meanderings

destabilising taboos

2009-01-22T14:56:00.002+01:00

I pinch him in the buttocks
he sticks out his tongue
I nod, bow, back out
smiling
winking
I offer him white
he´s dressed in black
we shake hands
I hold his gaze
oh, charming!
Anti-spitting, no littering
flushing of the toilets a must!
he fondles my breast
i try to kiss him - he resists
you must not! - he insists
we walk holding hands
Thank you, nice to meet you
Likewise...

Facing North

2009-01-22T14:52:00.002+01:00

Beside me, he sits
waiting, like me
We sit, waiting
For how long?
As long as it takes
For what? Nothing, Everything
A chance, a maybe
We both sit on the outside
looking in
At what?
Everything, nothing
the void sucks you in
churns you up
ushers you out
we continue to wait
...for something

How do you move on?

2009-01-17T22:00:00.002+01:00

...cómo podía un ser humano sobrevivir a esto? ser marido, padre, tío, amigo y, una hora después, en lo que se tarda en dar un paseo a la luz de la luna, no ser ya nada. Nadie. Un amasijo de dolor. Un nudo de remordimiento y amargura. Solo. Impotente. Tener remordimientos por estar vivo. No tener valor para enterrar a los suyos. Ni para matarse. Dar vueltas en redondo, darse con la cabeza contra las palabras, contra las paredes. Clavarse las uñas en las mejillas, arañarse la cara. Irse frente al mar y llorar. Deambular por la arena húmeda, aullar y escupir a la faz del cielo. correr, andar, reptar días y noches. Derrumbarse de cansancio. hundirse como un náufrago en un letargo apaciguador pero precario. Despertar sollozando porque los ojos color avellana de un niño de cabellos ensortijados perforan las tinieblas de la noche aprovechando un sueño pronto disipado... (Les cannibales, Mahi Binebine)

2009-01-13T13:36:00.001+01:00

Juan Goytisolo gives a commentary on the Gaza crisis in the El País newspaper:

http://www.elpais.com/articulo/opinion/Ver/imaginar/sentir/dolor/ajeno/elpepuopi/20090113elpepiopi_12/Tes

How many more must die?

2009-01-13T09:05:00.002+01:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=59zbDWaixjQ&feature=channel_page

This video is harrowing. Prepare yourself. How can the world stand by and allow this to happen once more? How many more must die before those in power demand a ceasefire? Why are innocent people being punished this way? Why has Israel intensified its attacks after 17 days of war. If the reports are true and the testimonies are correct, there have been violations of all kinds - war crimes, crimes against humanity, breach of the Geneva Convention and International law, use of prohibited weapons.. I no longer know what these all mean.. they´ve lost their meaning.. or is the meaning relative? Has Israel forgotten its recent past in the 20th century, when they were also victims?
We watch helplessly as the killing, massacre, genocide - call it what u like - continues and heightens. It´s already 17 days, there are already more than 900 dead, 900!!!! Israel is preventing aid and humanitarian personnel from attending to the injured and dead if we are to believe the sources.. what was the cause for bombing a home in which they gathered a family? How can we be so cruel to our fellow human beings?
We look on helplessly and ask - how many more must die? Meanwhile, the hypocrites we have as leaders continue to spew senseless propaganda and find a scapegoat in Hamas. The dead will soon reach 1,000 and we will stop reading the stories on Gaza. This is how it goes.

This is a comment I shared with a few close friends last night after watching a 16 year old survivor recount the loss of his entire family in a house. His tears and pain were too much, a small reflection of the suffering and damage done during war.
Hamas spokesmen made it clear that these attacks will not stop the launch of rockets.. is the problem Hamas? Israel and by extension the international community, do not want to negotiate with Hamas - they claim it will only embolden the terrorist, illegitimate group! Hence, the lack of consultation with this group by the UN Security Council. Hamas claims they were not alluded to. They do not reject a ceasefire but are willing to talk in order to stop the bombings.. so why is Israel intensifying its attacks - do they just want to flex their muscle and show the world their might and right?
How can we read in the reports that Hamas and Israel reject a ceasefire when NO ONE is consulting Hamas and the international community continues to support Israel´s attacks and condemn Hamas for its "unforgivable" actions, if we are to quote Sarkozy?? In this war, there are many sides.. regardless of our own opinions, regardless of our faith, nationality, etc. we cannot sit by and allow the numbers of Palestinians to grow. it´s now close to 900. If this isn´t a reflection of the sheer brutal force of these attacks which must stop, then what is?
We are all Palestinians...Todos somos palestinos - this was one of the shouts heard in the Madrid protest this weekend in support of Palestine.

Who knows what?

2009-01-09T21:57:00.002+01:00

Out of Blair´s mouth - knowing beforehand about the Israeli attack on Gaza is beside the point. of course, he denies knowledge of these attacks but also adds that it wasn´t hard to predict.
What´s the problem in arriving at a ceasefire? Well, Hamas, you idiots! Palestine must unite and THEY are pursuing a TWO state solution. Where will Hamas fit into these NEGOTIATIONS? Well how can you talk to a TERRORIST group who wants to eliminate the state of Israel? And here we go around again in circles.. Why the hell hasn´t there been a ceasefire? WHY?!! I ask myself.. Soon the death toll will mean absolutely nothing to us! We´ll see it rise, rise, rising and our rage will be slowly converted into indifference. Meanwhile, today, a special day for Muslims, Gazans defied attacks and came out in their numbers to pray, their faith stoic! Thousands across the world also showed their anger: Malaysia, Indonesia, Amman, where the majority of citizens are Palestinians, Turkey... and i´m certain this feeling of injustice has stirred many others to come out and show thier support for the weak and suffering.. How much longer? How long do we have to wait to get some decisive action from those manipulators in authority??

and why did we hold out hope that a UN Security Resolution would bring about a ceasefire? When past resolutions have been disdained and ignored?! 14 days of bombings with a weak response from Hamas in return. We see violations of the Geneva conventions, of International Law. Israel claims it has its own morality to uphold!How much longer, we ask? How many more will die and what will it all mean? How will this war be remembered? How will the world see Israel? nothing seems to make sense anymore, nothing seems to be real...

Where to place blame?

2009-01-08T22:33:00.002+01:00

Breathe, breathe... sitting in the warmth of my room, satisfied after a hot meal...
I try to make sense of what´s going on in this WAR.. WAR? It´s a DEFENSIVE attack by Israel to protect its citizens from TERRORISM. Scenes of the 2000? Intifada come to mind - stones, stones against Merkava (God´s Chariot) tanks, one of the most developped in the world.
I´ve just listened to a comment by Dennis Kucinich on the arms export control act and the specific prohibitions of the use of these export weapons.. i hear the same arguments from both sides - who is to blame, disproportionate use of force, occupying power, right to defend its territory, Hamas willingly exposing the Gazans to fire and attacks by fabricating and using their rockets in heavily populated areas.. who is to blame, who is the guilty one, who are the victims... while the death toll has risen to about 700! Figures, oh, there are many... 14 dead from Hamas attacks in 7 years, thousands of Palestinians from Israeli attacks.. how many more must die before all this senseless killing must stop?
Who broke the ceasefire? I heard it was Israel when they bombed tunnels that were supposedly being dug into Israeli territory on November 4th. We heard it was Hamas who refused to renew the ceasefire after it expired...
and where does International Law come into play in all this? What about the many resolutions passed condemning Israeli actions... Will Israel be accounted for its actions?

Ehud Barack - what´s he got to win in the war on Gaza

2009-01-07T21:42:00.003+01:00

I cite from the Economist article entitled "Pummelling the Palestinians" which looks at how this war in Gaza can perhaps drastically configure the election outcome in February.
Some interesting data:
in the past year, it notes, "before the latest onslaught, 420-plus Gazans had been killed in Israeli raids, at least a fifth civilian, according to B´Tselem, an Israeli human-rights lobby."
it goes on to add that in the first four days of "Operation Cast Lead", four Israelis were killed by Palestinian rockets, bringing the total number of Israeli civilian deaths at the hands of Hamas in 2008 to five.
Another piece of info I found revealing: more than half of Gazans (1,5 million) are refugees or their descendants.
The article also draws a parallel to the attack on Hizbullah in Lebanon in the summer of 2006. Did their attack weaken Hizbullah? I guess Israel has learned its lesson in this month long war and has therefore prevented international journalists into the Strip?
Which party stands to gain most from the attacks in Gaza? The article notes that if Hamas does stop firing rockets, Mr Barak´s standing could rise although he and his Labour Party are "trailing well behind the foreign minister Tzipi Livni and her Kadima party".. this is how the article ends: "If Hamas´ rockets are silenced, albeit for a while, Israel´s voters may warm to those harsh qualities (meaning Barak´s campaign of declaring himself "not nice, not cuddly, not trendy").
Once more, this brings to mind the idea that war is politics by other means.
(The Economist, Jan 3rd, 2009)

Caín y Abel

2009-01-07T19:29:00.002+01:00

A dead Israeli soldier, named Israel, recounts how he lost his life in the Lebanon War, taken from the novel "En las puertas de Tánger" by Mois Benarroch. They´ve just killed an Arab soldier who couldn´t come out from the house and surrender, because he was trapped: "Miré su cuerpo deshecho y tenía la misma altura que yo, el mismo pelo, y tal vez hasta una cara parecida. y en ese momento supe, supe que yo también iba a morir, me di cuenta de que la guerra no tenía sentido, no sé cuántos de nosotros sentimos lo mismo"..
The day he died - in the Tyr attack, he notes: "ese día sentí que ese soldado encerrado en esa casa, ese soldado llorando por su vida y por su muerte, ese soldado soy yo, pensé que no podemos ser enemigos y que la única razón por la que nos matamos es a causa de dirigentes que nos han manipulado, pero en ese momento, el soldado que habíamos matado, ese soldado era mi hermano, era mi hermano, él era Abel y nosotros Caín, éramos hermanos, humanos, miembros del mismo pueblo que es la humanidad..."

Benevolent, Moral Israel

2009-01-07T11:03:00.002+01:00

The world looking on at this horror should feel relieved at Israel´s benevolence - three hours of respite starting from today to allow aid to pass through to the people of Gaza!! This, added to their insistence that compared to other countries defending their borders, they´ve reduced civilian deaths and are specifically targetting Hamas!! Nevermind the latest figures from their 11 day offensive - 650 dead and about 3,000! wounded. Yesterday alone - January 6th, 80 people died. They have targetted people in UN schools - were there rockets there?
Where are the leaders, the Security Council, the Arab world - Egypt, Jordan, Syria, Saudi Arabia?? Turkish PM has done well to condemn the Israeli attacks as crimes against humanity! How many more will die before a ceasefire is declared? Israel says it wants to weaken Hamas and so, prevent the firing of more rockets. With the blockade of more than 18 months, even during the time of a truce, and the growing number of losses, will Palestinians resign themselves to this injustice?

