Contemplation

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.

On November’s bloggers gathering, a fellow blogger suggested campaigning for a blood donation rally. Obviously, we would all think that it would one of the most humane things to do; saving lives. Right?

Not very much so, well, not by everyone at least. This story reports a healthy young Jehovah’s witness, 22 years of age, gave birth to twins (a healthy boy and a healthy girl), however, she did not make it outside the operating room. It is said that she died as a result of refusing a blood transfusion. This is believed to be due to her faith (read possible explanation).

I heard a debate on the BBC (radio) world service a couple of days ago, and I was left with many ethical dilemmas.

The Jehovah’s witness reason the refusal of blood transfusion on the basis of biblical texts which mainly portray the sacredness of blood to the creator and therefore one should abstain from blood.

Such cases lead to prolonged discussions - heated, emotionally grounded, discussion - about grand theological questions of life and death, about sin and atonement, about freewill and freedom of being. I will leave such discussions to be initiated by those who are further interested (you can comment, or you can buy me coffee).

However, I will leave you with one to tickle your magnificent matter (that is your brain, by the way).

The woman, in the reported story, decided to practically take her own life. This brings the issue of one’s ownership over his or her own life. Suicide is religiously considered a sin and socially frowned upon. Also, giving informed consent (in general) is a preserved right.

If we have ownership over our lives, then suicide should not be problematic at all, and we are fully rightful to give consent (to anything). Here we are shunned by societal beliefs.

If we do not have ownership over our lives, then we are not fully rightful to give consent. However, suicide and euthanasia can be dealt with.Here we are shunned by theological beliefs.

Because I happen to read the Guardian so religiously, I stumbled upon this magnificent design: a garden stand-alone water feature that requires no wiring, no complicated installation and runs on solar power.

As if it was perfected for our little sunny island, those who are lucky to have their little gardens, can enjoy a soother and greener atmosphere with this feature.

I’m not aware if these are available locally, but they are definitely available online (here and there). Buy your own or be inspired by the idea, we’ve got a lot of free sunshine and its about time we make use of it.

Some of the Arabic poetry written by some Bahraini poets, that is. I ought to be blunt about this, mainly because I’m really the linguistics enthusiast, and I have to make a stance; some of what is written is hardly poetry.

I’m not the renowned critic, but I take the matter to heart. Of previous conversations with colleagues and friends, I always made the point of using language, first and foremost, as a tool to convey meaning. And, when someone starts to speak without meaning, let alone it being poetry, my ears start bleeding.

It was at an event I attended last night. An artist, a poet, and a number of translators were present. I had to reserve my opinion regarding the artist because I haven’t seen her work, or much of it at least. The poet, I believe I made my case regarding his work, however still, for some to argue that the lack of meaning is with the modern trend in Arabic poetry is embarrassing. Shamefully embarrassing I tell you, Shamefully!!

Perhaps the translators are the ones that I least victimize, although some also made an embarrassment of the language they translated the material to. Others, surprisingly, admitted attempting a translation of the meaning; well done!!

I do not know whether it is the excessive Arab pride or the lack of quality assurance (but we stopped caring for that a long time ago, haven’t we), but when you, the artist, whatever sort you are, think that you “got it” first time, you are greatly mistaken. It takes a long time to find your vision, and it takes a long time to find your voice. Until you do, all that you do shall be considered noise.

I should be working on more important things (like my career, for example), but I decided to spend yet more time faffing about and play with some code, meanwhile at least.

I’m not sure if this trick has been documented elsewhere on the web (it probably has), but it was only extended from a “custom greetings” code I learned once (the ‘good morning/evening/night’ one, if you ever came across it). So, I thought I’ll display my header background in a different color (express ‘color overlay’ filter photoshopping) depending on the time of the day. Of course, you can decide to display a whole different theme altogether if you want, but I thought change the header coloring would be subtle and interesting in the same time.

Now, these headers will show depending on the time of the day (GMT+3).

In the morning (0500 - 1159)

In the afternoon (1200 - 1759)

In the evening/night (1800 - 2359)

After midnight ( 0000 - 0459)

Well, there’s nothing to it, all you have to do is write an php function of an ‘if’ statement echoing a different css ‘id’ name (which you will have to write as well) and respectively match both. I’m not going to attempt writing a full tutorial yet (because 1. its not too complicated, and 2. because I haven’t got a proper code highlighting plug-in), but I might do so

So, hopefully you will end up visiting these pages at different times of the day to see the changes. If you do, let me know what you think of it.

Someone else beat me to this news, but I’m more excited for the appointed designer than the actual development near the Bahrain International Circuit (BIC).

