Cinnamon Zone

It wasn't too late at night when he knocked on the door. He was standing in his familiar hunched posture, barefoot, drenched in summer rain, his eyes drooping with the same old self-mortification. "Come in you poor wretch" I said, shaking my head in dismay.

I can't say it was a surprise to see Tubby again, because I haven't noticed his absence in the first place; the poor fellow is too insignificant to be ever described as "present". I think some of you might have met him few years ago, not that you could've possibly noticed him, but I've made several references to him a while ago.

I first met Tubby in 2003 in a drama class. He emerged from a cellar in some text book, all shabby and meager-looking. He was so desperate that he jumped right into a back corner in my mind, without even having the courtesy to ask for permission. Anyway, I took pity on him and let him sleep in the barn where I keep the unicorns. In exchange for my kindness, as Tubby likes to call it, he consented to be my imaginary slave, and by slave I mean that he only serves egoistic purposes; for the poor man is too old and sickly to do any real chores. But since the scanty piece of scum, as he describes himself when he's lucid, lives in a state of constant denial, you might sometimes see him sweeping the floor or mopping the door steps.

I wouldn't be exaggerating if I said Tubby is as paranoid and schizophrenic as anyone can be, but after all, he has a good heart. Most importantly, he fully understands his purpose as an imaginary slave. He knows that I can't vent all my anger and frustration on real people, it's not fair. And since he's not technically a person, he welcomes the humiliation with open arms. He realizes that the adjective "imaginary" gives a new different dimension to the noun "slave". A real slave has dignity, while the imaginary one thinks of dignity as a disgrace.

So now, trapped somewhere between my ego and superego, resides Tubby under the mercy of my restless human brain. Welcome home Tubby! Now that I realized you were gone, I can truthfully say: Momma's missed you!

You know when your life begins to suck?

There's an old story, which dates back to the beginning of creation, and that will be told to generations ages and ages hence. It talks about something we all love, we all cling to, something that it born with us, that dwells within us and even haunts us. Through out history, many attempts to abolish it went in vain. No matter how people tried to tear it out, it always crawled its way back. That's right, it has become an inseparable part of every human being, and for many centuries, H has always been for Hope.

You don't kill hope, not because you don't want to, but simply because you can't. You are too powerless to strangle it. All you can do is losing faith in yourself, in the people around you, or in the Creator. That when your life seems like a living hell, and death becomes a distant dream... but somewhere deep inside, there will always be something, crying out vividly wanting to get out of that dark hole you dug with desperation to convince yourself there was no way out.

The other day I went to see Die Hard 4 with a friend. I'm not big on action movies, but my friend was in the mood for something where cars crashed and people beat the crap out of each other. As it turned out, she hadn't seen any of the previous parts of Die Hard, so she as actually afraid Bruce Willis would die by the end of the movie. I was like: Relax! He won't die, that the whole point…

The movie wasn't bad for an action movie, raging with violence and negative energy. Yet, I thought there was something different in this one; because it reminded me of an Indian movie I saw some while ago…

To begin with, I don't think that anything you'd ever seen was something like the Great Adventures of Shunker. Yes, that was the name of our protagonist, Shunker. I didn't know how to start telling this timeless legend, so I thought the best way is to introduce it the way another legend was introduced, and say…

In a certain corner of India, the name of which I don't choose to remember, there lately lived a deaf-mute handsome young man, who bore the name of Shunker.

Shunker was no Don Quixote, no Samson, no William Wallas, but he possessed certain bravery and nobility of heart as no man in that part of India ever had. One day, Shunker's heart started to beat with an unfamiliar feeling, his forehead began to sweat, and his eyes twinkled like two stars in a cloudless night. He was falling in love.

But of course, love doesn't come for free, there's always a price tag attached, and for Shunker, there was the Devil to pay. He decided to stand up for the girl he loved, whose name doesn't matter; for she was the love object of Shunker, who decided to fight the evil forces, incarnated in the form of horrible men trying to steal his beloved one. You know those well, they are present in every Indian movie, err, in every timeless legend.

The evil men wouldn't leave the love birds alone, they insisted on taking Shunker's sweetheart and put her in a whorehouse (Don't ask me why). But it was against the will of Shunker they did of course, for if it was in his power, he would never let them do it. So, as what happen every time a hero stands up for his honor, a melee ensued. They all ended up on the top of a mountain, the name of which also doesn't matter; for above that very mountain stood Shunker, fighting the forces of evil, trying to save his love.

