Now is Good ~

« New year .. New me » is a phrase I come across every day on the internet, when the year starts crawling to its end ; People annually indulge in false optimism and publically manifest their will to improve themselves .. just as soon as the new year begins, not now. “Now” is not “good” like the movie suggests, now is messy , now is wicked, now is their minds in too late.

Inactivity is a very active state of mind, a decision that we live with every day, it lives through us, out of us , and thrives at our expense. Do we really want this ? No, we rather exhaust ourselves with loathsome obligations than go ahead and do something that makes our hearts pound, and our souls flourish and sing.

 What about our ambitions and aspirations ? No, we are a preoccupied race, we are busier than bees; we have duties, fully-scheduled weeks, pre-designed lives that suck the life out of us. We rather wake up “bright and early for [our] daily races, going nowhere ..” as go the lyrics of the song “Mad World”.

We are mad not to live now, “live immediately” like Seneca advises. But no, We leave the things that we love till after exams, after graduation, after marriage .. till time becomes untimely and our dreams undone ..

“Now is Good”, do not wait for the next year to create the new you. Now, be brave and say that long-awaited I love you, that reluctant I am sorry .. burst out, without thinking, and I say the things that have long been heaping upon your chest ..

Start that diet already ! .. Finish that wickedly inaccessible book .. Write that beautifully abstract short story that was long spinning melodiously in your head .. Make that damn delicious looking cake you saw on the internet with the secret ingredient .. Think of ways to concretize that dream project of yours for dreams do not exist in notebooks .. Start practicing your passion on a daily basis, you’re never too old to learn a new language or pick up a new instrument or embark on a new dream  ..  

The new You is up to you to make .. Time does not make you, it just pours down quietly like a stream, in one direction , you mould it to your liking .. You choose to live or just exist .. Now is Good ..              

AIESEC Tunisia _ Get Ready 2014 ~

Paulo Coelho once said : “ If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine, it’s lethal. “

We are Tunisian students. We are young, painfully young and dreamy. Our souls encapsulate tremendous energy and potential. We want to step out of our shell, we want to delve into the unknown, the beautifully enigmatic. We long to take risks, to plunge into the wide and rich realm of opportunities. We long to experience something new, because routine means death .. Routine means tastelessness but we are young .. fearlessly young ! And we want to breathe, we want to dream, we want to live.

We are Tunisian students. But our educational system cuts off our wings. We go through courses, exams and presentations on a daily basis. We sit through lectures , silent and inactive, receiving knowledge without participating in creating it and memorizing information without asking why, without having the right to speak our minds.

We are Tunisian students and we do not want this anymore. We demand that our opinions be voiced. We want our voices to reach and fly though the entire globe. We do not want monotony and routine. We do not want to be forced into silence and passivity. We want to act .. And act sustainably!

This is what AIESEC has taught us for the past month and especially for the last three days. It was a weekend of wonders, of laughters, of fulfilling experiences, of new friendships, of bitter-sweet sensations; we were tired but excited, we lacked sleep but there was an incredible amount of energy dormant within us. We unleashed it, we enjoyed participation to the fullest ! We worked as much as we danced. We engaged ourselves in fruitful conversations, we let our voices be heared, we discovered the beautiful Other, we authentically lived diversity.

We are Tunisian students. And we found in AIESEC, a wholesome space and a rich platform to forget the monotonous academic lives we lead, to rebel against a system that has long silenced us. Thanks to AIESEC , we were able to transmit our ideas to more than 700 delegates, we were given the chance to genuinely activate Leadership through the different workshops we participated in. We operated within numerous groups and competed amiably between each other. Each group strived for excellence; all you see is people running around tirelessly , all you see is faces marked with determination and enthusiasm to make their project work and thrive. At the end of the day, we were exhausted, but we were satisfied.

