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All work and no play makes Tololy one miserable “young lady”. I have decided to play a bit with my “tilly putty” of thoughts. I am not sure why I will do that but there’s this urge within me to do something that I will possibly feel uneasy about later on. “Later on” is a catchy couple of words,don’t you think?
So instead of experimenting with toys or synthetic rubber, I will put forward a nutty entry. Perhaps you will be shocked, perhaps not. I do not really know,and I do not desire to learn much at this moment. “For with wisdom comes suffering”. I feel like Oedipus.

I have reasons to believe that some think I sound older. Some definitely think I look older. I’m not sure why that is,given the fact that I am physically petite but not undergrown. Maybe it’s the way I talk but what has that got to do with the way I look?

Gather around my dears, I have a story to tell, a story of age and sanity.

There was this gathering of people at a certain house located at 14 street, Royal Oak,Michigan and I was present. This lady whose name was Christine,I believe, was eating and,being seated next to me, she felt obliged to talk to me. I generally do not start conversations with complete strangers unless they look interesting. I do,however, respond to any friendly and/or hostile gestures by complete strangers. And since “strangers always have the best candy”, I imagined that socialising with Christine could be beneficial one way or the other.

Q: So how do you like Michigan?
A: It’s nice but I feel as if I’ve been here before. It’s like everything is so familiar,coz of the media..you know
Q: Ummm… yeah. So do you miss home?
A: Oh yes. I miss home so much and I miss everyone I know. I can’t wait to get home.
Q: Is that your daughter?
A: No, that’s my niece. Come here Jude, what do you have in that plate? Cake! Yummy, can I have some too?

Then came the ever-green question.

Q: So I guess you left your kids back in Jordan,right?
A: My what? My kids? Why does everyone think I’m older? I mean,do I really look that old? Oh my god! I don’t have any kids!

By this time Christine was blushing. I was hysterical and there was no stopping me.

Continuation of A: No,seriously now, what is it in me that makes people think I’m older? Do I look like I have kids to you? I am still a student, and I am single! I just turned 21. Kids! I am not even engaged or anything. Oh my god!

Christine did not see that coming, you could tell by the way her lips shivered as she searched for a way out of the pit she dug for herself. As I bombarded her with questions the poor small-talker kept trying to calm me. I eventually quit asking questions,realising that she really could not afford to supply me with any satisfactory answers.

I do not think she small-talks anymore. Strangers not only have the best candy, they also have the best insanity sometimes. I provide people with such valuable life lessons. Enough tilly putty thoughts for today.

In my previous blog,and on October 29th 2004, I posted the following words. (Mood: sleepy). It is amazing how I can still relate to them.

I am “categorised” everyday, call it peer pressure or pure shallowness,it is an innate behaviour in human nature.
One of my all-time fav poems… This poem is straight forward and simple.

Claims

I am not soft, hennaed hands,
a seduction of coral lips;
not the enticement of jasmine musk
through a tent flap at night;
not a swirl of sequined hips,
a glint of eyes unveiled.
I am neither harem’s promise
nor desire’s fulfillment.

I am not a shapeless peasant
trailing children like flies;
not a second wife, concubine,
kitchen drudge, house slave;
not foul-smelling, moth-eaten, primitive,
tent-dweller, grass-eater, rag-wearer.
I am neither a victim
nor an anachronism.

I am not a camel jockey, sand nigger, terrorist,
oil-rich, bloodthirsty, fiendish;
not a pawn of politicians,
nor a fanatic seeking violent heaven.
I am neither the mirror of your hatred and fear,
nor the reflection of your pity and scorn.
I have learned the world’s histories,
and mine are among them.
My hands are open and empty:
the weapon you place in them is your own.

***
I am the woman remembering jasmine,
bougainvillea against chipped white stone.
I am the laboring farmwife
whose cracked hands claim this soil.
I am the writer whose blacked-out words
are birds’ wings, razored and shorn.
I am the lost one who flees,
and the lost one returning;
I am the dream, and the stillness,
and the keen of mourning.

I am the wheat stalk, and I am
the olive. I am plowed fields young
with the music of crickets,
I am ancient earth struggling
to bear history’s fruit.
I am the shift of soil
where green thrusts through,
and I am the furrow
embracing the seed again.

I am many rivulets watering
a tree, and I am the tree.
I am opposite banks of a river,
and I am the bridge.
I am light shimmering
off water at night,
and I am the dark sheen
that swallows the moon whole.

I am neither the end of the world
nor the beginning.

A while ago a friend from Singapore informed me that he had found an interesting new site and he shared the link with me. I have found this site to be strikingly simple and powerful. It is built up by the contributions of regular people who want to tell secrets that are bearing heavy on their lives.

Some secrets are painful,some are funny,while others are utterly shocking. I know what secrets mean and I know what they can do to one’s sanity if they stay stored in a mental jar to rot, your mental jar would reek of constant fear and self-blame. Never communicating a guilty secret would torment one endlessly.

