Your Name

I was staring at a guy when the memory came flooding back. He gave me a smile, and i turned away, half trying to smile back, half not caring.

Why did I remember now?

It was 1995 perhaps, where i made my first friend- my first friend who wasn't part of my family.
I walked into the gates, and so began my first ever day at school. I sat next to a girl who looked at my shoes and told me they were pretty. I grinned at her and repeated the exact same compliment she gave me- without even looking at her shoes.

I remember the classroom being hot and cold at the same time. But it was generally a lonely boring first day at school. I lack the excitement that everyone else seems to have experienced on their first day.

It was the second day at school where i made my first friend. He was sandy haired and had weird coloured eyes.
I remember him extending the hand of friendship and asking me if i wanted to be friends. i doubt i even knew what friendship was, but who wouldnt happy to rush home and tell everyone they have a friend? We spent the entire day together and i remember fun, arguing, and being taught how to throw a ball. It missed the hoop, but his laughter still rings in my ear, as i said it was easier to hit him with the ball then the hoop.

Our friendship grew and grew and we both ended up in little bubbles...i'd wait for him until he finished football with his male friends, and he'd wait for me while i talked about dolls with my new girl friends.

Soon our parents got to know each other, and i remember one car ride where my mother told my father that his family was Jewish. I had no idea what it meant, and i bugged them until they told me it was a religion. When i asked what 'religion' was, my parents sighs told me straight away that i wasn't going to get an answer. Now i realise there is no answer to that question.

We starting going to each others houses, and running in to greet each other. I remember his older sister looked his exact opposite. In fact, he looked like no one in his family. My eyes kept flitting between him and his sister and parents. Though i was smart enough not to ask him if he'd been found in a bin like i had....(i had the stupidity to ask my older brother where i came from, before i asked my parents...this meant i spent most of my childhood convinced i was found in a bin, as my brother so convincingly lied).

The first time I went to his house, he rushed me upstairs to his room. I sat on the bed, swinging my legs and looking all around his room. It was a messy room. He was busy looking for something, and his face was full of concentration, his seriousness made me giggle.
Out of the wardrobe he took out a neat straw basket. The basket was lined with a pink sheet, and in it lay a beautiful baby doll. Under its head was a pink pillow, and a small pink duvet lay on top. The cutest thing, was the doll had a hat, he removed it once he saw me staring at it. 'She got cold in the wardrobe so i put it on'.

There was a silence where we both just stared at the doll in its pink bed. He looked up awkwardly and said 'Its for you'. I stuttered and replied 'me?'. He pointed at me and smiled and gently put the basket and baby in my lap. i stopped swinging my legs, and he sat next to me on the bed. 'Actually my sister said the baby is mine and yours, not just yours'.
I reply - 'so its ours?'.
A nod follows and we both end up happily smiling at each other. I dont know how long we smiled at each other, but i remember thinking it was long time.

He then helped me off the bed, and as i kissed the baby, he told me so seriously 'when i get bigger and cleverer, I'll look after you, and you look after the baby'.
I grinned, but a second later i frowned...'who will look after you?' i asked him earnestly. I don't remember getting an answer, maybe i did, but i forgot what he said. I keep straining and i honestly cannot remember.
The next thing i remember is him showing me his talking toy, which scared me.You pull a string in the back, and it talked in a weird voice. He hit it for me, and i laughed at how limp the toys body was. Suddenly i wasn't scared.

We made sure the baby was sleeping and we tiptoed downstairs to play in the garden and eat various sweet things.
In the garden we had a water fight, where i used a bucket instead of those plastic water guns. This meant i ended up sloshing half the bucket on myself as i struggled to carry it to wherever the hiding spot was.

I remember when he came to my house, i taught him how to eat ice cream, and i introduced him to jigsaws. I loved jigsaws. I still love jigsaws. I gave him one, but i remember him telling me he would never open the jigsaw until i go to his house, so we could do the jigsaw together.(meaning i would do the jigsaw while he talked)
He checked up on the baby every time he came, telling me i needed to wash her clothes, or i'd been buying her too many toys.

We moved so quickly i don't even remember saying Goodbye to him. My parents don't remember his family name- he had a weird family name - it was probably hebrew? I alone remember his first name.
We never got to do the jigsaw together.