Once upon a hot Sunday, toward the end of this amazing journey, an inspiring man called Nadhem Bardaa, infused within us overflowing streams of zeal and dedication through his wise, funny and stimulating words. He implemented  inside us Hope and eagerness to carry on as such; with the same passion and hard work to create a positive impact in our communities and leave a meaningful heritage behind us.

We went home exhausted but our hearts were filled with new loves and new hopes. We will never forget this weekend as long as we breathe. We heartily thank you AIESEC .. :’) 

Bach .. Thy Middle Name is Magic ~

Air - Johann Sebastian Bach ~

The first rays of sunshine tickled her eyes,

 Bach’s Air was furtively heared, beautiful notes from under her pillow

Never was she delighted in being  so still, with her head tilted towards the Earth as if rejoicing in a subtle Heavenly music ..

As if Bach’s Air is enticing her to feel her way past the senses to capture the loud unplayed notes ,

For strings unleash their melodious cries and leave an everlasting echo of a second’s pause .. to catch a breath, to halt a motion, to release a sigh, to undo a frown ..

The pleasant soundless void is music to the soul ..

The faint dying remnants of a note .. Empathy in a silence never silenced .

It dwells in the heart of every note and reigns in a moment, unbridled

Ever so aching to tell a story .. Ever so craving to touch a heart ..

For a Genuine Understanding of Eid Al-Idh’ha in Islam ~

At midnight, here in Tunisia, it suddenly struck me how alienated people are from the truth, the real , normally crystal-clear meanings of things ..

Tomorrow is Eid AL Adh’ha in the Muslim Ummah.  It is a yearly celebration in which people sacrifice to get closer to Allah sub’anahu wa taala.

 Yes, they are meant to sacrifice ! Not only the perishable meat of the lamb .. They should sacrifice their inner evils, their hidden mischievous intentions, their unnecessary arrogances, their selfish desires, their greed, their indifference, their heartlessness ..

In these blessed ten days of Thu-AlHajja, the Month of Al Hajj, I see people bying startingly expensive sheeps, leaving themselves in debt for the rest of the year, if not the year after.

I see people walking their sheeps boastingly across the neighborhood just to show to the public eye their ability to buy a sheep in these miserable days. They spend their afternoons bragging about how fat their sheeps are, entirely indifferent to the fact that poor people are deprived to indulge in this holy celebration.

I see women chattering in street corners, in markets, in hair-dressing saloons about poor women with empty bags in the souks, bying insignificant amounts of meat to feed the children on the Idh’ha day. They relish in their misery, they mock their sheep-less houses and their meat-less stomacks instead of extending a helping hand. This is what this holy ceremony is about.

Yes, it is holy. People are supposed to show humility, kindness and piety in these blessed days. They should linger on prayer carpets extending their hands in Du’aa to Allah. They should read and meditate on the Quran and design a life in harmony to its teachings.

I pray to Allah to humble their souls and endow their hearts with generosity and kindness.

Eid Idh’ha Mubarak to our dear Muslim Ummah. J

What Makes Your Heart Sing ? ~

Passenger - Scare Away The Dark ~

"We should run through the forest
We should swim in the streams
We should laugh, we should cry,
We should love, we should dream
We should stare at the stars and not just the screens
You should hear what I'm saying and know what it means .."

 Buildings  with guards .. houses with doors ..

Doors with doorknobs, doorknobs with keys ..

Rooms with windows .. windows with shutters ..

 Selves inside shells .. Souls inside stones

 Modernity or pleasant conformity ..

No, existential mediocrity

Life-long voluntary confinement in grayish sameness

Wallowing in tastelessness

I want abandoned valleys  

Worn out wooden houses

Random herbs growing on its doors

Not grayish, not gray, ever so green ..

I want roofless cottages

Beds made of Earth, scented mud ,

Flowers unknown, releasing their fragrance into the breeze ..

Let it brush your skin, penetrate your soul, look at the stars ..

No roof, no walls, no ceiling  ..

Then, let your lids embrace,  it is so precious a feeling

Who said the sky is the limit ? The sky is the destination

 The sky is our real Home ..