Gilbert Parker said: “In all secrets there is a kind of guilt, however beautiful or joyful they may be, or for what good end they may be set to serve. Secrecy means evasion, and evasion means a problem to the moral mind”

I find this site to be both amusing and true, to a certain degree I believe everyone has a secret stored somewhere. I recommend you visit the site and take a look at the secrets posted there. I have personally been impressed by people’s abilities to expose their secrets in so many creative ways,both verbally and visually. I have been touched by the sweet and I took a moment to suck in the unusual, only to conclude that we’re all variations of the same seed.

Ho deciso di �bloggare� in italiano perch� credo che � importante (per me) praticare la lingua e megliorare le mie abilit� linguistiche. � un motivo un p� egoista,lo so.
E siccome scrivo in inglese ed in arabo sarebbe anche una buona idea scrivere in italiano. Chiss� che riesco ad attrarre l�attenzione di qualche lettore/ice italiano/a.Non sono sicura di che cosa parler� ma vorrei cominciare con una mia poseia preferita di Lorenzo de Medici.

Trionfo di Bacco e Arianna
(Quant’� bella giovinezza)

Quant�� bella giovinezza
che si fugge tuttavia!
Chi vuol esser lieto, sia:
di doman non c�� certezza.
Quest�� Bacco e Arianna
belli, e l�un dell�altro ardenti:
perch� �l tempo fugge e inganna,
sempre insieme stan contenti.
Queste ninfe ed altre genti
sono allegre tuttavia.
Chi vuol esser lieto, sia:
di doman non c�� certezza.
Questi lieti satiretti,
delle ninfe innamorati,
per caverne e per boschetti
han lor posto cento agguati;
or da Bacco riscaldati,
ballon, salton tuttavia.
Ch vuoi esser lieto, sia:
di doman non c�� certezza.
Queste ninfe anche hanno caro
da lor esser ingannate:
non pu� fare a Amor riparo,
se non gente rozze e ingrate:
ora insieme mescolate
suonon, canton tuttavia.
Chi vuoi esser lieto, sia:
di doman non c�� certezza.

E per aggiungere un clima artistico addizionale ecco un ritratto di Dante dipinto da Botticelli,che lavorava per Lorenzo il Magnifico.

Un altro, pi� famoso dipinto e uno dei miei preferiti � Il quadro della “Nascita di Venere” che fu dipinto da Sandro Botticelli, come “La Primavera” e “Pallade doma il Centauro”, per Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco de’ Medici, nipote di Lorenzo il Magnifico per adornare la Villa di Castello, nella campagna fiorentina. Rappresenta una delle creazioni pi� elevate dell’estetica del pittore fiorentino.(wikipedia)

Ecco un dettaglio del dipinto, potete trovare l’opera completa qui.

“Never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity.”

-Anonymous

I visited downtown Amman,which happens to be one of my favorite places, two days ago. I took my camera with me because I never tried to take pictures of the place before, and I decided to share the pictures I took with you. A brief description accompanies each picture.

Al Masjid Al Husaini, (Al Husaini mosque), located in the heart of Amman, remains a unique landmark with its history and the hundreds of people who renew their connection with their maker by praying inside. There is a number of shops around the mosque, publishing houses and scented oil vendors.

A huge rotating display “pillar” of hundreds of earrings. I found this to be particularly interesting because most earrings are retro-style, 80’s relics. You can find this beautiful retro pillar at “ZaZa” accessories gallery in Souq Al Balabseh. One of the oldest markets in Amman. The people who own/work at ZaZa are of a Kurdish origin, you can often hear them talk to each other in Kurdish. Another exotic scent to old Amman’s multicultural tolerance.

To reverse the old English proverb :”All that glitters is Gold”. This golden display I found at Souq Al Dahab ( The gold market ). To be more specific it is the display window at Fat’hi Abu Kweik’s jewellery store. Big thanks go to Mr.Majdi Abu Kweik for allowing me to take a picture of the window.

Gold has a unique importance to the Jordanian people, as it is offered to a woman by the groom before marriage. Women usually trade in gold and therefore like to acquire golden pieces of 24/21 carat rather than 18, since 18 carat gold often does not retain its value. It is also common knowledge that golden pieces with precious or semi-precious stones often lose a big portion of their initial value. Since if you desire to buy such pieces you will be charged for the effort the goldsmith put into their making but once you desire to sell,the jewelers will not pay for it.

This is a picture of a section of Souq Al Dahab. Stores selling gold and other precious metal-works are found on both sides of the narrow path.

Mr.Omar has been selling peanuts and seeds for decades now. He has become a prominent feature of the place.I never visit downtown Amman without seeing him standing between the Time Center and Fat’hi Abu Kweik’s gold store in one of the entrances of Souq Al Dahab. I have great respect for Mr.Omar, he is a survivor. Thanks, again, to Mr.Majdi who talked Mr.Omar into posing for the picture.