2009-01-07T00:27:00.004+01:00

Ante la ocultación de Washington, la insuficiencia de la UE y la forzada parsimonia del Consejo de Seguridad, más la patética carencia de voluntad de acción internacional del mundo árabe, sólo Israel puede parar a Israel, ante el espanto de la opinión pública mundial; y sólo Hamás puede convencerse de que su acción es suicida, además de criminal. El mundo mira y se estremece, los actores matan y, sobre todo, en la parte palestina, mueren. (Editorial: Morir en Gaza, El País, 06-01-09)

That thing with feathers

2009-01-06T21:17:00.002+01:00

Hope is the thing with feathers, Emily Dickinson had wrote. But that thing has been plucked alive, its wings mutilated but it still breathes, a heavy, heaving breath.
it´s eyes pour out blood which flows and mixes with the sorrow.
Sorrow is everywhere. Cries, shouts, hands raised to the sky
That thing with feathers is weeping because its wings have been cut.
it´s imprisonned and spins round in circles, muddied, covered in dust, oozing pain and hate
That thing with feathers will fly again
it will soar through the sky
it will trod through the tunnels
it will be free

Displacing reality

2009-01-05T23:41:00.003+01:00

So Sarkozy is in the Middle East with the aim of bringing this war to an end. What does he do? He criticises Hamas for its unforgiving, irresponsable actions!! Am I to take this guy seriously? Why the hell didn´t he openly condemn the disproportionate use of force by the mighty Israel with the fourth largest military industrial complex in the world? Who has suffered more than 500 victims to date? Oh! I forgot, what did the Gazans expect after firing rockets and hiding them in their homes, mosques, universities? Livni and others are squarely saying that Gaza is getting what it deserves for threatening the security of Israel. Like US, England and other big nations, they will not tolerate attacks to the security of its people. of course, compared with these nations, they have a relatively clean slate because comparatively, they´ve reduced the number of civilian casualities. so the world should be proud of them.
Tzipi Livni says no international observers will be allowed into Gaza after the offensive. Of course, you shoot at those aid workers trying to bring food and aid into Gaza, you block off and imprison its people. of course she sees no reason for the presence of international observers..
And yes, i now see that the honourable Bush has also defended Israel´s actions - first you cripple the Gazans and then u feed them a little - those poor sufferers, more than 80% living below the poverty line.
Well once more, the reality of things is hard to swallow. Israel is the innocent victim, legitimately protecting itself against barbaric terrorists. the dead, wounded, suffering, starving, bleeding on the other side are just inevitable victims of Hamas..
War : politics by other means, i read in the El Pais today.

Gaza is bleeding

2009-01-05T14:33:00.002+01:00

The Israelis say they are doing what any nation state will do - protect itself from attacks. they were provoked, Hamas refused to renew the truce, rockets keep destroying the peace.. never mind they are home-made, flimsy and hardly do any harm. But no, I can´t defend or justify these attacks. Wait, but i just read from Gwyn Dyer that of course, the targets of these rockets were once the homes of the Palestinians - before the existence of Israel in 1948. They can´t go back there, Israel refuses to let in refugees. It´s imposed a blockade on Gaza - one of the reasons Hamas justifies it´s attacks - both sides want protection, both sides want to survive but one side has more might and is showing it.. and what about the neighbours: Jordan, Egypt, Lebanon, Syria? Oh right, they cancelled their end of the year parties to show solidarity with the dead, wounded, suffering, bleeding Gazans.

What does Israel hope to achieve? "Create a new reality" : of course, one with more hatred, vengeance, blood, wounds and scars that will be remembered for generations. How is it achieving this new reality? : Rooting out terror, house to house, killing entire families, wounding so many children who already have hate and vengeance in their eyes, hearts, limbs. Root out terrorism.. only to see it mutate into another form, even more resilient and resistant.

For how long? Israelis and Palestinians might want to know.. or maybe they´ve grown used to this reality whihc is a non-reality, their children have grown up learning that the other is the enemy. that´s why many flock back to Gaza when the border is opened up. it doesn´t matter that there´s a war going on, no. they want to be with their families, close to them.
Will Israel life its blockade on Gaza? Will Hamas stiffle its wounded pride and concede to some kind of agreement?
How long will Israel continue its offensive? Are the people in the South safer from rocket attacks now? Are they safer from suicide bombers? Gaza continues to receive drops of aid, medicine, food. it´s breathing still, wounded, demoralised but relentless...

English pleese

2008-11-13T17:45:00.002+01:00

Digress trangress
The English to the shaky scared Brownie:
Tell me the difference -
Have you eaten? or Did you eat?

ooaahdkhfhfk hguytbvrgycsjxtvhabez...
gobble gobled, gobbly

Modal verbs: polite requests
May I rape the English language
until it bleeds and gives birth
to gibberage?

Native or non-native
Stay on the political correctness side
of the fence
no trespassing.
Sir: infinitives or gerunds?

Phrasal verbs are flowery
they smell of lavender
and - a conjunction-
smell like - preposition - mud:

STICK TO THE PRESENT SIMPLE.
puerile jouvenance
cleanse me of this parasite
let me give birth
my mother has disowned-
oops, disowns me
Can you pleese explain me?

Flirting with Death

2008-03-06T00:37:00.002+01:00

He looked menacingly sexy, appealing. His stare was taunting, defying me to approach it. I took the challenge, he was magnetic.

We introduced ourselves, he was evasive, mysterious, distracted.

I was perturbed, disturbed and intrigued by this strange character who called himself Death.

You mean, death?, I asked.

He ignored me.

What are you, I stummered.

He shrugged.

I was impatient

Are you going to tell me, or not?

No response

His demeanour was handsome, I was in his coil

Helplessly, hopelessly

But did he know?

I prodded some more,

So…what do you do when you’re outside the bar?, I ventured

I take lives, I told you already, inside and outside.

Are you ready?, he wanted to know.

I wasn’t moved.

I began to flirt voluptuously with this character.

Wow, you really are quite an attractive guy, you must have a lot of pretendientes

He smiled, bewitchingly, distant.

I was becoming more impatient but also resigned

Well it seems you’re not the talkative type

Look, I got the wrong impression, I thought you were flirting with me

I could see he was responding to my tactic

He was astutely cunning

I knew it.

Well, good luck then, good bye

It´s me who should be wishing you this

You should be saying your goodbyes

I was angry.

Look, I said, I think you are creepy and silly, I’ve had enough tonight.

Good bye.

He swept me off my feet.

Flirting with Death, Part II

If i were to tell you te quiero

It´s possible I might scare you

If I were to tell you te amo

Je t´aime, I love you

It´s possible you feel the same

Te siento

I feel you

I want you a mi lado

At the same time, your distance

Makes you more present a mi lado

Your words,

each character,

Each letter

brings an explosive emotion

each time, every time.

Without fail.

What is this love that’s making me so uneasy?

Making me so restless for your body

Is it madness?

Some say its hypersensitivity

I wake up on mornings with a smile on my lips

Thinking you are by my side

I pass my legs, oh so cold

up your body, oh so slowly.

You shiver with this madness

Of pleasure

you roll over

What´s this folie,

That´s invading me

Your humour pervading me

You feel me when i´m sad

I feel you when your´e mad.

We long to be together

We be long together

Being apart.

de-sensitised

2008-03-05T08:09:00.002+01:00

In Baghdad, there is no more room to bury the dead. parks, playgrounds and football fields are converted into cemeteries that are fast being filled up. Most of the people in one park-turned cemetery in Adhamiya of over 5,000 graves are said to be between 20 to 30 years, their lives now beginning to blossom, violently ended.
life has become cheap, more and more these numbers don´t move us, they are just numbers of far away people who mean nothing to us.. and so, in one form or another, in one war or another, the numbers continue to rise.. while we continue our daily comfortable lives.

Gaza is bleeding

2008-03-04T00:14:00.002+01:00

Four days of destruction, mourning, terror. the lastest Israeli incursion has killed over 100 civilians in Gaza. They say it´s to stop the home-made rockets that according to a report from Al Jazeera hace killed all but 12 Israelis (fired from Gaza) since 2001. Since 2001!!!! On the other hand, since the Israeli withdrawal in 2005, the same report informs that more than 800 have been killed in Gaza! Another scandalous comparison that doesn´t seem to perturb anyone anymore.

The puny homemade rockets and stones against the tanks and other precision weaponry doesn´t seem to be enough to draw us out of our somnolence. Gaza bleeds and the blood mixes with the tears and the rubble that sprout again to retaliate with faith and sounds of victory against the Israelis.

Why is it that under International Law, Israel remains responsible for Gaza? Gaza has six crossing points and all but Rafah are controlled by Israel.
Why hasn´t Israel dismantled a single military checkpoint in the West Bank out of the 627 that exists? What about their "legal" settlements- about 137 - in the West Bank?
The killings over the last few days which started on wednesday have been described as massacre, genocide, holocaust. One unbiased Israeli reporter who has access to images not shown or divulged within Israel, warns that using these terms is doing a grave injustice to the truth. He adds that if 10, 000 Palestinians are killed, what term will then be used?

All of these citations come from the Al Jazeera report Inside Story- Attack on Gaza (2 march, 2008).

Rehearsing

2007-12-15T00:25:00.000+01:00

One day during a rehearsal
for a play I was participating in
the guard erupted in the middle of a scene
which had set off the smoke signals
He said nobody should move
he thought there was some kind of amenaza.
When it was my turn to appear
the director said,
Y ahora la terrorista musulmana
I wanted to scream Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar,
but instead I said, "Let´s start with our class on Europe".

2007-12-15T00:22:00.000+01:00

My friend wanted to know if I was the only hijabee
in the gym
in the gym, the instructor wanted to know
why I didn´t show my hair
I told her it had to do with how we understood sexuality
She made me do twenty more sit-ups
I was not convinced.

Damages

2007-12-15T00:20:00.000+01:00

My friend told me he was victimised in a
"friendly way" during his trip to India.
the families he met all wanted to take pictures
with him when he said he was European.
he was perplexed.
they didn´t even know me, he added.
He termed it "friendly attacks"
I preferred collateral damage.

Prohibiciones y Transgresiones

2007-12-14T19:19:00.000+01:00

Alcohol was prohibited for them
no sabes lo que pierdes
no sabes lo que pierdes
no sabes lo que pierdes
el se reventó de jamón
ella se hartó de alcohol
they wanted to know
what they were missing.

la mujer franquista

2007-12-14T19:17:00.000+01:00

He told me his landlady was a franquista
who opposed the removal
of Franco´s signos
that still haunted Spain
she said that if they removed his busts
they should also get rid of Seguridad Social
which Franco also introduced.