Today, I couldn't help interrogating my mother. She doesnt remember his family name, and my heart sank. The prosecution of minorites in Iraq wiped out a lot of people, and gangs do have a habit for targeting the guys in the young adult age range.
In my mind, as various horrible scenarios creeped in about what could have happened to him, i remember asking him 'who will look after you?'. Still no answer.

My mama tried teasing me about him, usually i would deny everything vehemently, or perhaps go along with the teasing and ask for her blessings. But this time, i was quiet. I'm never going to be able to thank him for being my first ever friend.

She added 'Touta, he moved out of Iraq. His family is in London. I heard about it when we were in Diyala.'
My mind blanked for a few seconds...what?!
She laughed and told me..'as long as you're alive, and he's alive, you might see each other one day. Life is strange'.

I went upstairs into my bedroom. I went into the corner of the room that's hidden. On top of the boxes, there's a basket. The basket is angrily frayed everywhere...but inside, the baby sleeps silently.

Iraqi Relationships

Iraqis must enjoy pain. The have to, because there isn't any other reason for it.
The relationship between males and females in Iraq,is laughable. According to many people, it wasn't always like this though.

I'm not going to try to blame it on the guys completely though...girls in Iraq are paranoid. It was hard enough for me -a girl- to make friends (no, its got nothing to do with my occasionally abrasive personality :P). So guys getting a girlfriend is naturally going to be much more difficult. Generally in our society, girls keep to their family, family are their friends. So breaking into their world, or even getting an iraqi girl to talk about something personal is quite a task. And you honestly wonder why friendship or any type of relationship is difficult between opposite sexes here. Not to mention the mentality that friendship between opposite sexes is impossible. The guys don't help either by being overly predictable and sexist-even if he claims he isn't.

1. No Pain, No Gain:
this relationship is basically a guy and a girl becoming girlfriend and boyfriend. Don't get too excited though, this relationship is usually one sided, and revolves around keeping in touch by phone calls, soppy emails, and the occasional meeting. This type involves constant arguing and falling out. It rarely develops further than the shallow stage, and each side constantly tries to win one over the other. Its basically a power struggle, where each side go through self generated 'heart ache'.
Unfortunatley this type of relationship is the most common in iraqi society.
It usually also involves the girl getting annoyed she's not being showered with attention 24/7, and it involves the guy being permanently pissed due to sexual frustration. May end in marriage if guy's circumstances are to the girl's liking.

2.Sexy Time:
This relationship usually revolves around...well, lust. This is almost the rarest type of relationship (suprise suprise). This relationship is usually initiated by the guy, and rarely involves each side talking to each other normally.
Instead it involves boring sentences spattered across talking about sex, arguing about sex, and eventually having sex.
You iraqi guys should beware though...the girl is prone to having her feelings grow, and then you'll really be screwed when she confesses her love. As soon as she does, iraqi guy will pick up his dishdasha and run faster than you can say 'Commitment Crisis'.
It won't be one of those fun 'no strings attaches relationships' either. The guy will be permanently trying to get the girl in bed, and the girl will be constantly trying to get words of love and romance. Neither really get what they want, and end up secretly harbouring anger towards the other. Though i suppose once issues are resolved anger may turn to passion (?).

3.Familiar Friends:
This relationship is a friendship between iraqi guys and girls. It will be full of hypocrisy as the guy in this relationship will always be judgemental and at times tyrranical. The guy will eventually drop hints at you to stop speaking openly, wear more modest clothes, and learn how to do housework.Its more than probable he'll always nag you on how to pick up girls etc. Though he's only trying to be 'like your brother' and 'advise' you. In other words, the girl is supposed to shut up and listen, and preferably have no opinion of her own, and accept his proud objectification of women. The girl in this relationship will eventually start avoiding the guy, using such excuses as 'people might get the wrong idea about us' etc. But really its because neither side put effort into the relationship..the conversation will almost always revolve around family, jokes, politics etc. Deep conversations? Unlikely.

4.Marry me!
This is a relationship that involves each side shyly getting to know one another. It then follows by underhand glances, and engagement, and then marriage. It mainly involves a lukewarm passion, based on a foundation of appreciation of one another.
At the begining years, neither side will actually know the other, and you'll get a distinct feeling that each person will always withhold a part of their personality from the other. i.e. they won't be able to completely be themselves around the other. As the years of their marriage progresses, they'll know more about each other etc, and live the standard iraqi marriage life.
I suppose planned marriages also fall in this category.