Like Gaza There Is No Place ~

Strength is when you look at Pain right in the face

When you search among wreckage for the seeds of Rebirth

When childish laughters defeat the sounds of Death

When you colour fresh wounds with drops of Mirth

Like Gaza there is no place

Smiles, yet tired, revive its Earth

Souls bent with worship yet filled with Grace

Hearts tinged with power since their birth

Their fierce eyes speak Resistance

Infused in their blood

Carved in their skin

Besmeared on their face

They walk through rain and mud

They go through thick and thin

Fed by Life and Hope

They march to their noble end

For Freedom is there to be wrenched

And Dreams are there to be embraced  

Truly, like Gaza there is no place ..

For Gaza : To Resist is To Win ~

To resist is to win

You are wounded to the bone

Tired is your body, scarred is your skin

But to resist is to win

The wrath inside you should not burn out

The warrior within you must not give in

For to resist is to win

Your will is power

Be angry, rise and shout

Don’t lower your chin

By God, to resist is to win

You stand lonely yet proud

You are victorious, you are to win

Fight hard, speak loud

For the dreamer that once been

For the child within

But never give in

For giving up is a sin

And to resist is to win ..

A Book Is a Life’s Journey ~

She released a deep sigh ..

As a shy light peeked into her room  

She reluctantly closed her bulky book  

She was near the end

The last few pages scared her ..

Short yet eventful are most endings

She knew this

She wanted to carry on

But she didn’t ..

As she laid down on her bed,

She caught a glimpse of the sky

It wasn’t really sad

It was .. uncertain ..

Yes, she thought of the sky as a person !

It was gray with small bluish spots

She marveled at its unsettled color ..

Just like her soul upon those sorrowful pages

Just like her hand that craves yet refuses to turn the page

Fearing the inevitable future of her fictitious dear ones

It suddenly hit her ..

Reading a good book is like going through Life !

The coming episodes terrify you yet lure you

You lay still, you look forward then you waver ..

Moments demand to be lived, fate demands to be noticed  

Demands to be realized ..

As if it is the ultimate Right of the universe

It is then your duty to move on .. to turn the page

A necessary evil if you wish

All your waverings, uncertainties, mishaps and triumphs will lead to an end

Predetermined .. Yet still undefined ..

Regardless, march courageously !

Imagine in Gaza .. ~

Today, on the 10th of Ramadan 2014, I went out with my father to the nearby grocery-store to buy some necessities for the Iftar. It was one hour before the Adhan, but we had to go out for my mother’s occasional late requests.

I remember when I was a kid, my father used to take me for a walk in late Ramadan afternoons. I admire the passers-by; Everyone is in a hurry to get home, bearing large bags loaded with food. Sometimes, I notice a kid running with bread still hot from the oven or a mother crying at her son to stop playing outside and get ready to go to the Masjid with his father.

It was the eye of a child. It beholds everything beautiful. It sees colors and rainbows everywhere. I was always looking ahead of the road, smiling at our neighbors. I never tried to peep into a corner, behind a wrecked wall or inside a deserted building.

Today, I understood that rainbows and colors are confined to the celestial realm. Just an hour before Iftar, there are people, dressed in rags, with dirty and empty bowels in front of them. You see a mother with a milk-craving babe, you see a barefoot old man who sighs as much as he breathes, his eyes fixed on the floor, too ashamed to shout out his hunger. You see two little boys checking a hard as rock slice of bread.

I went home, I ate, I laughed and watched the silly Ramadan series with my family, but my heart and mind remained with those miserable souls in the street. I felt an unfathomable ache vibrating through me. Only at this time, my mind wandered far away to the bleeding East ..

Imagine in Gaza .. People are starving. And while they starve, they keep an alert eye for Israeli missiles. While they starve, they run to take the injured to the hospitals. While they starve, they dig for their families under the crumbled buildings. While they starve, they comfort their little scared brothers and console their mothers. While they starve, they take shelter to rest between the ruins. While they starve, they hear the never-ending deafening sounds of bombs. While they starve, they bury their dear ones and face the unjust colonizer on a daily basis. While they starve, they do not sleep ..