I watch a documentary about Zaha Hadid’s work on the BBC four channel a few years ago while I was still studying at university. I was completely blown away by her designs; so much that I was almost considering changing my degree program to that of design.

The $3.5bn development, which will surround the BIC, will have buildings designed by the Iraqi-British Zaha. The deconstructivist architect’s designs are known for, well, their deconstructivist look. Sleek, shiny, powerful, and most of all, overwhelmingly grandiose, sometimes in principle, mostly in substance.

Since the development will surround the BIC, a look at the picture (to the left) would give a good idea of Zaha’s interior design. This is the BMW plant, and yes, those car production lines are running directly on top of staff offices. Her vision was (if I recall correctly from one of the interviews) to bring about a more collective working environment to the plant, so as to have BMW professionals of all levels working side by side (and floor by ceiling for that matter).

One would think that a deconstructivist vision to design would be rather bland for the exterior, however it is certainly not with Zaha’s designs. What is seen at the bottom, is Zaha’s proposed design for a preforming arts centre (built on an island) in Dubai.

You like? (you better do, otherwise it will be a waste of $3.5bn)

Its been on my mind for quite some time now, and I hope I’d be relieved from it once I write in words. It is not one specific thing, but it is about the general feel of life, its progression and unfolding, and its forked fatalist pre-determinism and its volitional reflection onto the inclined mind.

At one’s discretion, life and the race that it organizes, is mostly uninvited and rarely cherished. That one, strictly speaking, is one that I am right now, wishing that “things” would just fall in place. This race that everybody is seemingly running for the rest of their lives is one that I have no interest in now, simply put.

This race is just too demanding, taking more than we’ll ever receive. It would imprison me for a lifetime, trying to catch up with those whom I only falsely believe to be ahead of me. I would end up falsely believe to have excelled, and the one thing that I would know for a fact is that I had been fooled by illusion of a life create and shaped by a vacuumed society that sells voided personalities as captivating relationship.

A race that devalued values, and sold good will for accounted favors. Where, commodity owned its possessor, luck has been hacked, and destiny is only a ticket back to sanity for the less fortunate.

I’m ditching the race, leaving the stands, in search for more stillness, and a more clement life.

The topic has always been a daunting one to my mind, due to the lack thereof. However, it has come up at the last bloggers meeting that I’ve attended. And, upon my return home, a few thoughts came to mind, and it only tempted me to revisit this topic once again.

“What does it mean, for you, to have a national identity?” I asked, some didn’t hear it, some kept quite, some seemed to be thinking about it, and one person honestly said that they can’t possibly find an answer to that question. I realized that I stroked an open wound, and perhaps I write now to make up for it.

Without being too academic or pedantic about the topic, I’d say that, generally, the concept of identity is an evolving on. Locally, for (a simplistic view and) example, the Bahraini people (surely) have a uniquely individual identity, an another one that encompasses a larger group (be it professional, geographic, sectarian, and so..), and a grand national Bahraini one.

I’ve also come to realize that the smaller scope sets of identity do not necessarily, if at all, add up to the wider ones, at least on a personal level. I believe, regrettably, that that is exactly why the whole nation does not feel like “one” nation. Day in, day out, we are left disjointed; floating around to freely subscribe to a floating identity that only seems to be a shared one. It is never so, though.

Not only in Bahrain, but the result of this discontinuity in what ought to be a cumulative identity is having sub-group identities being more salient (on-line, if you like) than that of the more grand (national) identity. No wonder, then, that one is unable to define what it means to be Bahraini.

I may have rubbed off some pessimism off someone, but it only seems to me that the only things that we, as a nation, share in common are life-long debt, laziness, hopelessness, and the undying thirst for Vimto in Ramadhan.

I’ve never been a big fan of Arabic music, not the hideous stuff that gets produced these days anyway. Perhaps the fact that writers, singers, and composers themselves can’t escape their limited scope of lame topics which range from snobbish unreasoned pride and ego to the slumps of sexually provocative outtakes.

And since I fell in love with the English language from an early age, my music taste found its match in western music (mainly within singer/songwriter genre). A few years back I was invited to a Marcel Khalifa concert here in Bahrain, and that was when I found my Arabic fix (apart from the legendary Fairoz and Co). Marcel introduce this divine looking lady, with an angelic voice, and a graceful humane presence. It was Omaymah Alkhalil.

Her performance was absolutely stripped from any form of indecency, unlike other the usual act from the contemporary mainstream bimbo. I knew then, that there was still a chance for Arabic music to have a special place in my heart.

Enjoy the song, go see Marcel and Omaymah in concert if you ever get the chance to, and if you like what you hear, buy their cds.

 

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