5.Love:
This is the rarest rarest type of relationship between guys and gals. Even rarer than the sex relationship. In this type of relationship, neither guy or girl will have to think about what they're doing with the other..i.e. they can be completely themselves without any barriers. Of course Love exists in different ways, and so the outcome of this relationship also depends on the type of Love involved.
If its the passion roses and rainbows love, then it may result in a loving marriage if each side sacrifices certain things. It depends on each situation as to what will have to be sacrificed. Sometimes everything may be sacrificed, sometimes very little will.
If its not that type of roses love, then it will probably end in the most solid friendship you can ever find, a 'connection' type friendship.
Either way, this relationship is perhaps the nicest in that it lacks the arguing, which is otherwise vastly present in all other iraqi relationships.

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Do we need a social revolution? Well, the news flash is that we have had several social revolutions since the war, each worse than the other. Though as a nation, we've never actually managed to have any good social changes...

*feel free to correct me, i am simply just writing what i see (and we all know that our eyes can deceive us...) :)

Arab Association (part 1?)

It was one of those old rotting red building which look gothicy, but actually look really good when you compare them with the blocks and straight lines of houses everywhere else. The constant spitting rain and grey clouds lulled me back into sleepiness. I spent the next few hours wondering why my need for self gratification through charity had over ruled my need for sleep.

Walking in, I had no other thought other than the fact that i was late but i was the first one there. Its a course which teaches first aid etc with an emphasis of all charity work we do during the course being directed at helping the hornets nest of woes that is the middle east. Am I cursing the middle east and the grandfathers and uncles of the middle east for making my life so tiring? Yes,i am.

We're taken to a room where we can sit down, and the seating arrangement is around a large circular desk.
Everyone sits down, and i can almost laugh if it wasn't all so ironic.
at one side of the circle sit-
-emiratis (2 girls with bright coloured jilbabs flicking manicured nails left, right and center);
-saudi(a guy wearing sunglasses indoors);
-kuwaiti (2 guys with wackiest hair sticking out at unnatural angles).
Followed by
-egyptian (vodka lover);
-jordanian(2 guys swearing extensively).
Somewhere in the middle of the circle is us 3 iraqis..(me, long haired tattoo guy,sad poems girl), then next to us on the other side sits ;
-the palestinians(a newly wed woman, a gangsta palestinian);
-syrian (talked about UN and tibet);
-and lebanese(sport addict and said he 'loves girls').

For the next half an hour, everyone's busy talking.I and poem iraqi girl end up listening to iraqi guy showing off his large and bold black tattoo spiraling down his arm. (Well done, you have a tattoo. You're so bad and such a rebel. Oh you're so cool). After my mental sarcasm, i couldn't help telling him my granny had more tattoos than him.
He then proceeds to show us; his earrings (which one do you prefer? he asks us..), and his necklace, which he tells us he never takes off. For some reason, i wanted to move his necklace to see if it had become glued to his skin by some chance.

The organiser threatens us all that we're going to be placed in random groups next time. Clearly someone's unhappy of the way we all huddled into gangs.

That really wasn't worth me waking up early for. I can't help but wonder how the conversations going to go when politics come up. I'm going to stick to the 'why can't we all love each other and live in peace' phrase, and hope everyone gets bored enough to never talk to me again.

Anniversary

Its been one year since my first post here.

I can't remember who i used to be. Does that mean I haven't changed? To be honest, my thoughts haven't changed. I still think the same, only now there is a darker (*halo flutters uncertainly*) edge to my thoughts.
My personality is different to my thoughts. I used to show off. I used to not care about anything beyond what mattered to me. And i used to have one bad sulking tantrum after the other...
Now I'm suprisingly calm. I seem to subconsciously take out my anger on ripping paper into shreds. (its a vast improvement to my previous breaking things habit..)

This blog and the people i have met throught it has changed me in so many ways, its almost unbelievable.
I started as a 17 year old, whose main purpose in life seemed to be to finish all the school work, and read. It was supposed to be a diary, which i can re read and laugh at, if i ever got bored.
Instead, I ended up with a different perspective on almost everything.

I, as well as almost everyone who knows me, will realise i think too much.Maybe i'll change that some time soon...or maybe not, i'll decide later.

"The world is a comedy to those that think; a tragedy to those that feel".

It seems horrible to either live by thoughts or emotions. I do occasionally worry that one day i'll retreat into my thoughts, but i'm far too talkative for that to actually happen. ;)
I wonder why I manage to laugh so much these days, when I've come to the realisation that my life is a mess. Perhaps i love Messes.