Just imagine in Gaza .. Pray for our brothers for all we have is Du’aa .. for Du’aa is the only valid contribution when rulers wallow in food and sleep ..

May Allah protect them and grant them victory .. Ameen ..  

All Hail The Holy Month "Ramadhan" ~

It occurs every year, it lasts for a whole month .. Yet, there is something eternally charming about the month of Ramadhan. Whether it happens to visit in winter or in summer, in spring or in autumn, no circumstance can erase the magic that every soul feels in the air .. It is the promise of a spiritually rich period .. A chain of days in which the human being senses a wondrous amount of energy and optimism despite hunger, thirst and heat.

Yes ! This year too, we welcome our dear month in the summer .. And with the bitter-sweet taste of summer heat, large crowds flew into the different corners of the Tunisian markets today. I was with my mother paving our way through the hungry-eyed gatherings so as to buy the necessities for Ramadhan.

 It is at once funny and delightful how you perceive the so familiar market you visit every week . It looks different .. it feels different; the sun grows warmer not hotter, the not so aesthetically random mixture of colours suddenly form a beautiful scene of humility not misery, the loud cries of sellers are not annoying but somehow laughable, the clash between vehicles and people appears surprisingly pleasant for there seems to be a subtle blend in the noises that makes the city sounds tolerable to the ear. We tend to accept the hustle and bustle because we know it heralds the upcoming joyous month.

However, as these blessed days pass us by, something vital slips one’s mind .. Persistence in our plans to improve, to forgive, to get closer to Allah fades away, as the commercials for food start to accumulate to fill our evening family times after Iftar, as such, eating away their brains and consuming these precious yet evanescent nights ..

One makes the New Year’s resolutions in January, but he does not fulfill them until Ramadhan. Sadly, they remain only beginnings .. And the beginnings are always zealous and beautiful .. The beginnings are always short .. People enter Ramadhan with a steady and determined attitude to make new and everlasting positive habits .. It lingers for a few days .. Little do they resist the pleasures, leisures and distractions of Ramadhan banquets, series, treats .. They are overwhelmingly abundant so much so they alienate the soul from the therapeutic effect and the healing powers of this Holy Month ..

The Ramadhan resolutions should be a lifelong set of resolutions .. To maintain them, one must constantly read the Quran, make Du’aa and keep the company of friends who remind you of Allah and the beauty of worship, for the human self quickly loses sight of its life purpose ..

Ramadhan Kareem to everyone J

  

كوني خليلة اللّيل ~

عرّي هشاشة قلبك لسواد اللّيل
 فهو يرعى الأرواح المنكسرة
 إرفعي عن وجهك برقع الإبتسامة الكاذبة
 دعيه يلمس قلبك بيده الشّافية
  فالشّفاء يكمن في السّكون المتفهّم
  .. في الصّمت الذّي يخاطب روحك المتعبة
 ! إحتفلي بحزنك
 وٱرقصي أمام هيبته المخيفة في جمالها
 إجعلي حياتك كلّها ليل
 .. فليس في اللّيل حزن، بل في اللّيل صدق و تجلّي
 صاحبي اللّيل
 فهو الصّديق الّذي يكشف العيوب و يتغنّى بها
 إنّه الرّفيق الّذي يمجّد إنسانيّتك المنقوصة
.. يجالس وجلك و ينصت إلى حركاتك المتردّدة
 كوني خليلة اللّيل
 كوني أنيقة الهوى
 ..

Once Upon A Wakeful Dawn ~

Once upon a wakeful dawn

Chopin’s Tristesse was resounding in my ears

Like a distant echo from a dream

I felt my heart racing

I felt the heat of my blood stream

Suddenly evaporated memories started to form

Of times fraught with anxieties and fears

Why is it that I feel so much at dawn ?