Encrucijada

2007-12-14T19:08:00.000+01:00

Feliz Navidad, said the jolly Christians
Feliz Hanuka, responded the jewish couple
A fight broke off
Feliz Hanuka, said the Christian, was when the jews killed Christ
the muslim intervened
he didn´t said Mabrouk Eid,
he tried to break up the fight
the Jew was grateful, yet perplexed
Un joven musulmán que se mete y ayuda a un judío en Hanuka.
esto es un milagro,
the papers reported him saying.
The muslim insisted it was nothing,
he was doing his duty as a human being,
that was how his parents had raised him,
but he was being dubbed a hero
for it seemed this act really was a miracle
in HanukaEidNavidad.

prolonged stay

2007-12-14T19:03:00.000+01:00

Whenever she met a Spaniard
after asking how long she was in spain
he/she would usually ask if she intended to stay.
once a viejo verde in the metro told her
he happily welcomed all the
foreign women to Spain
but the men, he thought,
should stay out.
he didn´t want them there.

Atentado in Algiers

2007-12-14T18:48:00.000+01:00

She was in the never-ending cola
waiting in the cold
to get her autorización de regreso
she fast became the beacon and help desk
for those women who thought
she was one of them-
hijabbed, therefore muslim and mora
each time she politely responded
in her español con acento
that she didn´t speak nor understand
al arabiya
the girl next to her smiled
she was simpática.
she told the girl she was going to visit Algeria
the girl suddenly pointed to the floor
the headlines of one of those newspapers
they hand out in the metro- ADN-
highlighted the terrorist attack in Algiers.
there were two atentados
the oficina de la ONU was destroyed.
alot of muertos,
hundreds injured
the petite indígena,
vendedora
unknowingly trampled on the page
she was selling chiclé, chocolate, cigarrillos
The girl in the line had a bizarre expression on her face
she turned to me and said,
September 11, March 11,
now December 11.
Why? She wanted to know.
She seeemed to be waiting for an answer

Making sense of nonesense

2007-12-02T00:42:00.000+01:00

Flat-hunting-
coloured and Muslim:
sticky combination
with a foreign accent
she presented herself for an interview
the landlady retorted-
"Pensé que eras normal"
she replied- me too!

......

she was asked how come she was so "morena"
she replied, how come you´re so "blanca"?

..............

the child looked at her fascinated
he turned to his mother and said-
mamá, that woman "está pintada de barro"
i want a mask like that for Halloween
the mother half-smiled.

.....

Ramadan nights
she was having "iftar" in
a
Moroccan circle.
they wanted to know if she had
her "papeles".

.....

She found a job
was happy to share her elation
she said proudly- "tengo trabajo"
her friend replied, "¿como doméstica?"

......

Her "jefa" told her she was
suspicious of "moros";
they raped and pillaged Spain
under Franco
"Tengo verguenza de los marroquíes", she said.
that´s why she was patiently waiting for her
"nacionalidad española"

........

She didn´t understand why i didn´t
eat
"pincho moruno"
i didn´t eat "cerdo", that´s all.
she couldn´t understand
the customs of "esa gente", she told her neigbour.
"they want to be españoles,
but they didn´t like jamón ibérico".

.......

She politely said she didn´t drink alcohol
"not even a bit of wine?", she was asked
No, she repeated, she didn´t drink alcohol
the turrón contained alcohol
so they decided not to tell her.

Tea in Lavapies

2007-12-01T20:22:00.000+01:00

She was dining at an Indian restaurant serviced by Bangladeshis. She insisted on having Pakistani tea.. the waiter didn´t understand. Was she Paquistaní? No, she was of Indian origin, raised in the Caribbean Isles, whose ancestors were Indians. She smiled. The waiter still didn´t understand but quickly brought her the chai spice milk tea she requested.

old jottings

2007-11-25T23:47:00.000+01:00

Some pieces i discovered in an old scrapbook by an immigrant woman who lived in spain around the year 2008. These pieces seem very outdated. To think how far we have come, but to think so many things still remain the same...

She entered the Corte Inglés
she felt misplaced
what could she buy?
With her mere
20 euros?
she looked the attendant
in the eye
shy, ashamed,
uncomfortable
she wanted a cream to remove
the blemishes
left on her face
one that wasn´t too expensive,
she quickly added.
she knew it…
it was better to live with the blemishes
these scars
that reminded her
of her
situación como extranjera,
that she was an immigrant.

What does it mean to be discoloured?
I mean- NOT WHITE
It´s having looks of empathy thrown your way
It is those looks of suspicion
that follow your footsteps like
a
haunting
shadow
it
is
that
silence
of the imcomprehensible.
A strangeness
You feel like a
pieza mal situada
stuck
with
room
to manoeuvre
You breathe
but the air seems to be the accomplice
of this white world
you contemplate
suicide
but you feel it´s a white solution
you listen to music
they say it seems to help the brain
you feel brainwashed
you try to wash the brain
now you are empty,
clean
drained
and
all
alone
just where you had started.

She was polka dot
Yes
Her face was spotted black and white
Like all her life.
But only polka dot
Was no longer fashionable.

They were curious about her
A hijabbed woman
Attending
Documentaries detailing the abuses against homosexuals
And denouncing their discrimination.
They wanted to know who she was
Wasn´t it contradictory to be
Visibly Muslim and liberal?
It was like the Opus Dei
claiming they are homosexuals, they told her.
It just did not fit.
Would she force her children to
Wear the hijab?,
they wanted to know.
How come she was so similar to them?

_____________________
She was already travelling
So she replied calmly,
You know..
Islam has a lot of matices
…too many nuances..

She walked into the expositionEntitledOcultos
Hidden
She was exposed,
In fact, she was covered
There were photographs of
Culos
from different cultures,
angles and
perspectives
it was an exposition of bottoms
the comisaria came up to her
bemusedandasked
Dime, ¿ te gusta la exposición?
Pues, muy interesante, she replied.
Then she was startled-
¿Te gusta nuestra cultura?
Do you like our culture?
So she said, after some thought,
Me gusta la cultura universal,
Universal culture appeals to me..

She was brown-skinned
Pimply faced
She wore a hijab
She was misunderstood
She wore it half-way
Revealing yet concealing
She was ridiculed
She felt invisible
Unattractive
Like a wall painting one looked at with indifference
Sometimes with scorn or discomfort
for there were spots of dirt, filth
it was discoloured.
She would look at all the white faces looking at her
Each one different
Each one beautiful
So beautiful, she thought
She could admire
Its immaculate impeccable perfection
Without blinking…
The black-brown-yellow skins
were undesirable.
they were tarnished
with poverty and suffering
Eyes not blue nor green
But black, that had seen too much
Couldn’t
StopBlinkingBlinkingBlinking

If only she could mask her identity
Uncover her true personality
But what would that be?
Just an imitation
Of
Westernity?

She was Bin Laden

She was a whore

She was rebel

She was oppressed

She was liberated.

She was supposed to be better that the rest.

She was a terrorist

A mora

Marroquí

She was a nadie

She was an actress.

She was desirable

And invisible

She was confused…

But who was she?

She was swimming in white
but she realised she couldn´t swim
so she started to sink
when her body
floated to the surface
it was black.

She was Black
Woman
Muslim
the crying Palestian mother
clutching the cold body
of her dead.
she was covered in the burqa
thanking the Americans for freedom
she was Moroccan immigrant
couldn´t read
didn´t know Spanish.
She was the Indian
from Mere Hindustan
she was the Somalian
who had suffered
mutilation
she was the terrorist
who despised the West
she was the victim and verdugo
of September 2001
march 2004
april 2002
víctima y verdugo
Víctima y verdugo
Víctima y verdugo
She was Black
Muslim
Woman.

Encounters/ Anécdotas

2007-11-22T01:34:00.000+01:00

These pieces were inspired by my friend and author Margie Kanter, whose style I thought very fitting to express these thoughts that passed through my mind as i read her works...
So here goes...

She was comfortable with her abrigo puesto
in the heated car,
with her coat on inside the car
¿No estás incómoda así?, she was asked.
"No, I´m fine. I´m used to always keeping my coat on, she lied.
In Madrid, you see alot of people with their
coats on in the stuffy metro, bus and so on.
I don´t think it´s that bizarre"... she replied.
qué barbaridad, she read on her companion´s face
who continued driving with an embarrassed look.

....

DESENCUENTROS

She stopped to get directions
Perdona, she said in her slow foreign spanish accent.
¿Sabes dónde está el Ateneo?
She was still confused so she asked another.
No response
then another...
She stopped a balding spanish-looking guy
and decided to try her luck once more
Perdona... she began
No, no, he replied, no tengo nada para ti.
I have nothing for you
He thought she was a mendiga,
a beggar....

BEEP BEEP BEEP

She walked through the entrance
looked the guard in the eye
she already began to feel guilty.
she was torpe, awkward,
walking around, drawing suspicion.
¿Te puedo ayudar? she was asked
she politely responded she was just browsing
She wanted to try on
those plaided pants
but instead,
she turned around and left.

NATURAL SELECTION
She held on to her fries and tightly sealed coke
in one hand
and her bus ticket in the other
It was a cold Madrid evening.
the conductor´s mood matched the ambiente
No puedes entrar con esto, joder!
She wasn´t allowed to enter, she was told.
Luego tiráis todo aquí mismo.
She felt like a child
who was being scolded.
she wanted to reply
but nothing came out of her mouth
...
so she waited for the other bus
Through the window, she saw a Spanish lady sipping coke.

Errancias madrugales

2007-11-06T00:46:00.000+01:00

this blog was intended to be a verbal purging of sorts. So here´s to this "finalidad".

I:

I´m listening to Idir, the Algerian berber, "cantante de rai". I was first introduced to his music from the film "Dimanche Incha Allah" and i immediately fell in love with both the film and the sound track. It was one of those movies where the strenght and perseverance of the Arab woman in addition to the beastly mother in law and the violent, insensitive husband, submissive to only his mother were once again the pieces to this scenario set in France during the law of family regroupment passed by Chirac. anyway, back to Idir. the cd is entitled "Idir, deux rives un reve" and almost all the songs are in bereber. When i recently acquired them, my favourite was in fact "Identités", a compilation of a variety of his songs remixed. They are just lovely. there are two which i really like, one is with Manu Chao and is titled "A Tulawin" and another is a spanish flamenco mix with the french gypsy Titi Robyn and the spanish Paco el Lobo entitled "Fable". Well, what is it that attracts me so much to this music? Well, it was the sound of this flute initially which seemed to draw you hypnotically to the sounds. But then i also began to be drawn by Idir´s cool, sensual, tranquil voice which really swept me away...

