Cinnamon Zone

It is said that depression rates tend to soar high on holidays, or so I heard. Maybe because it’s a time to reflect on what’s gone and what’s yet to come, or not to come. Or, maybe because it’s the time of the year when the lonely become more aware of their loneliness. However, when I announced this time of the year to be my depression season, I had my own different reasons.

I can’t remember the exact moment when W and I became not only cousins, but also best friends, but I know it was very, very long time ago. We grew up together, she told me her secrets, her crushes, her dreams, basically everything she could tell to anybody. However we disagreed with each other on many things over the years, we never really fought. Once she told me that when we were kids she tried over and over to pick a fight with me, but it never worked.

I remember how we used to sleep over at Grandpa’s house, how we spent hours on end talking and laughing and dreaming. I remember our little adventures, how once we tried to hide from the other kids in the driving training center next to Grandpa’s house just to end up with a third degree reproof by our uncle. That was one of the days we cried together, just to laugh about it in the years to come.

I remember how we used to lock ourselves up in our Grandpa’s guest room to share some “secrets”, secrets that turned out to be common knowledge we shared openly with everyone as we jumped out of adolescence.

I remember one night last year, just around this time of the year, when she was the first person to whom I spilled my most intimate secret that I once thought I would take with me to the grave. I told her I want to speak with the lights off, without having to see her. It was a big step for me to talk out, and she fully understood it. She listened and listened for hours, and when I was done, she made sure I didn’t regret it.

I remember clearly one evening few years back when I was sitting with W in our grandpa’s house. There was nobody in the living room, and we sat beside the wide window overlooking Jordan street. We were visualizing the future, imagining what may become of us as we grow up and each of us takes a different path in life. We promised that we’ll stay friends as we are now, and that our children, should they ever materialize, will be friends too. We promised to visit each other all the time and never drift apart. We dreamed, we imagined and we made promises, but it didn’t occur to us that we hadn’t examined all possibilities.

It’s really ironic how happy occasions can be a source of distress sometimes. Something you can see in the tears of parents at weddings, and friends waving goodbye in airports. A tear that says: I love you, I’ll miss you, and I wish you all the best.

Hello world! My name is Ghazal. Yesterday, as I was cuddly bundled inside my mother’s womb, I felt a sudden force pushing me downwards, and then I started to slide down little by little. I had no clue what was happening at the time, but some deep innate instinct told me I should slither along. As I emerged to the light, I was amazed at how vast this new realm was. It was bigger than I’d imagined, and way too brighter than my cozy sanctuary. Every thing seemed new and big, and I was so afraid that I was crying like a baby. In fact, I soon found out that I was actually a baby. Curiously though, everyone around me seemed so happy to see me as if they’ve known me for ages. Although I couldn’t recognize a single face, I found the atmosphere reassuring, and being a girl of manners; I stopped whimpering from time to time.

As I said, I didn’t know any of the people who were staring and smiling at me with amazement as though I was an alien. But, there were only 2 people I thought I knew very well. The first was a woman whose heartbeats sounded so familiar, who I knew to be my mother. The other was a man whose voice rang a certain bell in my head. That I knew to be my father. Still, I was utterly stunned at how much I loved them, and how much I felt they loved me.

I can’t wait to meet all of you, and I hope to learn much about this intriguing world from each and every one of you. Mom & Dad: I know you waited so much, but I’m finally here, Ghazal, the daughter of life, who came through you, a piece of you turned into a new person, a gift from Allah that you need to nurture with your hands, and cherish in your heart. Love me, but don’t posses me. House my body, but unleash my spirit. Give me your guidance, but not your judgment. Teach me how to make my own judgments. Take care of me, but don’t over-protect me. Let me learn from my mistakes. Be the flowers, and let me be the fragrance, be the lips and let me be the words, be the sun, and let me be the light.

Love me truthfully, love me verily, love me unconditionally.

Love & kisses,

Ghazal Bustami

I remember a particular incident that took place one day in the bank, when I went with a colleague from work to cash a check. We arrived at the bank, I cashed my check and supposed that she was done too, but it seemed that there was a tiny problem. It turned out that her account was block for some vague reason, so we waited to see what the problem could possibly be hoping that it will be sorted out smoothly. Then, to our surprise, they told us that her account had been blocked because they couldn’t identify the job title, which was “subtitler”.