Why is it that I see so much at dawn ?

I behold my naked soul longing to confess

Was it the effect of Chopin’s Tristesse ?

Yes, It was an inner mess

But as I sensed the light breeze’s caress

And the sweet touch of morn

I did not feel so forlorn

Once upon a wakeful dawn ..

Uncertainties die in a prayer ~

She was uncertain ..

The kind of uncertainty that terrifies you when you try to detach yourself from the shell that engulfs you to venture a pondering look towards the horizon ..

There was no horizon that night ..

The painfully similar buildings clouded her sight ..

 She lifted her drowsy head to behold the sky, she could hear her bones creaking and her neck hardening as if she is forced to hold her breath ..

Was it for the sight of the red sky ? Again, she was uncertain ..

This furtivess permeates everything she feels .. Her whole senses had to endure this sense of secretive darkness ..

Truths, as if transparent .. insignificant .. pass her by with the light breeze, unnoticed.

She could only marvel at the frightening redness of the sky ..

She was confused .. She knows that the purplish crimson sky heralds an imminent fall of rain, however, the air surrounding her skin feels hot and smothering ..

Once again, she was uncertain .. Even her resort to Nature could not bring her solace ..

She moved her tired figure and spread some cold water upon her aching organs ..

She was half awake .. Her eyelashes were pouring water over her cheeks, she mistook them for tears ..

Suddenly, her heart pounded .. Her sense of direction was distorted for a while ..

But, as soon as she touched the door knob of her room, she sensed a piece of smooth cloth ..

Her blindness through the corridors of the house guided her to the praying carpet ..

As she humbly bended her form towards Earth, she felt the heavy burdens of uncertainty slipping away from her body ..

She found certainty .. in a desperate nightly whisper that melted away her anxieties ..

It was Fajr time, she was at last hopeful ..

Hannibal Season 2 Finale: The Ultimate "Design" ~

Listen to this while reading, you will feel the harmony between sound and word .. 

Johann Christian Bach: Cello Concerto in C minor ~ 

It has been exactly a week now since Hannibal’s shocking and blatantly eventful final episode from the jaw-dropping season 2. I wanted to write something about this exceptional series and the unexpected turn of events of the last episode as I believe I just got out from the seven days state of denial that the beautifully wicked Mr Lecter has immersed me in.

Three possible deaths are the culmination of this intellectually and psychologically provocative season. Surprisingly, the victims are three of the fundamental characters of the entire series: “Will Graham” .. Is he a killer in transition, in disguise, by proxy or unconsciously .. No one knows .. Yet.  

The second victim is the innocent and caring Jack Crowford and the third one is the gullible Dr Alana Bloom. If one is to expect a common pattern between all these probable deaths, one is to be disappointed ! I do not know if this violent hastiness in the killing process is done on purpose or is simply the result of a lack in preparations as the fatal visits of these three characters was unpredicted by Hannibal The Cannibal .. Or perhaps he made it look like he was surprised at their breaking in into his sacred and ritualistic dinner preparations.

Every reading is possible at this point .. His reckless behavior when dealing with the attacks signals an astonishment at their coming. However, the reiterative focus on the knife when it smoothly slays the meat, accentuates the idea that his Mind’s Eye is at work here, for it is the knife, the cannibal’s tool, which mirrors the invading and threatening faces of the ominous victims.   

Now, the fashion according to which he handles the life of his victims can either manifest a prominent degree of dexterity or an unusual degree of rashness .. An act, of course, that does not become the minutely calculating mind of Hannibal Lecter.

With his sharp cooking knife, he cut the throats of both Jack crowford and Abigail Hobbs. Perchance, there is a latent pattern in the slaughtering act after all. Moreover, Alana’s the throat was cut in the same way by the helpless Abigail Hobbs. This undecidability still persists, however, when the viewer examines the way Hannibal attempted to end Will’s life. While Alana and Jack were swiftly cut, Will Graham was pierced right through the stomach by his “friend” Hannibal.