II

-Chile, you must learn to talk proper english, with the accent like dem real british people..
-But mammy, dat does sound so ugly, i like meh accent, people say ah does talk nice
-gyul, yuh crazy ah wat?? only poor coolie people does talk like you. why yuh think ah send yuh to school and sacrifice so much for? Ah want yuh to make meh proud.
-ok, mummy, ah go try but it does be real hard, yuh know. Besides, when ah talk with accent, everybody does laugh at meh...
-doh study dem, one day, it go be you who go laugh, you just wait an see. You is the one dat go mek meh proud. doh forget...

Some people tell me ah lucky to talk english. thank God, the british colonise we. Because now, everybody want to learn english and we already know it. It doh matter if ah does talk broken or if meh grammar real bad, but i cud manage and i cud read dem texts of British culture dey want to push dong we throat in school. It real funny the history dey does teach we in school. it kinda amnesiac so when yuh reach the age of twenty, yuh doh even know nothing about the Black Revolution in 1970 but yuh know about the First and Second World Wars. We doh know nothing about we neighbours, or about we own geography, but we know all dem lyrics they does pong we in de radio and all dem brands and styles that come out in the States. We does feel proud to wear dem T Shirts with the American flag or the Statue of Liberty. We does hide we face to make de line infront of Marley Street to get we visa. We ent mind spending the night in the street to make sure we get in. but when we come off the plane, just back from the Big Apple, we feel like a shilling to sport we imitation brands and we new accent.. I just came back from America.. you cud hear dem say...

III

That´s when i knew that fucking english was a curse. Ha!!! I thought by speaking the language of the civilised, I too was part of them, even though my accent was different. It didn´t matter if i had citizenship. My colour was my measuring stick. the browner I was, the further I was differentiated from them. I could not be like them, no. Even if i spoke better than half of them. I wasn´t to watch them in their eyes, i was to follow all their orders. I had become their slave after my ancestors were emancipated.

A fortuitous encounter

2007-11-02T15:39:00.000+01:00

When she first met her in that hostel room with the two other unfriendly Argentine jews, she immediately knew they were going to be friends. She liked her french accent, her openness, her joviality, her deep sad eyes. In a matter of a few hours, she already felt she could write part of her biography.. they had done nothing but share stories although she did more listening than talking. She was always protective and shy and insecure about her personal life. Her secrets and fears were kept very hidden, tightly tucked away from preying eyes. So she preferred to listen.
I came to Europe for love. Or maybe i wanted to escape from my life, from all the nightmares, from a reality i could no longer bear.. when i met this African guy online and we immediately clicked, i knew he would be my ticket, literally, to start a new life. Yet, being the sceptical, responsable person that I am, i wanted to ensure i was not making a mistake- So i held out, i waited, i got to know him better.. his promises reassured me, his kindness were my pillow at nights and this life which awaited me in Brujas was my comfort in days of despair when i fought with all my savings to recover the child i had given birth to...
Sex for me was initially sacred, only to be done, not enjoyed, within the confines of marriage. i remember after my first encounter, i forced myself to deny and obliterate it, convincing myself that i was still a virgin, virgin, virgin... I was. After many encounters, my former beliefs were shed slowly but yet, that tinge of guilt was always with me.. as the years went by, sex almost became my weapon.. my way out from one situation after another.. i no longer enjoyed it, it was another routine to be finsihed to get to my ends.. sometimes it was painful, other times, it was boring, yet other times, it was embarrassing. There were moments when i felt abused, raped, trashed.. but i put it all behind me. I fought to keep my sanity afloat. No doubt my spirituality and God nourished and protected me.
Well, as you imagine, i came to Europe and the idea of the freedom, the chances to practice my music filled me with an unknown sensuality. This was all ephemeral however, as you would shortly discover.. the lies, the deceit, the facades all surfaced and the impact was too much for me to bear. I slept with cockroaches, the false, faint smile was like an implant gone bad on my face i no longer recognised. Each day, he would display me to friends who came in abundance. i felt complimented but also disgusted. i was in pain literally. i wanted out. That´s why i ran away once more, leaving everything i came with all behind.
I knew it was going to be difficult. I had 80€ with me and i needed a job desperately. the only clothes i now owned were the ones on my back. I slept with willing men for information and promises of help, jobs, anything to advance.. i was hopeful. Europe was the land of opportunities. The day i met you was like a Godsent. i was so thrilled. Your kindness, your willingness to listen without judging really touched me.I opened up to you without knowing you. it was theraphy- but i knew you would leave me behind, just like my parents, just like m y daughter, just like my lovers. When you left, the emptiness threatened to strangle me.. i was choking for those comforting eyes, that secure presence... my luck seemed to decline rapidly and i was forced to spend one night after another in the cold benches of Amsterdam. I kept thinking of you and those big, beautiful, comforting eyes, but those too soon disappeared. That´s when i called Brujas and decided to live with the cockroaches a while more....

conquering the lie

2007-09-16T00:55:00.000+02:00

it just came back to me. it´s so strange, i´ve been trying to dig up this memory for a while now but couldn´t put my finger on it.. under what circumstances exactly did i experience that dizziness, that sinking feeling that made me want to bury myself in the earth, become invisible? Then it happened. it was that day, just like this one, when truth was confronted with lie, me the barrier, the receptor between the two. I had taken the money for vegetables sold, spent it in T-shirts that i later re-sold at a reduced price because i needed to maintain that popularity, this new attention that came with me and factory T-shirts. In other words, the money i was supposed to give to my parents went into this new doomed enterprise. i thought i had covered all my steps, i had even erased the name under "debts" to as not to arouse suspicion. but the cleverness of a mother was not to be tested especially when it came to making ends meet and feeding six mouths with one unstable income.
so my mother confronted the debtor who very surprised, noted that the payment was already made to....me! my astonished mother called me in the presence of the supposed debtor to prove what lying, thieving neighbours we had, she said. that´s why vegetables should not be sold to them because they were too cheap and "scrunting" she would add. Of course i denied everythng, much to the bewilderment of the debtor and that was when this gloom came over me, when things started to become blurry, when i started to wallow and sway, when i could no longer hear my voice or what i was saying... when i thought the world was plotting against me...
Yes, that was the first time i had experienced such intense emotions triggered by a lie... the second time, though, would be worse, since i really fainted. Again, the lie was uncovered, again, i began to defend myself helplessly, knowing my arguments were disappearing in the air before it reached its receptor.. the words started to taunt me, my thoughts began to play games in my head... all the while, i´m trying to follow logically a conversation about the room for rent.... the next thing i know.. i was on the floor, semi conscious, unable to immediately put all the pieces together.. that was the second time that the lie was defeated.

just my imagination

2007-09-02T04:28:00.001+02:00

It was all so very simple. She didn´t need poetry, she only needed his love and his caress. Once upon a time, she met a boy with black-rimmed glasses and black curly hair. He looked like a jew. A month later, by coincidence, they began to talk and she liked what she heard. From whom she heard it. And from then on began her imaginary romance. Her imagination blossomed by leaps and bounds. there were moments of ambiguity, moments of intense passion, moments of despair and depression. And they all seemed to replenish with his mere presence. they started spending more time together, she started revealing frivolously more and more of herself. She knew he wanted her. She also wanted to melt her body in his, combine their mouths. She wanted to be the words of his poetry, the image in his gaze, the haunting presence in her absence.
So she told him how much she had grown to love and desire him in eight long, short months. Long enough to measure her love, short to satiate her thoughts. She wasn´t sure when her love would wear out, but it didn´t matter. He wasn´t sure from where his next penny would emerge but the anxiety and anguish melted in her eyes. Those eyes, two black beads that perforated his heart and made him shiver helplessly. That was her effect on him. Cold shivers just like the morning breeze that was her name. She was charm, quiet tranquility in his life of unstable turbulence. But she would appear and disappear, love and be indifferent, he would respond and be silent.
She decided she wanted to hold him in bed like a child, hold him to her breasts and feel his shivers that would cause her to erupt in shrill laughs. she wanted to feel his slim body over her, his hands moving over in eloquent strokes, knowing and anticipating mastery for their love, momentary, was also eternal.

revisiting 1984

2007-08-20T21:24:00.000+02:00

Well it is often said that reality surpasses the imagination. in so many instances, this has been proven true. Once more, we are provided with the sterling example of Russia´s Kremlin who has now undertaken to put into effect what George Orwell described to us in the magnificent, if not scary novel 1984. Putin apparently doesnt agree with how the Communist Soviet Union is represented in the history books so he has sought to rewrite history and how we remember Stalin among other things as well.. it seems that Orwell´s language of Newspeak is also materialising as the Kremlin describes the Second World War for example as the Gran Guerra Patriótica!! it´s scary the way the past can be mutable and distorted especially with the technology now available. As Orwell rightly predicted, more and more we are brainwashed by "Big Brother" leaders who would go to any lenghts to keep the proles in their place. the only thing that remains it seems is the appearance of telescreens in our houses vigilating our every move.. and later, who knows, even controlling and intruding in our thoughts!!
Have a read of the article yourself!

