I think I have a brain tumor.

I have no medical evidence to support this theory but I have two elements upon which I base it: firstly, I am melodramatic and my having a brain tumor would be very poetic, and secondly, I have earth-shattering headaches frequently.

I have had these headaches for years now. They come unexpectedly and last for long hours, sometimes a whole day, and are unaffected by painkillers. When they are at their most severe; they are paralyzing. One or both of my eyes hurt and I feel overwhelmingly nauseous and I simply cannot function. I can’t read, I can’t work, I can’t talk, I can’t do any activity other than being absorbed in pain.

My headaches happen twice a week on average, and they affect my life to a substantial degree. I’m often forced to leave work, abandon class, or abort outings because of them. Yet despite all this, I never seriously considered something was wrong.
The moment of epiphany came when I noticed that, Oh, nobody else seems to have this problem. Nobody around me has this many headaches or has them this severely. That realization was not pleasant.

Urged by my mother and friends, I went to a doctor a few months ago. She said the headaches were stress-related and that there was nothing to worry about. All she did was ask me a couple of questions and pronto! Her diagnosis was ready. Now I have reached the conclusion that she might have been clueless and so I plan to visit another doctor…one day.

I’m extremely laid back and unannoyed by this, dare I call it, illness. I’m not sure why I don’t seem to take it seriously enough when it could be very serious. I probably imagine that if, indeed, I prove to actually have a brain tumor then it would be a martyr-type condition and would perhaps be fruitful in a way. Maybe realizing I don’t have much time left would push me into this sublime artistic state that would, in turn, have me write my stories down already.

I upgraded to the latest Word Press 2.3.1 and the process went well. However, the sidebar elements in the blog no longer function. I am not sure why that happened exactly, but since I cannot fix it I’ve chosen to accept it.

Sorry for the inconvenience.

Check out the enlightened propaganda I came across today:

Translation: “Boycott the parliamentary elections. Only god can legislate.”

I watched LBC’s World Bellydance Championship last Thursday after calling a number of people to remind them to watch it too. I’m a serious fan of bellydancing and so it was natural that I will be interested in seeing what the show has to offer. After all, with the primitive internet speed I have, YouTube bellydance videos tend to suck the life out of me.

I think Thursday was the first episode of the show, which featured six bellydancers from different countries. There was even a Russian and Ukrainian present and they did exceptionally well. However, I have a few comments on the reception of the show in the media and by the public, and not entirely about the dancers’ performances.

Here’s a theory I have been developing lately in response to the blatant phobia Arab people have of the monster otherwise known as the female body: A great number of Arab people indulge in the almost sadistic illusion of projecting all the centuries-long faults of society, religion, and human error on women.

In our Arab societies, women’s sexuality and in simpler terms their bodies are treated as either treasured possessions of men or perpetrators of corruption and amorality. A unique attitude prevalent in Arab societies is medieval in the sense that it perceives, and treats, them as inferior humans personifying a forbidden desire. The idea is that women must be brought to submission lest they sabotage the otherwise-perfect texture of society through their diabolic allure. The same attitude maintains, without shame or sense of contradiction, that women’s sexuality should be unleashed without restriction according to the whims and fancies of men within the context of unequal relationships. People have this attitude because it is relatively simple, it has a popular support base from men and women alike, and some societies/religions authorize it.

In addition to that, it is obvious that when a certain group is in power (politicians, religious leaders, media people), it is in its best interest to keep other groups at the bottom of the food chain. This comes to play when we realize that the vast majority of people in power in the Arab region, and I am tempted to say all but I will resist it, are men.

Putting all these arguments together, there is no wonder many people object to LBC’s decision to air this show. Obviously, the women will be quasi-naked (although some should not be allowed to expose their figures so), and they will most likely look attractive as they dance to Um Kolthom, and by extension will spread corruption and up the level of STD-infested horniness in the Arab world. I find the naiveté of the position remarkable and only matched by the amount of success these dancers will enjoy because of the show.

I read many articles criticizing the show, and others fiercely resenting it on religious and political grounds; arguing that we should concentrate on serious issues in the region instead of the sexy abdomens of some women. That is a shallow argument of course because there is plenty of seriousness in our media and an alternative must be present as well.