Logically, as such, the release of the soul will be slow and painful. Does he desire to internalize the last breathing moments of the friend he loves and engrave them in his memory ? Is Hannibal Lecter becoming a voyeuristic ? Perhaps he already is ! He does relish in the aesthetic ways of death he designs. Following this, Hannibal rejoices in both process and result of assassination. He enjoys the while and the post, maybe because the “post” reminds him of the “beauty” of the “while” and the “while” paves the way to the gratification of the “post”.

The question that remains at the end, did Hannibal honor them by such mundane and plain forms of murder ? Is there a tale to tell behind them ? Was there an ancient ritual executed in the process ? Was there a philosophy underlying them ? Did he intend to immortalize them in so usual a murder ? Is there an ultimate design or does the design lie in the no design ?

 Why does he “eternalize” anonymous people and rewards the people he knows and loves with a normal death ? Is it because he knows them ? Perhaps he wants to remember them as living creatures and not as a set of peculiar exhibitions of Life and Death.

 “I gave you a rare gift, but you didn’t want it.” He says to Will Graham while the latter is lying on the floor gasping for breath. One can argue that he is talking about his unappreciated friendship, or, more far-fetchedly about the “honor” of dying like a normal human being.

Ideas are painfully irreconcilable when it comes to Dr Hannibal Lecter .. Cognitive provocation, visual amazement and psychological angst are what he offers you, yet we, the wretched viewers, continue to watch awe-inspired and impressed. These paradoxes make of Hannibal a series to watch, rewatch, brood over, study and even teach ..      

The Originals Season Finale: Hope is Miraculous ~

Ps: This contains spoilers.

“From a Cradle to a Grave” is the title of the Originals season finale; from Life to Death lies a whole eventful journey. As viewers, in one episode, we surely endured the gruesome scenes of Death as well as tasted the delightful little emotional moments when we witness the starting of a Life.

 These two antagonistic perpetual forces are craftily illustrated in the episode. You feel that mini heart-attack, your jaw drops, you reach out to your heart when the witch cuts Hayley’s throat. You mind starts to wonder: what will become of Elijah ? Of Klaus’s Humanity ? Of the promise of a Home ?

All these aspirations and hopes are shouldered by the unborn miracle baby, not because she is the fruit of an original hybrid and a werewolf, but because she, tiny and helpless as she is, embodies the healing power that will bind the family together, fuel love in its veins and nurtures the decaying notion of Humanity especially for Klaus, the wounded father.

People have this propensity to associate birth with miracles. One is liable to say:” I want to witness the miracle of birth.” It is indeed a miracle. This miracle does not solely emanate from the wondrous fact that a whole and healthy human being comes out of a woman’s womb. What is awe-inspiring is the effect of this birth on the characters of the series. They grew more humane, warmer, stronger, and most importantly more hopeful. Isn’t that a miracle ?

 For centuries, The Michealsons drifted apart, struggled, suffered, made enemies of each other. They were too aware of their complexities and dichotomies and, at times, co-existence was impossible. “Always and Forever”, the family motto, was constantly violated by the flaws of some, and the weaknesses of others.

When it comes to family, we always say: “It is complicated” and this phrase should do, given that it is common, if not universal to have complicated family ties. Equally common is Life and birth, they happen every day, yet they inspire amazement, joy and Hope. It is a consistently repetitive act, but this reiteration never tires its beauty. Strange enough, this summons to my mind, Maurice Ravel’s classical piece “Bolero”. During 20 minutes, one single musical sequence is repeated, each time with a different instrument. Do we tire from it ? Not for a second !

Now, let’s go back to our subject matter. It is a miracle, Hope is a miracle, especially after a lifetime of pain. It is a sign of strength, it is a sign of Love. Hope, she was named. Klaus named her as such upon handing her to his sister Rebecca for her safety. She survived her first day in this world and as night fell down, she amazingly cured the maladies of her family. Klaus learned the human ability to forgive and forget; he made his peace with his adopted son Marcellus. He also learned how to put differences aside and support each other in times of hardships. To our delight, we see him tearfully smiling to Rebecca at the end of the episode, we see him trusting his sister again with the new pearl of the family, believing that she is bounteous enough to devote herself to her niece. He embraced his brother Elijah again; “the monster” and “noble” agree to live in harmony again.