The Mother

2007-08-14T17:04:00.000+02:00

I still remember her image. she had long black hair, was a bit overweight after six pregnancies, had lost almost all her teeth, was very wrinkled and was now past sixty. Her eyes, however, still matched her vivacity and sparkled cantakerously... she was a unique woman, no doubt. Was it that all mothers were so abnegating, loving, giving?
She got married at the age of 28. That was old then. She remembered seeing her husband in the train in her school days. He was known for his violent tendencies and later she would tell us that many a times in a fit of anger, he would scream "I will eat you raw!". She often seemed to repent the years she spent with him, this man who loved and illtreated her the same time. She received many a blows from him and would find herself in her mothers house many weekends after lenghtened fights. The worse, she would add, was the humilliation she felt, for she lived with her inlaws and their wives or husbands as well. they all sniggered behind her back and looked for any opportunity to humilliate her even more. She was the only one educated amongst them and would often add that these "stupid arse people" felt they were better than her... she would lament all her lost potential.. for she was a talented, determined woman. In her youthful days, some would have found her quite beautiful as well.
Her sisters had all migrated abroad. she on the other hand, had to stop working because her husband didnt approve of it.. in fact, even if she left the house, she would be given the third degree. that was why, she said, that when she left home, sometimes she never felt like returning.. she would lie that it was her children that always brought her back.. Sometimes i would sneak looks at the two of them together. There was love, for sure. She was an affectionate woman with charm and tenderness. He, a bit rough and uncouth, also had a lot of sex appeal. By his heavy breathing when he ate, i could tell he was passionate in bed. At sixty something, he still had a sleak figure which was the envy of many men his age. Some would also commend him on his dark, smooth, firm skin..
Of all her six children, none managed to make her proud. This was a constant source of distress and lamentations for her. She had tried so hard... sacrificed so much, she was educated, she raised her children well.. she would sigh.. but alas! there were too many missed opportunities. She should have married off her first son when he was twenty, she knew.. there were good offers then. Now, at thirty five, he was wasting away, still single, with a bleak future. He spent most nites looking at pornography videos and masturbating in the little room that served as the resting place for all. it was a pity, she would repeat, i don´t know how he get so, she would add.. he would also molest her other daughters, she knew that, but she never confronted him with it..
That´s why one of them left, or at least that´s what she had said. She remembers seeing the movie "The Altar Boys". The young girl let her brother molest her and even confessed that she enjoyed it and begged for more. Was that how her daughters felt as well? One of them would show her all the cracks in the wooden partitions which the brother had undoubtedly made to see them undressing. Once, one of the smaller ones caught him and screamed. She said she would often have nightmares. This was one of them she confessed to me:
He would often appear menacing, many times totally naked. there was this one time when he emerged from his room and tried to draw her attention to his enlarged penis. she would scream and try to escape. only that when she opened her mouth, no sound emerged. it was the most horrifying feeling, you know? totally helpless, afraid and anguished. Trying to escape from a space that was closing in on you. then i would awake in fright, breathing heavy with sweat running down my spine. Of course it was difficult to fall asleep after this. I would like awake and also masturbate for that was the only thing that calmed me, brought me pleasure and made me sleep again...at ease.
Was the mother oblivious to all this? Maybe she shut her eyes to avoid the disgrace, the shame, the scandal. did this make her a bad mother? What was her responsibility? I shudda get him married long time.. but the girl was so black and ugly, she would say.. she was a stupid arse.. but now she high and dry... she would repeat. I would listen to her, although i knew every last detail by heart.. sometimes i would get angry, feel like cursing her and telling her to get the hell out of my sight.. but i knew she was as anguished as me. She was a constant believer in god and many nites, i heard her weeping loudly, begging God to help her children, not to make them the laughing stock of the family. one was a bachelor nearing forty. The other was a drunkard who was with many a married woman and whore. the other ran away and was with a mexican doctor (maxi conductor). Lord.. she would pray, helplessly, don´t let my children go astray.. I wanted to laugh.. what was the use? Who got married nowadays? so what if your son was with a divorcée? He was no innocent man either! And so what if he was drank? So what if your daughter wanted to live far away and start her life the way she pleased? So what, i wanted to scream?

No, but people, gossip.. that would one day kill her, i knew...

New lactose fad in China?

2007-08-09T05:29:00.000+02:00

Yet another interesting article taken from El País and entitled more or less "What if China consumed its own milk?" Well it seems that this new fad as the article insinuates, promoted by its Premier with huge advertisements encouraging greater milk consumption, could affect milk prices the world over.. Great Britain is already bracing itself.. im sure some of you are thinking... maybe the Chinese are better off being lactose intolerant right?!!! Feel free to leave funny thought provoking comments.

female preferences

2007-08-09T04:55:00.000+02:00

Just saw this interesting article in the El País newspaper on what features or behaviour women now prefer in the partner they choose according to a survey done in the UK. According to the opinions collected, women seem to prefer the softer more feminine look in men rather that the virile, harsh features which have long occupied the top of the hierarchy. it seems that the more feminine they are, the less likely inclined they would be to infidelity among other negative traits in a more lasting partner... have a read yourself...

Adiós al macho ibérico
Las mujeres prefieren hombres con algunos rasgos femeninos para una relación duradera

Un estudio revela que las mujeres prefieren hombres con algunos rasgos femeninos en lugar de aquellos que muestran un aspecto muy masculino. La razón es que no son vistos como buenos candidatos para una relación permanente, según señala la revista Personality and Individual Differences.
Las mujeres participantes en el estudio indicaron que los hombres con algunos rasgos femeninos pueden ser compañeros más comprometidos y con menos tendencia a la infidelidad.
Los científicos pidieron a 400 hombres y mujeres británicos que emitieran un juicio acerca de fotografías de hombres alteradas con el objeto de que se vieran más o menos masculinos o femeninos. También se les solicitó que pronosticaran sus características personales, incluso comportamiento sexual, y si serían buenos padres.
De esta manera, los hombres de rasgos muy masculinos, como el mentón cuadrado, una nariz más voluminosa y ojos pequeños, fueron calificados como dominantes, infieles, malos padres y con personalidad menos "cálida" en comparación con los que tenían algún rasgo femenino.
Las mujeres han dejado de creer en el mito de la masculinidad asociado al buen estado físico e inmunidad a las enfermedades.

Eyes to see

2007-08-07T23:09:00.000+02:00

Epigraph from Fugitive Light by Mohamed Berrada:

My God, lovers are not at fault. it is you who put them to the test by creating many a pretty face Therewith captivating onlookers´ hearts. And yet you command us to overlook them As if You created no eyes for us.

Cuál prefieres mi corazón?

2007-08-07T15:02:00.000+02:00

Hola, estoy leyendo un relato de un marroqui Mohamed Berrada y encontré este párrafo que quería compartir contigo. es en inglés, luego intentaré traducirlo-

"Cling to your chaos my heart, for order-any order-will grant you nothing but monotony and surrender and cocoon rottenness; it will deprive you of being fascinated by the birghtness of morning, by the golden light of late afternoon, by the soft caress of the breeze, it will stand between you and the pleasure of walking on a narrow isthmus in response to a call from a bottomless abyss. Choas? Order? at least when you utter the word "chaos" that suggests jungles of meaning. as for order, how ugly is the austerity of its wrinkles!" (Fugitive Light)

Y en español, mas o menos, sería - "Aferra a tu caos, mi corazón, porque el orden, cualquier orden, sólo te da monotonía y resignación y una putrefacción de capullo. te priva de fascinarte por el brillo de la mañana, la luz dorada del atardecer, de la dulce caricia de la brisa. Se impomdrá en el camino entre tu y el placer de caminar en un estrecho istmo como respuesta a una llamada del abismo sin fondo. Caos? Orden? Por lo menos, cuando dices "orden", sugiere una jungla de significados. en cuanto a "orden", cuán fea es la austeridad de sus arrugas!"

Saludos.

2007-08-03T02:13:00.000+02:00

So this is life, she thought. an empty hollowness that threatened to swallow her or even chew her and then spit her out. She contemplated suicide. No, she was too vain and proud to stoop so low.. besides she was a coward at heart and she knew it. Childhood memories began to haunt her. Images from that school novel Annie John came to her mind. Like when a boy asked Annie to remove all her clothes and placed her on an ant´s patch, totally naked. or the disgust she felt when she saw her parents making out. She didn´t understand what these images had to do with anything. Maybe it was this mentality a la Annie John which she possessed but refused to admit.
She remembered her first years in high school. how unpopular and insecure she was. She wished to be every other girl. Her nose was too long. Her legs were ugly and bowlegged. She was too skinny. When she saw herself reflected in pictures, she wished she could disappear. but instead, she dedicated herself to seeking attention from her classmates. First she lied about her family, her upbringing, her status. they owned a supermarket, she lied. The old man who came to pick her up in that embarassing car was her grandfather she said; the younger one was their chauffeur. When she was discovered, she continued to live in denial. She refused to give in. No, she hadn´t stolen the watch nor the pencilcase. No, those pictures of snow and a happy family enjoying a birthday party were in fact her... yes, even though i look different there, that´s me.. of course. And then those letters from so called penpals from Scotland, Paris, Vienna... no, they bear local stamps because they are all my friends, i mean they send it to someone here before it reaches you... no, no, thats a Scottish family.. of course it looks like your country.. it´s almost the same, yes. And the lies turned to bigger ones, but she didnt stop. Why? She was already the outcast, her popularity as a misfit was soaring.. She would redeem herself, she promised. One day, she would be admired by these very girls who shunned and looked down on her.. yes...

the pain of rejection

2007-07-29T23:08:00.000+02:00

where is the line between humilliation and dehumanisation, E asked herself. No, she was too hurt to rationalise her behaviour and that of the man she longed to be with. He constantly rejected her, she constantly pushed. Maybe she thought that if she pushed hard enough, he would eventually discover that deep within, she was really the one he loved? She hated herself because she had promised she would never let a man subject her to inferiority, treat her like second class, another piece of disposable flesh.. but yet she gave herself, all of herself.. she was strong, independent, successful, why did she need this man to complete her? why did she return after knowing how he felt, why did she continue to torture herself day in day out, dissecting microscopically all the conversations they had.. she always thought she was on top of everything, that her life was just the way she wanted it, that she had the love of a man.. why was this love so important.. is it that rejection belittles you so much that the consequent actions are just responses to this new inferior status.. she wondered to herself where exactly she went wrong. what exactly didn´t men like about her... MEN.. that word. that MAN was turning her world into a worldwind... she laughed to herself through the tears which seemed to flow freely without seeking her approval nor permission. Her tear drops took their course, offering her the solidarity she needed, indicating to her that life was fluid, flowing, nonstop.. that the pain, just like the tears, would stop.. but when?
but didn´t they say that we were all replaceble. thats what they all told her.. that before she knew it, she´d be in love again.. if that was the case, then why did she feel so betrayed, so empty, so insecure, so alone? where was that someone they were all promising? From where and when would he arrive? was this one going to be replaced as well?

2007-07-29T15:28:00.000+02:00

De sobra sabes que eres la primera que no miento si juro que daría por ti la vida entera, por ti la vida entera.Y sin embargo un rato cada día ya ves te engañaría con cualquiera te cambiaría por cualquiera.
She kept playing these confused lines of Joaquin Sabina´s "Y sin embargo" over and over in her head.