I want to say I have the same ambitions and dreams that i used to, but i've become a lot more realistic;( my dreams as a little girl were to bring world peace and harmony...thankfully life isn't that simple).
My main ambition now is to be happy and bring happiness to the people around me, (although i warn you not to mistake me for being generous..i just don't like hearing people complain :P).

My thoughts before were always so mundane and boring. Seriously, had you been in my head a year ago, you would have tried to scratch your way out of my skull. The only interesting thing i thought about, was what if i had chosen to lead a traditional simple iraqi life. It would have been so simple to live each day as it came.
Now I feel like i'm drowining in knowledge. I know so much more about life and people now, that i sometimes just sit and giggle with glee over this, ( i don't really. honestly i don't..)

Ok, I don't think i've changed supremely since last year. My writing seems to have taken a more depressing voice sometimes, but personally i'm just proud i haven't given up.

Oh oh, I also won best post for September 2009, from Iraq blog updates. :D
*bows amongst the deafening roars and thundering claps*
And my other achievement...I managed to write this before it became 10th of October....oweee my fingers hurt, i rushed it in five minutes because i got caught up watching a film. :(

(and talking of achievements, Iraq won 3 medals in the Pan Arab sports league thing. :D)

oh and thanks to everyone. And special thanks to some ;) you know who you are. hehehe
(i'm kidding, special thanks to all...)

Memorable Mistakes

Waking up on a wet bed is not nice.
Don't get the wrong idea, i love practical jokes, as long as they don't interfer with the little sleep I do get.

'You look ill'. I do indeed. I've been mourning the loss of my nails. On Friday they were so pretty and long and nice. Now, my dear nails are nothing less than chewed and neglected. I don't even remember biting them off so viciously, but I suppose i have a vague feeling of when i did attack my nails.

Before I get too sidetracked, I realised how much posts i've neglected to publish.

I've learnt a lot, honestly I have. So here's a lowdown of the mistakes I made, that I can remember in chronological order-

Making fun of Hussam
I used to hate him and his greased hair and sleazy bedroom eyes in his music videos.
As you can realise, i didnt actually listen to his music and just hated his stereotypical personality. But after hearing his songs at every possible turn, i gave up, and thought; 'what the hell, this hussam guy can sing!'. i'm unsure whether my mind is tricking me to make me feel better about having to listen to his songs every hour, or whether he really does have good songs.

I was also unsure of how people could dance to his songs. well, the general rule turned out to be- just jump everywhere, and call that dancing. I still wonder how cool it would be if someone remixed one of his songs with rock music. I think the combination of jumping dancers, drum beating and his whiney voice might actually work.

platonic doesnt exist
After the few initial first lonely days in Baghdad, I made new friends, since my childhood friends all seem to have moved. Unfortunatley, i learnt friendliness has its price.
Here you must realise i mean friends in the boy-girl sense manner.
Our neighbours sons were kind of egotistic. They had taken the machoness, and beefed it up to a level where it was cheesy. One afternoon one of the sons asked if i would be his friend.
Of course! I replied. Then he walked off, and i waved smiling. Its nice to have friends....
A few days later while dragging my sister and cousin to the corner shop, we passed the usual gang of adolescents with their coughs and fiery cigarettes. As i walked passed, one of them elbowed the other, the other one pointed and me, and then one of them said -'heeey heey, thats mustafa's girlfriend'.
Their conversation that followed was loud whispers as to whether they should ask me or not.
After a quick mental scramble, i decided they meant girlfriend, not girl-friend. I wondered what to do, and then decided on what i usually do-nothing.

You'd be suprised how i didn't learn a lesson from this. I would keep thinking that they meant 'friends' friends, only to realise a week later, thats not what they meant. I remember thinking- 'screw it, let them live in their own little world'. I also remember that a lot of people told me to 'use the opportunity'. What this meant was to get them to help me educationally, or send me phone credit etc.
Urgh. The idea disgusted me then, and disgusts me now, and more often than not, I ended helping them with their maths and english and work, because i realised very quickly, they spent their time on everything but their already fragile education.

never stay in the room with your aunts and mum
ahhh, when all the women of the family gather in a room, you have no idea what they start talking about. I considered whether raising the volume of the tv to block out their talk was rude or not. That day, i felt myself actually blush to the point where i started stuttering when i talked. My sister was scarily enjoying the conversation, and i decided that i really did need to see a psychiatrist one day.