A sign indicating the existence of an old,canal-like market with shops varying in size on both sides. “Souq Al Bukhareyyeh”, a place filled with the aroma of time and originality. Here you can find a multitude of beautiful, hand-made souvenirs. There are also shops that sell beads,buttons,textile decorations and other tailor-attractive items.

This is an old store in Souq Al Bukhareyyeh,it sells buttons and sewing-related items. I find it rather amusing to muse over buttons and the like, and it is a very exclusive experience to enjoy that kind of little pleasure in such a place.

Musical instruments dangling from the ceiling of the Souq, another creative way of marketing.A collection of Oud,Rababa,Tabla and Riq is displayed here.

Dealing in textiles is a popular trade in Jordan. There are many shops that sell fabric in Amman. In my family,knowing how to sew is a very important skill to master. I,ironically,am not very fond of that craft. However,textile selling stores offer a wide range of their goods, something for every occasion. There’s always something out there for the extremely picky dresser. Prices vary according to quality and popular trends,but you can land some good “steals” if you’re a smart shopper and if you can talk your way into such bargains. My mother,carrying on a family tradition that she in turn inherited from my grandmother, raised us with a critical eye for textiles. She used to take us downtown to shop for them and I have always tried to learn to differentiate the never-ending names and types.

Lastly, downtown Amman may not be as magical to you as I portray it here. Then again, you may find it to be a most charming place as well. Whichever position you take rest assured that there is nowhere quite like Amman to the people who have grown up in it and have come to love its roads and scents. Its chaos is as lovable as its simplicity.

أحاور الله في عينيك ملتزماً صوماً صلاةً و إيماناً و تسبيحاً

و أشهد الله أنك الشذى عبقاً قد كنت بدأً لكل الورد تفتيحا

و أنك النور في قلبي و باصرتي أضفى على الكون أنواراً و توشيحا

و انك الحلم المضني على أملٍ زاد الفؤاد جوىً و الروح تجريحا

يا أخت قلبٍ زاده النوى شغفاً قولي أحبك اعلاناً و تصريحا

إن المحب إذا اشتدت منازعه لا يرتضي في هوى ليلاه تلميحا

Among an array of phobias,I have this fear of dentists. I do not fear the people themselves as much as I fear their machines,and the working of their hands. I think the reason for this fear was a negative experience from my childhood. I was a first grader when I had my first tooth pulled out at the hands of a cruel dentist, it remains an ugly memory of an ugly time.

After close examination, an expert decided I needed braces. I had the fangs of a vampire, like Claudia from Anne Rice’s “Interview with the vampire”. That sort of image, a child vampire who,when she smiles, instills fear instead of love in the hearts of those who behold her. This is not putting it too dramatically, my fangs were scary and distorted any pretty aspect to my face, no colorful dresses or girlish hair accessories could divert one’s attention from them.

So it followed that certain steps be taken to adjust the shocking state of my teeth,and the process was nothing less than painful. I used to give dentists a hard time, so they eventually pulled out two of my teeth in an operating room. They made me wear that light robe that patients wear,and they told me to count to ten as I gently inhaled that pleasant anesthetic that sent me off to dream land euphoria.
Some time afterwards, I had the upper and lower braces installed the same day and I remained sleepless and famine-struck for three long days.

Having removed the torturous instruments that deprived me of gum and seeds for a year, I resolved never to visit a dentist again. I licked the now smooth surface of my teeth and smiled proudly, I wanted to show everyone how I can smile and look nice as I do it. I decided to take care of my teeth in a manner that would make visiting a dentist a distant possibility.

I kept my word for seven years. Today at 10 am I have to have a dentist take a look at my teeth and I may sound silly but I think this will be a night that boldly recalls the three nights following the installation of the braces.( It is 16 minutes past midnight )

I do not like the sound of the machines, they are too “mechanical”. Maybe they can make them sound a little less so,and more on the friendly side. Then again, perhaps it is my mentally associating them with pain that makes them sound so horrifying.
I have tried but failed to like the positioning of one in the chair. It makes me feel completely helpless and I do not like to be helpless. It generates an image in my head of my surrendering to a stranger with a multitude of machines exploring an intimate part of my face. My mouth is a sacred shrine to me, I do not appreciate having it explored by strangers’ machines.

Will this visit prove to be my version of “The Appointment in Samara”? I am ever so scared. This is the story:

A certain merchant in Baghdad sent his servant to the market to buy some provisions. A little while later, the servant returned looking white in the face. In a trembling voice he said, “Just now in the market place I was jostled by a man in the crowd, and when I turned I saw it was Mr. Death. He looked at me and made a threatening gesture. Please lend me your horse, because I want to go to Samara where Mr. Death will not be able to find me.” The merchant agreed and lent the scared man his horse. The servant mounted the horse and rode away as fast as the animal could gallop. Later that day, the merchant went down to the market place and saw Mr. Death standing in the crowd. He approached him and said, “Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning?” “That was not a threatening gesture,” said Mr. Death. “It was only a start of surprise. I was astonished to see him in Baghdad, because I have an appointment with him tonight in Samara.”