Then, there on that very mountain, happened what no one had expected (Or had they?) Shunker was held by the arms, and then one of the horrible men, who was probably a pimp, came forward and slashed his throat [gasp] then threw him over the edge of the mountain, into a deep abyss…

Now, what do you think would happen to an average human being if his throat was cut and then he was thrown from over above a mountain? Most probably, he would die at once. But no, we're not talking about an average human being here, we're talking about Shunker!

Down at the lower edge of the mountain, there was passing a shepherd, whose name doesn't matter, and as he was passing, he saw trickles of blood dripping form above. When he looked upward, he saw something he wasn't expecting to see. It was Shunker dangling from a tree branch, and to his surprise, he was still alive.

The good shepherd took Shunker home and took good care of him. He didn't only treat his wounds, but also operated on him. Yes, our shepherd was not only a shepherd. He was a surgeon too! He opened Shunker's voice box and tampered with his vocal cords, so when Shunker woke up, he was not only safe and sound, he could talk as well!

Then, one night when Shunker was lying in bed, his wounds still fresh, the shephered, who was also a singer, was playing some music and singing his heart-felt songs. In the same time,, Shunker's woman was trapped in a room in the whorehouse miles away,  panicked and lonely. She let out a cry: Shunkaaaaaaar! And, to everyone's surprise, Shunker rose from his sleep, and I can't tell if he felt his sweetheart was in danger or that he actually heard it, since the surgical operation probably improved his hearing to a great extent. He got up from his bed, with his fresh wounds, and ran, yes, he didn't ride, he ran all the way to the cathouse where his beloved was, and beat the crap out of everyone who was there to be beaten, and saved his sugar muffin, who was dumbfounded as he not only came back to her alive, but also able to talk, to tell her all what he always wanted to say.

This is my friends is the story of Shunker. Moral of the story:

1- Indian movies suck even worse than Arabic ones

2- Hollywood movies can be so Bollywood sometimes

3- Love triumphs over evil

Have I ever mentioned I love Finding Nemo?

-          I like to listen to Amr Khaled

-          I prefer Tariq Swaidan

-          But you know Amr Khaled has a very special and smooth way in conveying ideas

-          Yeah but Tariq Swaidan is more convinciong for me

-          I prefer Amr Khaled

-          I don't like Amr Khaled at all, I think Tariq Swaidan is much better

And so on. This attitude is killing us! Why should we keep comparing people to each other? Each one has his own way in calling for Islam and conveying his thoughts. And you know what's funny? When scholars are asked about each other, they express nothing but respect to their colleagues. Still, there are exceptions.

The other day I saw something on the net that really ticked me off.  There was an Imam speaking about Amr Khaled, throwing very disturbing insults on him. Regardless that I wasn't convinced of his case, how could I possibly be convinced by someone using such bad language? Being a committed Muslim doesn't mean shouting and raging around. Even if you believe someone is being wrong, there's always a way to deal with it without disrespecting that person.

I believe that if someone succeeded in doing something on the ground of reality, they should be acknowledged. You can't convince me that just because Amr Khaled uses colloquial Arabic then he is completely worthless. Look at all he people impressed by his lessons over the years. He paved the way for them to start learning more from other scholars from whom they can explore Islam from other and maybe more profound aspects.

There was also that video in which they portrayed Amr Khaled as the ultimate ignorant liar!! That was very outrageous! Do you know what they used as an example? That he is against female circumcision and thinks it's not an Islamic tradition, which I believe to be true; for I've done some search on that and found that there's no such thing in Islam that calls for this practice. Yet, those people decided to attack him and show him as an ignorant person, instead of using that beautiful endowment called reason.

If we just could stop lurking in the shadows for each other, stop hunting for mistakes, stop deeming others ignorant or misguided just because they have different opinion from ours and seek to understand, not necessarily agree, but understand… If only we could stop focusing on our differences and starting seeing the bigger picture, the clear undivided one, as a whole, a nation, not a collage of scattered denominations, if we just try to understand what Prophet Muhammad –peace be upon him- meant when he said: اختلاف أمتي رحمة… If we could only do that, and focus, maybe we will snap out of our "status quo".

Islam is the ultimate blessing, not only a religion but a way of life. A way of living with others, a way of accepting others and accepting that we could be wrong sometimes. Let's not let our personal ego give a distorted picture of what Islam really is, we had more that enough of that, and it's time we changed it. It's time we got things straight again.

The other day I was hanging out with my family when we ran into a group of polish journalists visiting Jordan for the first time. We had that interesting conversation about cultural differences, terrorism and other issues largely talked about these days.

So, we were saying how all people share common human traits, whatever their ethnicity, ideology or belief is. I was holding the book Memoirs of a Geisha, over which we had a conversation that I think sums it all up in one bubble!