Apparently, subtitler comes from the word “subtitle”. That line of words that appears usually in the bottom of the screen to interpret what is being said in another language. Just like Microsoft Word, many people don’t seem to be familiar with the word “subtitler”, although nobody in his right mind would consciously  assume that movies translate themselves, or that automatic translation actually works. Yet, most people will make fun of funny/ wrong translation, and I was and still one of those, except that I took it to a whole new level now, because there are many things you may never know unless you enter the not-so- far away world of subtitlers, about which I’ll try my best here to set the record straight on some issues.

For some reason, I have never considered the possibility of working as a subtitler, not for a fraction of a second, as if there was no such job to start with. It wasn’t before I got a job at a subtitling company that I realized I could do such a thing. They made me take an exam, or shall I say an acid test, in which I had to translate lines from movies on paper. Can you imagine what it’s like to translate a pun or an innuendo completely out of context and without seeing the actual scene? It’s almost impossible, in some cases. So I wasn’t at all surprised when a week passed without hearing from them. That said, I was equally surprised when they actually called.

To cut a long story short, my career kicked off successfully, and I began devouring frames away, discovering the mysterious world of TV shows subtitling. My first official assignment was “Malcolm in the middle”. I was pleased since it was one of my favorite shows.  I remember how when I went home my sister asked me: So, how many episodes did you translate today? I was like: Hmmm, 10 minutes! And she was stunned, since she had the idea that when a show is 40 minutes long, it takes 40 minutes to subtitle, which couldn’t be further away from the truth. What she didn’t know is that sometimes a 40 minutes episode could take up to 2 or 3 days sometimes, depending on the show and on the subtitler themselves. Of course in the world of subtitling more minutes mean more money, and a top-notch subtitler can do up to 60 minutes per day after some practice.

As I said, it depends for the most part on the show itself. What accent do they use? Is there a script for this episode? Do they talk too much? Is there too much overlapping? Ect. There is no comparison between translating a thrilling and full of action scenes episode of LOST, and doing an episode of “Moonlighting” where young Bruce Willis wouldn’t stop gibbering. Further more, subtitling may change your view on certain shows or actors. I used to love watching ER, but after doing an episode that practically drove me crazy with all the over lapping and medical abbreviations, I’m not that fond of it anymore. It’s just very different from doing a slow-paced episode of desperate housewives; where Mary Alice seems to be in no rush whatsoever as she narrates the events.  There’s also a difference between those shows and talk shows. Nobody likes the latter, but the worst yet is car shows and real TV. I blew a gasket each time I was given an episode of “Top Gear”, “Monster Garage” or the notorious “Unique Whips”. And it has nothing to do with not being a car aficionado.

When it comes to movies, those are everyone’s favorite, especially horror movies where everybody shouts and nobody says much “subtitable” material. I remember doing Pirates of the Caribbean 2, perhaps the most fun subtitling experience ever! It was 2:45 minutes and I finished it in one and a half day, which was a big record! It was awesome because there wasn’t much blabbering, Johnny Dipp’s out-of-this-world terms and all the movie-specific words were explained elaborately in the script. Besides that I got to enjoy every single detail of the movie.

To tell the truth, I have to say that being a subtitler is not as fun as some people seem to think. It might be more fun that some jobs, but it doesn’t mean watching movies and TV shows all day long. It means a headset pressed against your ears, eye-strain, headaches, sedentary life style, watching crappy shows and one big word: STRESS, which for the subtitler is embodied in the word: URGENT. You can never guess when you might have an urgent assignment to deliver. Sometimes a channel might send a movie and demand it to be delivered in two days. Your job as a subtitler here is to bury your face in the monitor, don’t take full lunch breaks, and sometimes work extra hours to get the job done. I remembered when we translated the Da Vinci code (the movie). It was scheduled to be aired Thursday at 5:00, and we cut it really close by finishing it less than half an hour before the show time. It goes without saying that such a rush may very well undermine the quality of the translation, especially for a movie like the Da Vinci Code, which needs a good deal of research for historical accuracy.