- so where does that leave us?
-Us? was there ever an us?
- Didn´t all my attempts to draw closer to you, all the times i showed you how much you meant to me, mean anything at all to you? You must have been aware that you were more than a friend to me? How about all those times you tried to be intimate with me and i pushed you away? I don´t know when things changed between us?
-Me neither. But you are right, something changed
-I remember that night we sat for hours, you lying on your back and me sitting by your side. we imagined what our futures would be like. Such beautiful moments. you told me i´d marry a Moroccan then he´d die and i´d go for his brother! then i´d become a terrorist.. and then you laughed out loud! Then i´d be flying towards my homeland with my husband and two kids when the plane´s engine would fail...right over YOUR homeland..hahah.. and you, being the superman that you are.. would rescue us.. i remember i told you your version was bullshit but i still loved listening to you invent my life.. i felt so close to you that night...
- Yes and you told me i´d end up dying when i came to visit you..but i prefer to die close to my mother earth too..Doesn´t everyone want to die where they came from, close to their origins?
- do we have to talk about death? the idea was to figure out when things changed between us? What happened? I remember observing to you that u were acting differently, that i no longer felt you close to me. You told me i wasn´t the first to tell you that. How it hurt weeks after when you told a friend infront of me that when a guy distances himself from a girl, it´s a sign that he wants to slowly break away... I felt so depressed and sad
- But i kept coming to see you, if only to see you and feel your presence even though i knew you were different, that things couldn´t work out.. did we even try?
-No, i was too shy, i wouldnt let you near me.. and you didn´t bother either.. all you seemed to want was physical bonding..
-Well that´s a natural step in getting closer to someone, what´s so wrong with that...
-Nothing..it´s natural.. but for moments.. it seemed that that was all you were interested in..
-I´m young and perverted, can you blame me?!
-So i guess this is it.. we just try to stay friends...were we ever friends?
-Of course.. you were my best friend..
-haha! Dont make a mockery of friendship.. we were nothing in the end..im so nostalgic and lonely...and hurt..
-I´m sorry
-Are you?
-What the fuck is your problem? You know what? You just like attention!
-what? fuck! where are you coming from?! Im just telling you how i feel..
-Well you are messed up!!
-that´s typical male behavoir.. men are such arses!
-you are so stubborn.. when i first met you, you were an angel.. then i saw you metamorphose into a demon..with bulging eyes and veins that wanted to burst.. scary..hhhaha!
- you always make fun of everyhitng.. i actually believed i loved you.. but now i see you were a product of my imagination..all my imagination..and you could never live up to that creation.. in the end, when i judge you by your actions, you are a selfish fool, irresponsible and reckless who never loved me at all.. why did u make me grow close to you..
- Well you admitted you were the one who made all the moves..
-Yes, that´s true.. so i guess this is it.. we go our separate ways now.. we have nothing much to say to each other now..
-ciao then..
- fuck! i hate you for that! your ability to be so cold and indifferent. i wish i also possessed your sang froid!
-I don´t understand you.. first you say.. ok, that´s it.. and when i assent, you become angry..
-You dont understand women´s psyche at all... and you aspire to be a doctor corazón! thats ridiculous!
-.....
- I curse myself for falling for you.. everyone told me you were going to hurt me.. but i wanted to get hurt... i wanted to live, love, feel..
-....
-in the end, i will remember the good moments.. the time when you told me you thought about me alot.. you wrote about me.. when you touched my toe and when you told me the time spent with me was magical.. i won´t forget you... adiós then
-...

Revolvió- lyrics

2007-07-28T05:19:00.000+02:00

"Revolvió".. if i cud write lyrics like this... in all its simplicity, sensuality, beauty and appeal..Alas.. me toca saborearla de momento y disfrutarla siempre.

Porque fue suficiente hablarle con los ojos desde allí.
Si en ese mismo instante su vida era tranquila y feliz,
la vino a revolver con bollitos y miel
Mareas en la tierra, el cielo iba cubriéndose de gris.
Porque salió el torrente, el miedo y las ganas de sentir.
Y quiso saborear la masa de su pan.

Revolvió su calor con su voz, con leche y azúcar se lo dio a beber.
Bordeó el corazón la razón con unos besos de ron y miel.
Horneó con su aliento su pelo, y caramelo parecía al terminar.
Y quiso saborear la masa de su pan.

Escríbele canciones, envíale tu voz donde él esté.
Vagando por su almohada le vino a visitar en sueños él.
La vino a revolver y se dejo hacer.
Estampidas en la tierra, el cielo iba tiñéndose marfil.
Porque brotó el torrente, el verbo y las ganas de sentir.
Y pudo saborear la masa de su pan

Él revolvió su calor con su voz, con leche y azúcar se lo dio a beber. Bordeó el corazón la razón con unos besos de ron y miel.
Horneó con su aliento su pelo, y caramelo parecía al terminar.
Y pudo saborear la masa de su pan

Paris, je t´aime

2007-07-13T22:16:00.001+02:00

Well a friend reminded me recently when he heard of my trip to Paris how this was one of my long time dreams. Well i guess he was right. Of all the European countries, Paris was definitely one city i dreamed of visiting. Well the trip held no disappointments; i was enthralled by the place, the people and the ambiance of romance on the Seine river at night!
I arrived there after 10pm in the night and my shyness prevented me of attempting to put into practice all the french i had learned over the years. Well english is generally spoken there, if only grudgingly i might add. At the airport, an American citizen saw me struggling with the guy at the help desk for assistance as to how to get out of the airport by train or public transport. the strange and wonderful thing is that he came up to me, explained politely that i should ignore the guy, who by the way was sending me to hell, and to follow his instructions. that i did and i managed to get on the shuttle that i later discovered would take you to the stop that would lead to the North station where i would then have to take two metro lines before i came to the location of my hostel. Well, lo and behold, the kindly gentleman reappeared in the shuttle and this time, he gave me a day ticket which he said he no longer needed and explained that it wasnt easy getting around here. The frech public transport system is good but it s a bit confusing and takes a while getting used to, as i would learn.

Well my first experience on the metro was pleasant enough. i must admit being pleasantly surprised byt the number of black people all around and how well they seemed to be integrated. Those who have been to or lived in MAdrid will understand this transition. Nobody seemed to take ntoice of me there with my hijab, another surprise and this time, the added joy to find in the gazes of people not suspicion or even scorn, but flirtatiousness or simple indifference.

Another stereotype- the french are cold, unfriendly. i even read a warning somewhere which stated that help should not be sought from the french who are quickly annoyed. Well i didnt experience that at all... in fact, when some French women sitting at a table saw us looking like confused people, they even asked if we needed help. I must admit that the reception from the cafés wasn´t all that and that some coldness and uncomfortable stares were noticeable.

Anyway, so the first time i arrived in full view of the Eiffel tower, i didnt know how to react. one, because my instant reaction was - but it isnt all that, its in fact ugly!!! but at nite, when it was all lit up, i was definitely taken aback and the walk all along the Seine with this lighted monument was definitely worthwhile. the Seine at nite is the most romantic, beautiful setting. On the bridge of Arts (Pont des beaux arts) you had spectacular views and not a few couples who came there to enjoy a little night picnic.

Montmartre, the bohemian artist´s zone was definitely another ambiance at nite with it´s cafés, painters and little bars which proudly displayed signs revealing one painter or the other´s favourite nightspot. the Dali´s museum there was incredible and is definitely worth a stop! there was a section on his famous moustache, his many clock depictions and the clothes fashion he inspired. Definitely impressing. His ego, on the other hand did draw a raised eyebrow!

oh.. before i forget, just two things which caught my attention. One, the liveliness of the French. in the cafés i´d been to at night, the people would burst into song and dance, regardless of age etc. This was really amusing and i´m sure they were still trying to hold on to past memories of another era. The other thing was the bloated, obsessive nature of the French´s nationalistic pride as seen from their monuments praising and remembering the victories of France. By contrast, the efforts of non-french individuals in the battles seemed to be played down or forgotten altogether..

So by coincidence, the last nite i decided to see a movie that was being released that day and that was directed by the muchliked Julie Delpy. its called "Two days in Paris" and i later admitted that that was the best way i could have left this city. What the movie highlights and caricatures are the typical stereotypes of the French. the said director is visiting Paris with her american bf of two years in a bid to show him her city and parents and rekindle their romance. Sex, jingoisim, arrogance, racism of the typical French emerge from the movie that made me laugh alot.

So all in all, just some vague impressions of my visit to Paris. I deliberately omitted certain "things to do" inorder to ensure i revisit this cité inoubliable!!

equality of sexes in the Arab world- what role does religion play in the big picture.

2007-07-01T20:31:00.001+02:00

"No todo es lo que parece-los velos son sexy"- Wonder if in the near future, this could become a publicity stunt in the West!! these are the words of Egyptian feminist Iman, who notes that it´s easy to wear a veil but hard to practise the religion. couldn´t agree more. But this introduction is but an aside. In today´s EPS supplement of the EL Pais, a very interesting article appeared on Islam, women and equality in Morocco. Its title- "Carrera hacia la igualdad". Very interesting, relevant points are made, especially by the women interviewed. the link is attached for the interested reader. what most strikes me, however, is the stance the author of the article adopts. he is nothing short of condescending, paternalistic and ethnocentrist. For example, the way he mockingly derides the traditional and common form of dress by both male and female Moroccans; his absurd insistence on the feminist Iman´s western adoptions and his repetition of how many cigarretted she smokes on the hour- as if these silly habits automatically grant entry into the civilised world.
there are interesting comments about the increased visibility of the hijab in the Arab and Muslim world and what exactly this represents and symbolises. interestingly, and i agree, the same feminist quoted above also notes that it is more a political and identity symbol rather than a mere manifestation of faith.
the author´s dichotomous, Machiavelean posture, though, is at times enervating, to say the least. his questions and comments clearly reveal his ethnocentrism and superiority speaking from the Western culture. He equates the Islamic form of dress easily and undoubtedly with backwardness and fanaticism, for example. Nonetheless, the article on a whole provides valuable, interesting observations which, if read with a "lupa" reveals the many ironies and contradictions in our societies and the need to dispel our prejudices and stereotypes when trying to understand the Other. Good article, worth a quick read!

Living in the age of Migrations

2007-06-24T20:08:00.000+02:00

Here are some extracts of an interesting article on migrations in Cape Verde (link included).

An estimated 200 million people live outside the country of their birth, and they help support a swath of the developing world as big if not bigger. Migrants sent home about $300 billion last year — nearly three times the world’s foreign aid budgets combined. Those sums are building houses, educating children and seeding small businesses, and they have made migration central to discussions about how to help the global poor. A leading academic text calls this the “Age of Migration.”

“You have a Cape Verdean here who would cut his right arm off to go back,” said Mr. Gomes, who lives in a one-room hovel without running water or electricity.

Without migration, Cape Verde would not exist. The 10-island chain, 385 miles off the coast of Senegal, was uninhabited until the 15th century, when Portugal settled it with two migrant streams — Europeans and African slaves. Cape Verde became a creolized mix of both continents and a supply depot for the slave trade.

“We asked for workers, but we got people,” is a famous European lament.

Advances by Muslim women in Algeria

2007-05-26T19:54:00.000+02:00

An interesting article appeared in the Times newspaper about Algerian Muslim women and their advances in society despite their adherence to and practice of their faith. This is what one of the paragraphs says for example-

Women make up 70 percent of Algeria’s lawyers and 60 percent of its judges. Women dominate medicine. Increasingly, women contribute more to household income than men. Sixty percent of university students are women, university researchers say.

the article also goes on to indicate that they drive buses and cabs, pump gas and serve at tables, jobs traditionally associated to males only. According to the article, women nonetheless only make up 20% of the work force. Its interesting to note that the high percentage of women in certain fields is attributed to the migration of males or to the high male drop out rate from school.