Man: My wife loves this book!

Me: Yeah, it's a very nice book

Man: So, my wife is European, she's a member in the parliament, and you are a Muslim girl in Jordan, yet you read and like the same book!

Me: True!

Woman: And, after all, the book is about Japan

Me: That's the point!

See, it's just human!

Last night I was watching the movie "Three Kings" on TV. In fact, I was half-watching if I may call it so; for my mind was roaming the globe in pursuit of an idea I'd just had then,  which I deemed a matter of "to be or not to be" on the personal level.

As I was watching, I kept checking the clock so I can switch the channel to Malcolm in the middle; because, to tell you the truth, the movie fell short of what I had expected, so I wasn't that much involved. I had seen a similar movie before, same theme: the American soldiers in Iraq during and after the Gulf war. And although there was no George Clooney in the movie, I think it was more interesting.

Towards the end of the movie, my 11-year-old brother came in, also waiting for Malcolm in the Middle. As he watched some of the movie, he asked me: "Between who and who was that war?" I replied that it was between Kuwait and Iraq. His jaw dropped at that, and he was like: "How come? They are both Arab countries!"

I didn't bother much with an explanation, nor with mentioning the U.S role in all this; maybe it's because I thought he was too young for this crap. Instead, I said coldly without even looking at him: "It happens".

He didn't say anything about it for a moment, as if he was trying to wrap his mind about that new fact. Then he asked again: "Who won the war, Iraq or Kuwait?" I thought it was a tricky question to answer, and I discovered that I hadn't really thought about that. It's not a Yu-gi-Oh duel after all, so I thought the easiest answer was to say it was complicated.

I don't know if that was a proper answer. I wanted to tell him afterwards that both lost, then I thought about what happened to each country after the war, but I still felt that both of them lost one way or another.

Anyway, this conversation reminded me with myself in the days of the Gulf War (1990-1991). I don't really remember much of it, something like vague flashes. Perhaps the clearest memory I have of the war was when we were visiting my aunt's house one afternoon. My mother was helping me put on my shoes as we prepared to go home, and she said: "Let's go home quickly before the war breaks out". I was startled, and I can imagine my eyes widening as I asked her: "War! With whom?" She said in a tone that suggested I should already know that, "The Jews, who else?"

In another distant flashback, I would wake up sometime in the night to find my parents sticking duct tape on the windows. I don't remember when I learned the reason behind that was to prevent the glass from shattering around, in case the area was bombed.

I don't know why I'm remembering this right now. And I don't know if my memories of the more recent wars are less vague. Now that 1 year passed after the war on Lebanon, I find myself very thankful that my memories of war as a child were a blur. Now that I knew what war is, that I understood the heavy toll it takes on everyone and the pall it casts over the life of human beings, I am really grateful I wasn't much aware of it. Imagine realizing that your house could be shattered by a stray missile at any given time. Imagine watching all kind of ballistics hovering above your head. Worse yet, imagine being actually hit by them, watching your family die in front of your eyes.

Yes, the war has come to an end, but I wonder if the scars it managed to leave will ever heal.

It's been a routine by now that almost everyday I would go out walking with my mom, sometime after lunch time, before the sun calls it a day. It's no longer walking to keep fit, it's become a chance to relax, chill and forget the world around even exists!

So yesterday I was getting ready for the daily walk, put on my training suit, wore my sunglasses and stood before the mirror making funny faces while having a private mental conversation. I noticed my shades needed cleaning, they were very hazy. I wiped them with the hem of my jacket and went to get my MP3 player. As I did, the mental conversation I was having was getting more interesting, I was pretty impressed. I even tried to imagine my imaginary discussion mates getting impressed too, even while I was putting on my black not-so-elegant sport shoes. After all I don't care much about looking elegant walking in the neighborhood and the surrounding areas.

My mental discussion was interrupted by the Blue Ice ringing tone of my mobile. It's quite silly and funky that it would almost inevitably destroy anyone's train of thoughts. It was my mom; I supposed she wanted me to hurry up, since she'd been waiting for me with in the street with our neighbor. I canceled the call and made haste.

As I descended the stairs and before I reached the front door, I noticed that I was missing something: my sunglasses. I went back up to get them, supposing they would be waiting for me on the dressing table or, at the farthest, near the TV where I stood to untangle the headset's intertwining  wires. But it wasn't that simple.