It is not rocket science: people who don’t like seeing pretty women dancing (or enough boobs to last one a lifetime and then some) should change the channel. They should also refrain from dancing in private parties and should abandon a key element in Arabic culture: bellydancing. I know some people who are like that, and they are miserable wretches who get married in lifeless weddings.

Bellydancing is a significant part of our heritage. It was just about the only positive stereotype the world had of us before 9/11; when Arab was synonymous with filthy-rich and clueless middle-aged man in a hatta. Let’s not denounce it merely because it is a feminine art.

I am populating the list of books that I have read during the past year, and I am doing it because I have a haunting feeling of guilt and dissatisfaction with my reading skills. I am also doing it for future reference, to see if I will get any better a year from today. The titles are arranged in no particular order except that of my pathetically feeble memory, and I will record my impressions of each book depending on the aforementioned memory:

1- The Transformation (Metamorphosis) and Other Stories, Franz Kafka: It’s hard to write about each and every story in the anthology, but Metamorphosis was exquisitely disgusting and provoking and beautiful. Equally disturbing was In The Penal Colony, my favorite in the collection. It’s unfair that it has gone largely unrecognized as compared to Metamorphosis, it is an excellent story about torture and grandiose.

2- When in Rome, Gemma Townley:This was, to me, the literary equivalent of a chick flick. I read this story during my stay in New York this summer and I enjoyed it because it was light and easy and fun. I did not want to read a book that would make me think, not during my vacation, thank you. Oddly enough, the men portrayed in the story were strikingly similar to several people I know/knew.

3- The Wise Women of Havana, Jose Raul Bernardo: I bought this book from some store in NY for no other reason than its cheap price. It was actually on sale. Crappy story about two Cuban families and their respective members (especially the women).

4- A Passage to India, E. M. Forster: This was a boring read up until page 150. Honestly, I was very close to abandoning the book several times because I was so unimpressed with the almost-abusive details in those first 150 pages. After that, things picked up and the plot finally started to take shape. Brilliant read after page 150, expect to have several questions by the end of the book.

5- Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America, Barbara Ehrenreich: I read this real-life account on the living and working conditions of the American working class as an assignment. This book provides a realistic, touching insight into a class in American society which is never really given much attention in media or movies. Very revealing read and very enjoyable story. I had to write a paper about the book afterwards, not very fun.

6- Whitney, My Love, Judith McNaught: I got this novel as a present from a friend. I enjoyed reading it because it was different from the “heavy literature” I usually read. However, the story became too cheesy in the final chapters. Apparently, the author added those upon the request of readers. Big mistake, killed the story.

7- Waiting for Godot, Samuel Beckett: What can I say to give this play justice? It resonated with me and I loved it so much that I blogged about it! Beckett is an existential genius and a superb playwright who turned a massively complicated concept into simple scenes. Ridiculously fantastic!

8- Awlad Haretna (Children of Gebelawi), Naguib Mahfouz:This is Mahfouz’ tracing of the lives and philosophies of prophets (Moses, Jesus, Mohammad) and the relationship between god and man. He set the plot in a neighborhood where god is a supreme father figure and let events take place in the same location across various generations, each with their leader or prophet and his philosophy. This engaging and existential novel got Mahfouz stabbed in the neck in 1994 by religious fanatics. If only for that, it is a must-read, must-reflect account, but its relevance and fluid style already make it extremely enjoyable.

9- The Complete Works, Al Tayyeb Saleh: I have been in love with this Sudanese writer for what seems like centuries. I find his stories very enlightening, very simple, very poetic. I read this fat anthology in one go because I could not get enough of the wise Saleh.

10- Al Sarab, Mahfouz: This is a touching, twisting-and-turning account of an introvert’s life and the poisoning relationship he has with his mother. Typical of Mahfouz, the style is smooth, uncomplicated, and the plot is engaging.

11- The Harafish, Mahfouz: I didn’t realize I read so much for Mahfouz until now! I finished this long novel last week. Mahfouz employed a cross-generational examination of the characters in the story to build his content, just as he did in Awlad Haretna. Good read.

