic that interests me to write about. What I do then is follow a rule: “when writers have nothing to write about, they should go kill themselves”. Of course, I do not follow it literally, however, the thought of a defined solution for such a problem will probably result in the writer’s defiance, and thus provide material that is most dear to the writers themselves, their biography.

Comment is free by the way. Tell me what you think of this.

Deciding a career path never left me with an easy mind, even though I’m easily interested in new things and can quite easily pick up a new skill.

Recently I’ve been trying to get appointments for job interviews, and I managed to interest two organizations of diverse functions.

At Zain Telecom, I was interviewed for a Customer Service Rep. (i.e. a call centre minion) who you would call to scold and whine about your mobile service. Needless to say, it was the typical interview of asking grand questions of “How has your studying (psychology) affected the way you go about things?” and “Why do you want to work with us?” which even the interviewers don’t know the right answer (if exists) of anyway.
I was told that I will be contacted if shortlisted and selected, however, I was also politely dismissed because of my English being “too good” and my Arabic being “too bad” (irony? anyone?).

A week or so after (that being yesterday), I had another interview, but with programme coordinators from the RSCI. Unconventionally, the interview was held at the Grand Mercure’s foyer. There was none of the scripted questions, and instead, they asked me of the skills I have, what I can offer, prepared to do, and most of all, if I mind travelling. “I don’t mind not staying!!” I, so enthusiastically, replied to the last part.
Though, what made my day was their last comment. “For a 23 year old, you certainly have an impressive CV” they said, thanked me, and left me with a huge smile on my face.

So, leaving the story at that, a simple question I was always asked in interviews always puzzled me; of all the things that I’ve accomplished, I do not really know which I am most proud of. It doesn’t feel as much of pride as it feels of ambition and infinite drive. Pride is almost not an issue of concern, for I don’t do well with self-glorification anyway.