Saying to his daughter: “ Every soul who wishes you harm will be cast down. I promise you that, as sure as my blood runs in your veins, you will return to me .." by the end, is far from being monster-like, and in this lies the miracle ..

Ps: For those curious about the musical piece I mentioned earlier, here it is:  

Maurice Ravel - Bolero ~

   

       

I Have a Dream, Make Way ! ~

Shapeless hours ..
Days go in tedious Adagio
Senseless existence, aimless labour
Why toil and sweat, if dreams are not met ?
Why bother to move, if the fate is set ?

Thus spake the Devil in my waking nights
Untimely open eyes, 'tis painful for the sight
Bygone days replayed in Allegro
Swift episodes of used-to-be's pass me by
So many aching what-if's cut through my being
Of days ever so bright
'tis agony to behold them through the night
For all they beget
Is tearful eyes, so tired, so wet

I dread the first light, the new day
They say: "Play and come what may"
I want to scream: "I have a dream ! Make way !"
I will not wait for desperate innuendos
of a beautiful tomorrow

I will fight, though weary
For my dreams can never tarry ... 

« Her » The Movie: A Remarkable Reminder of Human Fragility ~

Once upon a seemingly boring Friday, after a painfully long week, I decided to watch a movie untitled “Her” starring Joaquin Phoenix. And tell you what, there is indeed a reason why she is called Her and not you … It because she is the embodiment of an absence …  And through absence, she is forcefully and achingly present in the mind and heart of the protagonist “Theodore”.

He fell in love with a voice on the other end of the line. This might sound a cliché, but dear God it is not ! It is far from being a lousy romance speaking of love-distance relationship. It is an ethereal love from the futur .. A mighty bond that ties two hearts not through matter or senses but through the simple act of conversation, through the power of words for these are able to beget affection.

It is not sophistry; it is the magic of a spiritual consensus through interaction. We live in an age fraught with instances of failing communication, let us imagine how this human misfortune develops towards the future decades …  It is typical to think that the machine replaces and even kills the feelings, but Theodore, a man from the future, manifests himself as a human being par excellence. Throughout the whole movie, he struggles to quench an agonizing need; that of having the pleasure of a loving and understanding companion. He finds what he longs for in an operating system with a female voice. This might seem dull and even creepy, but trust you me, it is surprisingly beautiful.  

This movie, although set sometime in the next few decades, teaches the viewer a notion as old as Ibn Khaldoun.  “Man is civil by Nature” and forever shall He remain. The human being needs to talk, to express, to feel understood, to feel loved and needed and to feel that there is someone out there who relates to what he feels …

To fully grasp the essence of another human being, it is not enough to chat endlessly and rejoice in the amount of common points you have. It is much more … It is feeling at ease with the possible pauses, silences, sudden breeches and the inability to express one’s self at times ! To be comfortable and even savour the occasional mute episodes is an essential part of a good and fulfilling conversation. In those brief gaps, we feel the presence of the other, we become aware of his scent, his pulse and his heartbeat and thus we grow fonder.  In the absence of words, the essence rises to the surface …

“These people so scared of silence … These sound-oholics. These quiet-ophobics. “ As such speaks Chuck Palahniuk in his novel Lullaby.