I looked everywhere, on the dressing table, above TV, the bed, under the tossed creasy clothes, even inside the shoe closet. There was no trace of the shades, as if they have just vanished into thin air. I left no stone unturned. I looked in the same places more than once, hoping that the shades were there and I just hadn't noticed them, but to no avail. My mother called wondering what kept me so long; I told her I was looking for my shades. She told me to forget about them because we were running late. I said I won't be too late, hung up and went looking for the shades again.

As I noticed I was being late to no avail, I left the house without finding my sunglasses. As I left the front door my eyes had already begun to ache from the sun. My mood was screwed up, and I began thinking how would go continue the conversation in my head in such a sour mood! I spotted my mother and our neighbor in the horizon; it seemed they'd decided to to wait no longer since I took too much time. I even began having those reactive thoughts: "Great! How am I supposed to walk in the sun now? If my mom only waited a bit longer..." It was one of those moments when something trivial and insignificant happens that makes you feel terribly bad. The last stroke, I daresay. I can't remember my features but I can tell you that much: I was by no means smiling, and nowhere near amused. I can't even remember trying to resume the conversation; I was too busy frowning inwardly.

Among all these negative emotions, I tried to focus my thoughts on where on earth could the shades have gone. It seems to me now as I remember that I was doing a monologue in which I looked like the victim of society. I can hear myself speaking to myself as if I had a lump in my throat trying to fight back tears. I was overreacting, and I am a drama queen. "Where on earth did I put them? My nice cheap sunglasses! I was talking to myself in the mirror, then I turned to get the MP3 player and then..."

And then it hit me like a bolt from the blue. I stopped thinking of whatever I was thinking of, raised my hand above my head, slid the shades down my forehead and onto my eyes. That's literally all I needed to do. And there I was smiling to myself, cracked up inside, utterly stunned at how simple it was to restore my good mood when I really didn't expect it at all, and go back to that mental conversation, which was about emotional maturity by the way.

Obviously, I have a focus problem, but I'd better not worry about it now because, if you'll excuse me, I need to dress up, think of something to entertain my thoughts on the way, and find my MP3 player.

The last scene of the movie, the girl is in the airport, leaving the country after getting her heart broken by her old boy friend. Suddenly, come our hero, shouting: Ba7ibbeeeeek! And they live happily ever after…

This was a scene of some Egyptian movie that was shown on T.V a zillion times. It was on TV while I was doing some work on the PC, -so I was indeliberately listening to the dialogue. After it finished, I found myself thinking of something, but I shut the idea out because I felt I was almost going to blow a gasket.

When I think of the difference, well maybe different is not the right word, the huge gigantic thing whatever it is called, between a movie like "el7ob el awwal" (the first love" and a movie like "The silence of the lambs", "Blood Diamond", or "The pursuit of Happiness"… You name it!

Lately, Arabic movies were divided between 3 categories:

1) The story of a group of girls and boys, falling in love with each other while being involved in something together

2) Comedies, sometime funny with a smart streak, and sometimes nothing more than a farce, like "Al-limby" series

3) Movies in which someone tried to do something different, like Mafia.

Leaving the 3^rd category aside, how many movies of the first 2 categories have we had in the last few years? Too many, more than enough actually! I think there are 2 problems in these movies; the first is that they insult the audience's intelligence; the second is neglecting the great potential and talents of movie makers, actors and other people in the film industry in the Arab World.

I don't want to sound like a stiff-neck or something, but let's be realistic. The whole poor visual effects, poor sound mixing, stupid sexual innuendos, disgusting love scenes, typical dialogue, typical stories and uncreative imitations. It's visually, auditory and mentally disturbing! And then you watch a Hollywood or foreign movie that keeps you mesmerized in your seat after the last scene, and you wonder… Why?

I don't really know why. Don't say we don't have the same capabilities. We're not talking about Hollywood production only here, many low-budget movies are just as good as Oscar winning ones. So the question returns: Why? Maybe they attempt to cut cost and increase profits. Maybe they think this is what the people want. Maybe this is really what appeals to a very large population. Maybe it's just bad taste, and maybe there's something else to it.

Can we do better?

I'd say yes! In the last few years Jordan witnessed a revolution in movie making. Talented film makers began to surface and there movies saw the light. I know they are mostly short movies, but they indicate the potential we have. New creative ideas, an eye that sees more, and a high sense of whatever is necessary to produce a visually entertaining picture.

But, the problems remains here that the road of those talented movie-makers-in-the-making is not paved. They need support, sponsoring, guidance, learning more and more.

Who knows? Maybe one day we'll see a Jordanian movie in the Academy Awards. "Best foreign movie". Wouldn't that be cool? Yes, and when that day comes –in sha'a Allah- I will dare to make a comparison again, and rest assured I won't flip.