12- Fi Wadi Al Ghalaba, Ihsan Abdul Quddous: All I remember about this story is that it was short and simple.

13- Lan A3eesha Fi Jelbab Abi, Ihsan Abdul Quddous: Another short and simple story by the same author. I was surprised to discover candid descriptions of semi-sexual encounters in Abdul Quddous literature, I thought that was pretty progressive.

14- Shajarat Al Fuhood, Sameeha Khrais: A sophisticated portrayal of the reality of Jordanian life in the early-to-mid 20th century. I was very pleasantly surprised by this class-A novel by a Jordanian lady writer, and I learned a lot and related to much of the details in the novel since I had heard similar stories from the elderly in my family.

15- Between the Bridge and the River, Craig Ferguson: Honestly, I cannot give an unbiased opinion in a Ferguson-related issue. I am Ferguson’s biggest fan, but I will try to be impartial for the sake of I don’t know what. This novel was not critically acclaimed for nothing; it has bizarre incidents happening to dysfunctional but consistent characters in an intertwined plot that provokes a ton of questions on psychology, religion, and human nature. I enjoyed every single word on every single page, if only I can meet Ferguson to tell him that!

16- Small booklet on a religious issue I am uninterested in, thrust upon me by my father: Pure rubbish. I burned it, hope he never asks about it.

I think that’s about it. One book that I started reading but abandoned was Plato’s Republic, it was too argumentative in a complicated way and it gave me a headache. I will get to it in the future when my mental abilities have matured enough to contain it. I am currently reading Guns, Germs, and Steel by Jarred Diamond (another endless book), and Juvenal’s The Sixteen Satires. However, I remain unimpressed by my reading record for this year. I ought to have read more.

What did you read this year?

How fantastic would it be to play an online game and help feed hungry people around the world? The United Nations World Food Program designed this game: it’s addictive, improves your English vocab, and helps a good cause. Play and spread the word:

Exactly how I feel:

http://www.tololy.com/2006/01/21/welcome-to-the-real-world/

So on November 8th, 2007, I went with my family to visit the book fair called “A Library for Every Home.” This was a project initiated by the Jordanian Ministry of Culture to encourage people to read and build their own libraries by providing titles at super-low prices. I saluted the idea, despite reading several articles in daily newspapers dismissing the potential success of the project, attributing Jordanians’ loathing for the book to genetics more than finances. I personally thought the initiative was good.

That said, I went to the fair hoping that it will be somewhat like last year’s book fair which I enjoyed and considerably funded by purchasing a ton of books. I was sorely mistaken, though. I found out that there were only 50 titles on sale, which is something I can understand since the ministry has taken it upon itself to print these books and probably does not have enough funds to print more than 50 titles. But what I could not understand was the absence of 45 of these 50 titles when I went to the event!

I went at around 12 PM, which was an hour after the queen inaugurated the fair. How could the books evaporate in an hour’s time?, I asked myself. The tables were empty except for a meager, pathetic group of prints of a book on pregnancy and another on mathematics. Some children’s books survived, a novel by Sameeha Khrais, one by Naguib Mahfouz. But that was it.

Where had the remaining 45 titles gone in less than an hour?
Why would the Ministry of Culture promise a library for every home when it cannot organize an event to match the title?

I went home, disappointed and angry at the waste of my time. The next day, November 9th, my parents went again to the Royal Cultural Center at around 9 AM. They were hoping to find the tables stacked with books, the organizers friendlier, the people happier. What they found was the exact opposite. Apparently, not even at 9 AM in the morning can one hope for a decent book fair organized by the Ministry of Culture.

It turned out that some of the employees working in the fair had been selling books by the carton! I mean, honestly, would a regular human being buy 24 copies of a book on pregnancy?! Didn’t they think that, perhaps, only a slight possibility, any such person might be a merchant of some sort and want to resell these books at a higher price?

A Library for Every Bookstore, that’s a more proper name for the book fair, I say.

While there, my parents talked to a number of other equally disappointed citizens about the mess they were visiting. They also talked to some employees who urged them to contact the Ministry of Culture and report the absurdities happening at the fair. Hmm, if the visitors and the employees were complaining, who is to blame? I wonder.