What i find particularly interesting and of great significance is that the women, although they have positioned themselves in progressive spheres outside the domestic ambit, they are also said to be more religious than previous generations, despite obviously being more modern- Women cover their heads and drape their bodies with traditional Islamic coverings. They pray. They go to the mosque — and they work, often alongside men, once considered taboo.

the article goes on to say in fact that their traditional form of dress and their religious adherences actually free them from restrictions imposed by men or from moral judgements. Of course, this could be read as a regression by feminists or other thinkers who might see this as submitting to male rules or Islamist threats in order to appear or contribute in society. Maybe so.

Other consequences that emerge from these changing roles of women are for instance, delayed marriages and lower birth rates which obviously impact on the whole society.

These women, modern and visibly professing their faith, are seen to reflect the present and future of Algeria, torn between Islamist threats, years of civil wars and abundant deaths and the need to move forward according to the pace set by globalisation etc. They are the ones who offer a moderate face of their country and of Islam to the world looking on. They are the ones, like their mothers and grandmothers who had opposed the French by sticking to their culture and religion, who would propel the country into a promising future. Mabrouk!

Jorge Drexler

2007-05-19T14:28:00.000+02:00

Here are some lines from several songs that i like by Jorge Drexler:

Cada uno da lo que recibe
y luego recibe lo que da,
nada es más simple,
no hay otra norma:
nada se pierde,
todo se transforma. (Todo se transforma)

No hay muerto que no me duela,
no hay un bando ganador,
no hay nada más que dolor
y otra vida que se vuela.
La guerra es muy mala escuela
no importa el disfraz que viste,
perdonen que no me aliste
bajo ninguna bandera,
vale más cualquier quimera
que un trozo de tela triste. (Milonga de un moro judío)

And well, the following song, "Transporte" im forced to quote the entire thing cause it´s just too beutiful to truncate:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ycs48Y1PYPQ

Desde ahora mismo y aquí
hacia donde quiera que estés
parte de mi alma
parte a tu encuentro.
Sabes que te llevo dentro mío
igual que yo sé que tu me llevas dentro.

Se trata de un leve pulsar
que se abre camino hacia tí
cruzando las estaciones, constelaciones,
los momentos.
Digo que esta vida es llevadera
sólo porque sientes tú
lo que yo siento.

Donde tu estás
yo tengo el Norte,
y no hay nada como tu amor
como medio de transporte.

En este instante,
precisamente,
más canto y más te tengo yo
presente,
más te tengo yo presente.

Collisions

2007-05-17T04:19:00.000+02:00

I´m thinking of the movie Crash by Paul Haggis and about human relations in general; all the barriers we erect, consciously or unconsciously to reinforce or mold our own identity for we only identify ourself when we differentiate ourself from the Other. so here´s a movie of tensions of all sorts. I like the opening lines when Don Cheadle is talking to his "mexican" colleague; that there is a sudden need for collisions because people have lost contact with each other; they only see each other through glass barriers, from behind walls etc.. and hence this human need to touch, to feel, to live, be it through anger, violence, hate... Each day, living in multicultural, plural, unequal societies is both a joy and a pain...how can you look at a black man in Spain and not think about "pateras", poverty, despair; how can u look at an "arab" and not think about radicalism, not feel insecure.. in the movie Crash, this is exactly what happens..all the stereotypes collide, brought together by an unknown destiny which unites everybody in their disunity.. we are all victims and victimisers, empowered and powerless, rich and poor, privileged and unprivileged depending through which glass you choose to look...
What´s also striking about the movie as well is how minorities also turn on each other, although they are all in the same boat. and this reminds me of a comment a friend made to me recently..she was forced to sign up for cleaning work after all her job applications were rejected. she noted that it was there where you found the most racism, most injustice, bigotry etc..amongst the employees themselves... But this is no surprise...

Simulacrum of her image

2007-05-16T02:38:00.000+02:00

I was having a conversation with a guy at the university..his comments were very interesting..he was commenting on my attire- i was wearing a hijab, which he called turbante!!, a bright blue indian cotton top and a white pants..he noted that in his country, this combination would be considered rarísima, inconcebible..his tone was arrogant, a little belittling but as i consider him a close acquaintance, i might quickly add that he is a bit "ingenuo" although no doubt smart, and also a bit chauvinistic.. Here was the typical male who prided himself in a sleek physique and expected nothing less from the women he was surrounded by.. Nonetheless his comments disturbed me cause i realised once more that once u break certain norms like covering your head- in addition to having all the added religious labels attached to you- you were classed differently and aroused different, non-sexual labels in the male´s head... of course, im referring to my specific case here and the rest of the attire is as important as the headpiece, for Muslim women generally wear loose clothing..which does not necessarily mean unattractive. But what i mean is when most men look at you, they don´t see YOU, but they just see the hijab in my case and therefore immediately classify you into a certain category in their heads. This reminds me once in Cuba on a student trip. Two of us had our heads covered..and although we were totally different- different colour, physique, features- the guide could not differentiate us.. Of course this could be simply explained by a lack of interest for a woman who doesn´t immediately reveal her "endowed" parts or figure..And then of course you have the other extreme where precisely because you are covered, you arouse the opposite effect in men who choose to look beyond the physical.. All these thoughts immediately came to mind while hainvg this conversation with this friend. He then went on to say that as far as he knew and from his sources, Muslim women were not allowed to wear pants etc.. and then i thought that it didnt matter how i dressed, once i wore the head scarf, i would almost automatically be classed into a "weird", "alert", "stay away from her", "proceed with caution" type...this is both scary and rich in meaning because knowing all this, you are now left to react as you wish...Many ppl have often commented that im not the typical Muslim woman- im loud at times, i can be forthright, im very easygoing, i´d like to think im open and i try to get along with anybody..but it still hurts each time you approach someone and their gaze which they project on you is either one of distrust, dislike, indifference, rejection etc... i can list many more adjectives, none of them positive.. Of course this is not always the case and this has to be mentioned, but lamentably, in many instances, it is... I guess it´s quite natural and "normal" to prejudge someone based on his/her appearance, but the danger lies when they want to project their image on to you and limit to to that.... oh well... just some of my wandering thoughts that i decided to unleash just as they rushed through my head....

Single monogamous albatross, 47, seeks mate of similar characteristics

2007-05-14T22:57:00.001+02:00

This brief article on the failure of the alcatross bird to find a mate far away from his native land immediately caught my eye. the heading read- "Forty years searching for a mate". Images of Eva Hache, the late nite "news comedian" immediately came to mind; I imagined her "pulling at the bird´s feathers"; wondering if he were perhaps polygamous, if it would have been easier to find a mate... or poking fun at exactly why the bird was rejected by the "alcatraces" with whom he has had not an ounce of success! Or perhaps wondering of his future chances seeing that he is fast approaching "retirement age". According to the article in El País, the bird´s life span is about 70 years. this one, it seems is already 47! Maybe its time he changes his strategies and adopt bolder tactics in attracting these proud, hard-to-get alcatraces!! Here are some lines i pulled out from the article which caught my eye and which i have already mentioned in my comment:

Albert es un albatros enfermo de amor que lleva cuarenta años sin encontrar pareja porque vive a miles de kilómetros de su hábitat natural... Los albatros son monógamos y no cambian nunca de pareja... En la zona donde ha acabado este ejemplar, no hay aves de su especie... Albert estaba tratando de intimar con alcatraces, otra especie de ave marina... Las pasadas cuatro décadas se ha empeñado en un esfuerzo inútil por conquistar alcatraces en otras islas remotas del archipiélago escocés.

Let´s get back to joking a la Eva Hache.. we might suggest that the alcatraces are perhaps racist or xenophobic and have therefore refused to mate with these outsiders who will sully their blood and change their features... im sure the alcatraces would recieve alot of support from some extreme-right bird species!! Maybe it´s because this albatross has refused to integrate into his new home and that´s why he´s such a paria, condemned to solitude and extinction!! Like Sarkozy, if he can´t love his new home, then he should just pack up and go back to the Falklands where he could mate with Brits if he so please...
Bueno, bueno, bueno.... this is the reality of Poor Albert, 47, single and looking for a mate. i can´t even suggest he try an add in the classifieds cause im sure no one will notice it amongst the thousand provocative, tantalising promises of pleasure and perversion.. besides, im sure with his monogamy, this option might just sound scandalous!!!!

Essence of a woman

2007-05-11T11:05:00.000+02:00

She was 40 plus, plump with a stern face, distrustful, mostly silent at the beginning. she would soon be our third flatmate. Her story is a strange one. She had just gotten married, she told us, to an Egyptian, living illegally in holland. She had met him one afternoon through her brother. she saw him, they spoke for a little while and then that very same evening, she said yes to his proposal. Far from a love at first sight story. At her age, she told us, who really seeks love? so they got married, a regular civil wedding. That night, she lost her virginity, amidst fear, pain and violence, she said. she went into details which were surprising- how she couldn´t relax, how he penetrated her every night, how it was even painful to pee, how someone had told her it would have been easier and less painful if they had done it on the floor.. she lamented, it seemed, not knowing these details beforehand. she had said that her mother insisted she get a "certificate of virginity" to show to her husband before marriage. she told me how it was common practice where she came from, and that some men even requested it, after all, women were not to be trusted nowadays. After her "honeymoon" week was over, she had to resume her life in Spain, leaving her husband behind and promising to apply for his residence as soon as she got a house contract. but this was all months ago. she had seen him a couple of times in between, travelling to holland on weekends or during "puentes" to be with him.

So how much did she know of her husband? not much, it seemed. she had no idea if he had been married before, if he had children, how much money he earned etc.. she would often repeat that he was a clever man and that was who God wanted her to be with...

She was a precocious 17 year old; milky white skin, youthful beauty, huge "houri" eyes- she would draw a lot of attention, she told me proudly and even offered ample details about old men coming to meet her at school, offering to take her for rides and buy her whatever she wanted, or the many suitors who would use her naive younger brothers to get closer to her.. but things changed when the "exorcist" who came to remove the "jinns" or evil spirits from her sister laid eyes on her. He was fat and ugly, she said, and not to mention old. She would bring him coffee and sweets and sit around with the rest of the family, chatting about trivial things, not aware of the effect she was arounsing in the "exorcist". He didn´t waste time in asking for her hand in marriage, much to her shock and disgust. She refused of course. But he persisted. He would wait for her after school just to say hello and enquire about the progress of her ailing sister, or he would discreetly follow her to the market or wherever she went, mixing himself in the crowds, but never taking his eye off this new gem. she had had enough and decided to let him know it. But he had other plans and was determined to have this one for himself. News had spead of a certain relationship between them which eventually reached her father who confronted her, much to her dismay and surprise. After some time and much persistence, one day out of rage vis-a-vis flying accusations, she consented to marrying him. but alas, that was not her destiny, for after a few months, his treacherous character revealed itself...