never enter a room full of foreigners in your homeland
i did once, and now i realise the folly of it. It was in the international zone, but i dont recall much of that day apart from waiting endlessly bored for my father.
I sat in a room completely full of british, american, philipino and some other nationalities. I was the only iraqi. I concentrated on the murky depths of my coffee, but a conversation caught my attention. It was a british guy(soldier? contractor?) talking about something or other. His conversation then turned into making fun of iraqis, and laughing loudly. Everyone else was quiet, and one of his friends oh-so-discreetly nodded in my direction.
"she's iraqi?". He almost saunters towards me, and i meet his gaze. Then he points at me and shouts "Iraqi? Baghdad? You?". He points more on the 'you'. Instead of showing him that I do have the ability to understand, I nod silently.
Silence.
Then he cracks a few more jokes. I stare hatefully at him. He then says- 'i betchya she's f****** saddam or one of them guys'.
this took it to a whole new level, and I get up (knocking my poor coffee all over the table. There goes a dollar or two), and i reply 'go f*** yourself, because no one else will!'. And i stormed out, pleased at hearing the laughter of everyone in the room.
This event is oh so memorable because, aged 16, it was the First time I ever used the F word. Out loud anyway.

You can't handle the truth
I'm a terrible liar, and its because of that, I cannot be bothered to lie. I'd have to remember the lie anyway, and to tell you the truth, my memory resembles that of a senile 98 year old granny.
When i was asked by people about my opinion on certain things, i simply told the truth. Unfortunatley, that created problems for me. Ranging from people from university following me home, to rumours. You'd think i would suffer from privacy issues, but instead i seemed to become even more carefree.I suppose having a bad reputation means you don't have to meet anyone's standards apart from your own.

Sleepy Street
I know walking around in daylight in your pajamas isn't the 'norm'. But I've done it before in countries ranging from Turkey, to the UK.
I have family (grandparents, aunt, uncle) that each live around two houses away in Baghdad.
If they called on my mobile, that meant i was to wake up, and go straight to their house. Sure. That meant i wouldnt have to do anything apart from lie under the air conditioning.
They rang, i sprawled out of bed, and decided to make my way to their house in my pajamas. They were nice modest comfortable pajamas.
On walking through the door, and seeing their faces, I made a quick mental assesment of wondering who i had murdered.
Walking in your pajamas is a big bad no no.
I'm not sure why, and everytime i asked, i got the same reply of 'we'll tell you later'. Now I'm beginning to suspect that it was all an elaborate hoax or practical joke.

Freedom in Iraq
I admit it, my parents give me the independence i argue for. But woe befall me should i mention the freedom i do get to other iraqi families. Then everyone else ends up thinking I am either some poor neglected child, or that i am a hardcore rebel punk.
I'm neither, I have earned the trust of everyone around me, simply by being the most boring and sensible creature to walk this green earth.
:D or so i seem to my poor unsuspecting parents...(mwuhaha)

So those are seven of my sins i made.

Lunar Year

I got reminded and the realisation couldn't have made me more happy...

I've been blogging for a lunar year. When the actual year anniversary passes, i think i might actually set off fireworks.
You may be wondering why this seemingly overreaction at my blog's anniversary...well...the truth was i never though i would last. :D Talk about lack of faith.

I was going to write a whole how i've changed since my first post, but, i'm going to leave that for the actual year anniversary.

I've got many many stories and stuff to tell, but for some reason I'm actually too busy to sit down and write them..*cough lie cough*. Fine... i screwed up my finger and had to have stitches, and now every letter i type brings a whole new meaning to the word 'pain'.
I would tell you how i cut my finger so badly, and it would probably make you choke with laughter, but of course I'm embarassed. =D No, really, shameless touta is actually embarrassed.

Where was I? oh yes, I was guilt tripping everyone ;) Perhaps I am being a bit melodramatic about the pain thing, but it does hurt to use, since it is my first finger, which is the most active member of my typing.
Its taking such a long time to type this.