Moreover, I discovered that when you’re a subtitler, you will use many words and expressions you used to make fun of in the past. “tabban” and “alla3na” are the most common translation for “Shit”. And while many people find it funny, you would soon discover that it’s just the right translation. Meaning, in English they use the word “Shit” to express anger, so you’ll have to look up a word in Arabic that is used to express anger, such as “tabban” instead of doing the most stupid thing a subtitler could do and use the literal translation of the same word. What I want to say is that sometimes it’s very hard to express things that are said in one language using another language, so subtitlers do find themselves cornered sometimes to use “funny” or “absured” expressions. In fact, many times when I mention that I’m a subtitler people would promptly say: Ah, so you’re the one who writes “Alla3na!”

Another thing that can be sometimes much of a nuisance is the subtitling rules provided by the client. Some rules are sensible but others are, or at least sound to me, ridiculous. For example: You’re not allowed to translate “Wine” as “Nabeeth”, you should translate it as “mashroob”, as if the viewer is so stupid as to think “mashroob” actually means “orange juice”! Their point is that by telling the real name of the alcoholic beverage you are promoting alcoholism. Give me a break here! What promotes alcoholism? This or scenes of men gathering around a gambling table drying cup after cup or even men drunk out of their minds? If you have this ethical concern, they why do you show these movies altogether? And I’ll tell you something: Many of those shows are pure white trash. Please don’t make me start on the bloody wrestling programs in which the word “bastard” is beeped (originally in the show not by the channel). Seriously? You pitch these pointless violent programs oozing with negative energy on teenagers and you’re afraid they hear such inappropriate word as “bastard”. Contradiction at its worst!

One last point in defense of subtitlers: we don’t always have a script at hand. Sometimes we have to deal with entire movies and subtitle them based on what we hear, with all the lousy audio, soundtracks, overlapping and even the noise of roaring engines. So, don’t be too harsh when you read a translation of something you could hear clearly on TV, but the translation looks completely irrelevant.

From my experience as a subtitler, I can tell you one thing: Don’t be one! Because once you’re there, you either can’t work in any other domain, or you just want to quit and do something that has nothing to do with translation. I turned out to be from the first type, but you can still run for your life.

So finally it’s Election Day. It wasn’t until recently that that I did some serious thinking and decided I should vote. Yet, I had no clear idea whom I was voting for. Every time I decide to vote for someone they turn out to be in another precinct. As for the ones in my district I didn’t know any of them, except for an old friend of my mother’s and a relative of a friend. Yet, I didn’t feel like voting for them because I didn’t want to feel guilty for voting for someone “I know” while I really didn’t. So, I decided that I’d cross that bridge when I came to it, no need to rush.

So, as I approached the entrance, I started to worry about how “smooth” this will be. There was a crowd of girls and women gathered in front of the gate, so I thought I would have to wait sometime before entering. But it turned out that it was much ado about nothing. All of them seemed to be supporters of different candidates so they waited at the gate handing out pictures and brochures of their respective candidates. I was given some myself, read some of what was written on one of them and then decided I was still going to vote for the woman I saw earlier.

As I mentioned earlier, it all went very smooth, way better than I’d imagined. There were people to guide you all the way to the ballot box and all. So, when I finally got there, I handed over my ID, not knowing what was about to happen to it. I even asked them if I could take pictures for the polling hall but they said it wasn’t allowed.  I filled my ballot and inserted it in the box, then I turned to take my ID back and OH MY GOD! What have they done to you my dear Identification Document! 4 years ago in the previous parliamentary elections I had my ID tattooed with a star as to say I had already voted. Now, the poor thing was mutilated.

That was it! I left the room in awe over the deformed ID, so I fished the camera out of my bag and took a picture of it. Seems like it wasn’t a very wise thing to do, because a policeman stopped me saying: “What is this? What are you doing with this camera?” And he said it in a way that made my heart sink within me. “Oh no! They are not going to confiscate my camera!” I told him I was picturing my ID and that I was already running out of battery. He was a nice guy anyway and told me to hide it so they wouldn’t take it at the gate.

So, that pretty much was it. It didn’t take so much as 15 minutes, and although I don’t think my candidate will win but I had to admit I basically did this for me. I didn’t want to feel guilty for being passive, negative or politically alienated. Anyway, I hope something good will come out of this. I don't want to have my ID mutilated in vain.