This is why we ought to fall in love, not only with our eyes closed, but with all our senses put aside, for our senses do deceive us like Aristotle maintained. We should let our hearts take over our course of being in a relationship. This is what Theodore did … He stumbled upon Happiness in the voice of Samantha, an entirely alien essence to him, but gets him nonetheless. She fathoms his need to sleep on the whisper of a dear person, to wake up with the promise of beautiful morning words, to chat through aimless walks on the beach, to convey his worries without words … To simply be silent together …

Indeed, humans are incredibly fragile, they tend to shatter with the dread of solitude. However, simple words console them and the mere presence of another person makes them whole …

For the Night is Long and Full of Longings ~

We aspire .. In spite of us, we dream, we do crave for something, whether attainable or beyond our reach, we do thirst for that which makes us whole and mirthful …

Dreams make us beautifully yet painfully Human. It aches to dream for it is only with consistent toil that we touch the end of the line and feel that our hopes are under our exhausted yet firm grasp.

It is believed that the human beings greatest punishment is to labour the earth for eternity so as to pay for the First Man’s Original Sin. I believe that Man’s hardest labour is to dream, for they haunt as long as we breathe. We close our eyes at night to give our souls up to the realm of unsatisfied wishes. The real world darkens as our eyelashes embrace each other to wake up amidst a world of utter perfection and bliss.

We yearn and we dwell on our yearnings as we progress in the course of our existence. We daydream, we get lost in an alien dimension in the blatant light of day, in the presence of life itself .. We neglect what it offers to delve into what we willingly offer ourselves .. Is it an escape ? Is it the decision of a soul at once tired and scared ? No !  It is the free choice of so brave a spirit  … A spirit that fearlessly turned her back on Life .. What is the use to linger in the throes of an existence that we so fiercely despise ?  

We daydream to rejoice in the aloofness of a life of our own choosing. It is those little moments amid the natural flow of day that stop us only to make us go forward. It is those short-lived episodes that unveil a possible prospect of joy in the enigmatic future that fuel our fatigued beings and them to motion.

As the light of day perishes, we do not easily surrender our spirits to dreamy sleep. On the verge of sleep, the soul hungers and desires. On the brink of a long unconscious night, the soul endures a lifetime of longings. It is a whole era; a Pre-Sleeping Era. Before sleep, the human being relives the day in its totality and links it, to his own logic, to a distant moment itching in the memory. Before sleep, the wounded cry, the blessed pray to preserve their happy state, the humiliated plot their revenge and the anxious calculate ways to persist in this life.

Therapeutic it is to plunge into The Pre-Sleeping Era, for it holds the ever-evasive shadow of a promise; a promise that one day, we might become what we aspire to be. The human being becomes the narrator of his own story; he recalls a joyful instant and fervently imagines its sequence .. He smiles over a mere possibility, sighs at the mere thought of love and build hopes upon a word or a faint glimpse of happiness …

Freud believed that in dreams, we quench all what we crave for in the wake of night. I believe, however, that ere our daily dark slumber, we consciously weave stories of the might-have-been ..

And that is how ferociously we want what we want …

Nocturnal Ruminations over Life, Love and Fear ~

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           -  It is the emptiness of expectation ..

-          - How can something inexistent empties us so ?

-          - You sit still, with your heart hung on possibilities ..

-          - Day-dreaming; it is the logic of an unquenched heart

-           - It is a bitterly delightful way to self-destruction

-          - The unacknowledged love that palpitates in your veins becomes a subtle poison that    relaxes your being to the point of weariness.

-          - So, wanting something unattainable produces lethargy?

-          - It is despair, it consumes and exhausts your whole existence ..

-          - That is why you find a wounded spirit reduced to a corner…

-          - That is why lovers adore the piercing silence of the night … It echoes the aching    emptiness inside of them, days pass impervious to their sufferings, but the stillness of the  night consoles them …

-          - ‘Tis true then, lovers are forlorn ..

-          - And they will remain so as long as they don’t wrench what they long for with what makes  us amazingly human: Struggle

-         -  They are creatures of the night because Life despises them for recoiling from her !

-          - And if they do not wake up and toil, they will be forever exiled ...

                                    ألم يقل أبو القاسم الشابي                                           : " ألا انهض وسر في سبيل الحياة ...  فمن نام لم تنتظره الحيـــــــاة