I rediscovered how much I shudder at Karl Wolfe... I recently heard not one, but two of his 'songs' played loudly, and at that moment, I think a part of me died.

i didn't really understand what there was to dance too (the 'music' or lack of it), yet i was still subjugated to scary looking women barking at me to get up and dance, as they jumped around, bumping and knocking everything over.
I actually wished they were in abbayas, then at least their dancing may have looked graceful, covered by billowing black silky fabric. But no such luck, they all wore metallic tight dresses and shook their long excessively straight hair in a way that would embarrass any 'gypsy' (iraqi slang for slutty girls in music videos who shake to the music-i'll leave it to your imagination as to what they 'shake'. hehe actually its only their hair you one track minded people! :P).

I found refuge by walking outside and making calls. Unfortunalty i couldn't hear most of what was said - loud music, loud laughter, loud crying...there is honestly only two tones of speaking for iraqis: loud and louder.

Lesson of the Day- my silent smile and nod tactic backfired, as one woman shouted across the room to my mother - 'is your daughter deaf? she might be DYKLEXIC ya habeebti, get her tested', followed by her pinching my cheeks in a way that meant i walked around cursing violently in my head as the pinch stung for minutes after. I felt as if she had just announced i should be tested for a sexually transmitted disease, as pairs and pairs of eyes glanced at me quickly, and then looked away with the same lightening speed. And no, I wasn't imagining it.
I had to bite down my tongue pretty hard to stop myself from telling said lady it was her fault i couldnt hear anything (she arranged the seatings and made me sit next to a blasting speaker that was over half my height), and that being 'dyklexic' has nothing to do with deafness.

But in my head, the 'what i want to do scene' was brutally crushed by social etiquette, respect for elders, and generally an 'i give up' attitude.

Off to dream now..Good night. :)

Don't you forget

I'm at rest. I've made a decision. :D

Other than that, life is becoming pretty much unbearable to the point of i'm walking around the cold cloudy nights. At first I used to love the sheer amount of bright orange lamps, lighting up every meter of where i wander. They used to look like fiery jewels above my head.

Now they're just a nuisance, blocking my view of starry nights. Blocking the quiet dark. I have to learn to stop comparing countries. Iraq's dark and somber, but I could see the stars twinkle above me. Here I have everything, but its the small pleasures that i miss, such as the whining stray cats, and the buzzing of electricity appliances on the brink of breaking with the ever stopping and surging of electricity.

And the stars. I miss those.

I actually managed to convince myself for ten minutes that the twinkling and moving red and yellow light in the sky, was not an airplane but a star or a planet. Then i dragged myself back into reality (unwillingly).

I'm back to learning the piano, but suddenly, its taking up a lot more of my time. There's an eery feeling of change. I've changed.It suddenly seems as if everyone is annoying me, and the truth is, i don't think i'm looking forward to taking life seriously. I know i should, but i always prefer to float through life.

The other day i was stunned into one of the most gut wrenching silences ever.
'Which life do you prefer? The UK life, the Iraq village life, or the Baghdad life?'.
For the first time in my life, i had the horrible soul sinking realisation. I have a split life, a split mind. A part of me cherishes each one. A part of me hates each one.I wonder if a mixture of the three is possible.

Do I even have a life?

*shouts of 'get a life' touta!*
haha. Funny how i don't think i want to change a thing. Apart from perhaps learn to be patient and sleep a bit more.

pondering life.....
The Decisive one

coming soon.....

.....touta will actually do something...anything...hopefully.


I suck better than shaggy (scooby doo) from running away from things that scare me, but now is seriously the time to make a stand. I'm famously indecisive, and as you can tell, its really getting me nowhere.


Oh, theres too many things for me to even know where to begin. emmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

The following words are the events that come to mind: sun, airports, death, explosion, hospital, head, dean, results, phone, train, bruises, happy, university, homesick, future, a year, 365 days, sleepy.

I don't get where this consuming sense of foreboding is coming from, but its kind of annoying me. I'm going to ignore it anyway.

Smile. Always Smile.

(hehe, that sounds creepy. :S)

wishing you a peaceful night,
a snoring sleeper.

Ramathan in Rusafa.

Ramathaan in Iraq has its joys.

Being shaken awake at 4am to gulp water, was not something I looked forward too. Occasionally this dangerous job would be allocated to someone who wouldn't be shouted at by sleepy people. A few times i choked as my sister helpfully poured water into my mouth as i slept.

I remember the men of the family grudgingly walking off into the mosques. But their return was always happy, and it wasn't to do with praying or the maginficence of the building. It was definatley because of the chatter and laughter of the gathering. Jokes, losing at chess and verbally showing off your children is the gist of what seemed to happen in the men's mosque. My brother bored me to tears continually talking excitedly of cars and guns he and his friends had discussed.

When my mum repeatedly stressed that I go, I did. There was a shop just a few centimetres from the mosque. I took my little sister to it, who to my frustration could not make her mind what to buy. The guy questioned why she wasn't fasting. I stared at him for quite a while. Without saying anything, i walked out, my bright gold hijaab trailing behind me.it looked like fluid metal. Reading the quran and listening to the Imam was something that we were bribed to do. The guys got colourful guns, and the girls got flower hair clips. Occasionally i was emotionally moved by the passion of the Imam's voice. It would quiver and choke in the silence, as he talked of how everyone should give money, as orphans starved and had no joy.

Sneaking past the men's section once, meant that i saw the act that the middle aged guys all did. Each competing against the other to give more money. It was almost laughable, but since the money went to charity, i suppose its a good thing. Their jumping up from the floor, their leather wallets in their hand readied. It almost looked as if they were going to fight.
The older men sat on chairs, in the middle of the hall. Prayer mats folded neatly at their feet, their sibhat (prayer beads) furiously glinting in the neon light, as their skilled fingers flicked bead after bead, or their hands twirled the beads round and round in a hypnotising action.

The young guys were always outside the mosque. I realise now that perhaps it was an act of rebellion. At the time i thought that it was to do with the endless cigarettes smoked. It gave a surreal look; puffs of cloud snaking around, with the multicoloured lights illuminating the smoke, making it look like a genie was about to pop out and grant all my wishes and dreams.

Back to the women's section, the women would endlessly try to get rid of their children, to the extent that they managed to get a toy room built. It was a good toy room.
Their talk would start of religiously, all filled with Inshallahs and Alhamdullilaahs...but then would inevitably lead to their husbands and children. There was 2 groups, those that complained about their family, and those that boasted about their family. The they'd talk about cooking. I'm almost sure that every time we visited the mosque, my mother would leave holding a piece of paper, with another new recipe, that wouldn't quite work. It was fun making it while not being able to taste it, so there would be too little salt, or too much sugar. Hunger meant it was eaten anyway.

After the mosque, we would either have people at our house, or we would go visit someone's house. The three or four hours until sunset would be spent half watching cartoons, half excitedly talking about plans for eid. The girls, myself included, all happily helped in tidying up, all the while talking and laughing endlessly.After tea, we all seemed to get really tired. Me and my friends would trudge upstairs, only to be bombarded with pillows by my brother and his friends. Unfortunately, after a vigorous pillow fight, the tiredness combined with the pillows littered on the stairs, meant that the younger children would just sleep on the stairs, surrounded by pillows.

The last few hours of the night were spent coaxing children awake, and sitting on the steps planning revenge.

During Ramathan, Baghdad always seemed so brighter and more colourful. Everything had a new appeal. Shoes and Clothes looked better in the shop windows. The air seemed to glitter, as fiery lanterns and metallic decorations hung on rackety stalls, ready for the inevitable end.

Roaring Ramathan

well, i have no idea where to begin, so i'll try to slowly untangling the banging thoughts in my head slowly, so that reading this, you won't have a headache.

He died. I don't want to go back to my room because he was there for 4 months.
Sleeping. Laughing.Breathing.
It really makes you question life and the lack of fairness in it. I'm just trying not to turn bitter.My first thought was 'Stupid Iraq'. Well, thats the clean version of it anyway...(the ironic thing is, i'm actually considering going back there. My brain seems to be missing a vital piece, called Logic).

And of course, Ramathan is here! Swirling, twirling, rushing, hushing Ramathan.

I face a blank book, and i'm holding the pen.
Do 'I' think about 'I' too much?

Maybe this loud month of quiet is what i need. Lets be honest, i do have a lot of 'bad' things to atone for. The only problem is, i don't think i actually regret any of them. That looks so much worse written down, then thought.

What's wrong and right? What's good and bad? What time do i eat? How much money should i give? Should i make a list? Are those socks really that hideous?
Questions, questions questions. Its almost the social backbone behind Ramathan, but perhaps thinking about what we do is wise. Although in my case, I almost pray that i stop thinking. Though my mind's too stubborn.I'd have so much more fun without thoughts.


Oh, i just realise. I haven't actually said it.....

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Can you feel the simple joy of creating the above masterpiece? I feel quite proud.