She really didn´t want to get married, she said. What she wanted was to finish her studies and find a job where she could apply what she learnt. She was a first year university student majoring in law. He asked for her hand in marriage. she hesitated but after speaking to him, she consented. he was religious, educated and very supportive of her goals and dreams. He promised to help her study, he said, and agreed to "allow" her to work after- but only in a primary school, not with young men who could be tempted by her- or not in hospitals, for example, where she could see men undress and have to operate on them for example. she reassured him and things were arranged. they signed the papers and their marriage became official although she continued to love with her parents until after the wedding ceremony which they agreed would be some months away.

so one weekend he calls her and tells her he´s coming over. She tells him he´s free to come, but ojo! she wont be able to spend much time with him cause she had exams and alot of work. This seemed to throw him off and that´s when, according to her, he made a 180 degree turn. He told her that now that they were married, he didn´t necessarily have to maintain his promise, that the truth was he didn´t see why she had to study and why she wanted to work.. that in the end, it didnt do her any good. She was taken aback, of course and firmly maintained her stance and her desire to continue her studies. She insisted, she said, as she had done from the very beginning, that her studies were also her passion and that she would refuse to give them up. This was the beginning of the end and after not speaking for two years, she initiated a divorce...

2007-05-06T06:20:00.000+02:00

his life seemed to revolve around his financial squeeze. It penetrated his stories, his conversations, his untold anguish. she wanted to help him but didnt want to wound his pride. she would give him gifts to make him happy and this ennobled her in his eyes. she immediately saw the difference and was both pleased and annoyed at the same time. He thought he was in love. he confessed that she was that haunting presence in his stories, the one that both tormented and fascinated him. she diverted his insistence, albeit with subtlety and discretion. she was also haunted by her past, her own insecurities and her compulsive need to buy friendship or attach monetary value to relationships. She was as much a product of inferiority as he was. maybe that was the common bond that drew them so close to each other.

premeditated eulogy for Fidel Castro

2007-05-04T00:56:00.000+02:00

When Castro does die, how will the world remember him? Surely with much ambivalence, except if you are GWB and cronies. Well this is how i will remember his legacy at least- all good and bad things must come to an end:
Ojalá Cuba pueda mantener vivas sus dos mejores fuentes de energía: la solidaridad, porque Cuba es el país más solidario del mundo, y la dignidad, que Fidel Castro ha encarnado, hasta ahora, contra viento y marea. Yo he manifestado públicamente, en más de una ocasión, mis divergencias con la revolución cubana, porque entiendo que ha hecho lo que pudo y no lo que quiso, pero no puedo comulgar con la negación del derecho a la divergencia y del derecho a la libre circulación de las personas y de las ideas. Pero en fin, así es la vida. Sigo creyendo, y creeré mientras viva, que la verdadera militancia se ejerce desde la libertad de conciencia y no desde el deber de obediencia. (entrevista con el humorista (entre otras cosas claro) Eduardo Galeano)

conversación en torno a la inmigración magrebí en España

2007-05-03T23:00:00.000+02:00

Carlos and I were discussing a presentation I have to do soon. I had broached him with several doubts on some of the concepts I wanted to apply or use. the whole topic centres around immigration in Spain, particularly from the Magreb region. Here are some extracts that might be interesting to the unknown in ether space-
N- estoy elaborabdo la imagen del emigrante recien llegado como un nacido, lo que algunos ven como cierta regresión porque tiene que volver a aprender a hablar, adaptarse, aprender las costumbres etc. Esto puede ser una vision hegemónica sin duda para representar al emigrante como un niño, atrasado, necesitado de la "proteccion" del "colonizador" etc. Estaba leyendo parte de la teoría de Lacan sobre la fase del espejo- que la imagen que el niño ve en el espejo- esta imagen completa e íntegra a la cual nunca llegará a ser pero aspira a serla de todos modos- y pensé que podría vincular la idea con la primera sobre la llegada del emigrante como "niño" y cómo confronta esta imagen "ideal" del autóctono que intenta remedar pero solo le esperan frustación y ansiedad porque es imposible. No sé cómo se vería este vínculo.. tu, como te parece? disparatado? Leído dentro de la construccion y representacion del discurso "colonial" para mejor someter al marginado y minoritario, distinto y amenazador?

C- Qué relación ves entre el colonizado y el inmigrante? ¿En qué punto crees que haya superposición de las figuras y en cuáles no?...
Volviendo a lo de la figura del niño, eso me recuerda que cuando estudié el populismo en América Latina había algo que se llamaba "igualitarismo vertical" (somo iguales, pero yo soy más igual que tú)... Está claro que el fenómeno que estudias no es ni populismo, ni podría calificarse de igualitarismo, pero sí me parece que hay un gesto con similitudes: es el gesto de la caridad, del proteccionismo, de la tarea civilizadora; se hace uso de una pedagogia supuestamente liberadora, integrada a una compleja máquina de producción cultural. Se trata de una mirada que coloca al Otro en un rango de subalternidad..

N- pues es mi interpretacion tambien de lo de la regresion del inmigrante. lo de usar Lacan, no sé.. cuando lo leía, me pareció parecido a la idea del inmigrante como niño..claro que es una actitud paternalista.. aunque veo la parte tambien del mimetismo alli que vale desdibujar..el inmigrante que aspira a imitar al mas poderoso.. o sea, tiene muchas interpretaciones, Si, yo tambien veo el link con el igualitarismo vertical.. es que no se considera al inmigrante como un verdadero igual- siempre será el otro, el menospreciado etc..sobre todo si tiene rasgos muy diferenciadores, como el color de su piel o su lengua, como el arabe... en la narrativa marroquí que estudio, esta imagen no aparece tan llamativa--el inmigrante es asustado..vive en un mundo de ensoñación..pero nunca es descrito como volviendo a una regresión- A ver si saldrá en la discusión... al final, no usé la teoria de Bhabha..pk me parecía un poco forzada porque segun entendí, el describe sus conceptos a partir del colonizador...quiero decir que aun en el mimetismo que describe, es el mimetismo como estrategia del "estado" o poder para distinguir entre el buen asimilador y el "malo"..
claro que entre el colonizado y el inmigrante--hay muchos matices y tambien diferencias..a mi me interesa personalmente la parte mas sicológica..creo que el colonizado se encuentra obviamente mas restringido en todos los sentidos.. es mas interesante para mi el caso del inmigrante, que encima en muchos casos lleva el bagaje de haber sido colonizado..pero hay espacio para matizacion porque se desplaza al sitio del colonizador, lo que se puede considerar en si un acto de resistencia, y es alli, donde se comienza una verdadera dialectica-- sin duda al principio le asalta su inferioridad y etc..pero como dice Bhabha, aun en el mimetismo hay resistencia porque la copia siempre es distinta del original y ademas..al ver en el otro alguna semejanza, el mas fuerte se ve amenazado y perturbado.. el inmigrante se mueve en este terreno desdibujado segun creo...lo que a mi personalmente me fascina.

Inferior musings

2007-04-20T16:05:00.000+02:00

I remember the inferior feeling i had sitting around the Moroccan family in their home in Targuist, Alhucimas, having just arrived from Europe with their fridge, mattresses, Nutela and even Cola Cao… because after all, nothing could be bought there in their “aldea” it seemed, only the essential bread, maybe olives, tea and a few other items. My friend and I had arrived before them having taken a different route so that we were able to witness their arrival, looking very European in their brand name clothing, smelling of sweet perfume, and carrying especially those gifts and other curiosities which seemed to be a luxury there and which were so symbolic of Europe. I had become a spectator and just another Moroccan looking on at this welcoming spectacle which took me back to Trinidad and being the same spectator to relatives arriving from the US- according to instructions from my mother, we were to treat our “guests” “who came from so far” as royalties.. we were to answer to their every beck and call, we were to do whatever they told us, get whatever they needed, give up our beds, even our full meals sometimes.. and we would oblige to all this with a mixture of bitterness and awe. They would pick at the roti handed to them, complain of the annoying mosquitos and the boring local stations and laugh at us when we weren’t familiar with the popular music groups or slang or tv series that everybody was talking about. Our trini accents and bad English would be the butt of jokes as they tried to imitate us, laughing at our backwardness as they saw it.. Although I must admit that our way of speaking also held a certain charm and exotism for them, for sure enough, on their return to the Big Apple, they would also be speaking with their “funny” accents and comment to us the laughter it provoked from their West Indian friends…

This all came back to me sitting on the sofa in the modest house of my friend´s aunt, taking in the spectacle of the arrival and coming to terms with the sudden inferiority that overpowered me when I saw the pains and troubles the single aunt was making to ensure everything was perfect, like bringing out several dishes to please the little son who was picky and grumpy, or practically washing the hands of her “guests” before they sat down to eat.

Later another bout of inferiority would slap me in the face as I realised I was not fair enough to be attractive to the men there who saw “brown skin” as almost equivalent to ugliness… maybe this is an exaggeration on my part due to my wounded pride. .and once more, this took me back to Trinidad where fairness cream was the in-thing because nobody wanted to be dark, marry a dark man/woman.. at home, comments like “he so black and ugly” would be accepted as truths and milky-white skin was heralded as desirable, superior, beautiful.. we all knew it, it seemed, accepted it, sadly and worse of all, interiorised it..

This psychological trauma is what continues to characterise many former colonised peoples, from Indians to West Indians to Africans in general. Fanon did say that to rid oneself of this psychological trauma, the colonizer had to be killed.. he, a Black West Indian who had married a white French middle class woman.. these are the contradictions which fascinate and haunt me..

2007-04-20T01:16:00.000+02:00

Aisha canturreaba las palabras de la canción que no podía quitar de su cabeza- Un dios maldijo la vida del emigrante/ serás mal visto por la gente en todas partes/ serás odiado por racistas maleantes…. Estas palabras con el ritmo tan llevadero la dejaban tranquila; era como su antídoto del día, pensaba. Aisha recién había descubierto al grupo y compró el disco sin vacilar para tener más cerca este consuelo solidario... Con el grupo, se imaginaba cantando, casi gritando, eufórica en el metro “somos distintos, somos iguales”; o cuando caminaba por la calle, “pero en la calle nadie lo sabe…”; pero ya en la puerta de su casa, su entusiasmo ligero se resignada a un casi silencioso “pan para todos, tenemos hambre…”, “pero los ricos no lo comparten”. A Aisha le encantaba la forma de bailar del cantante, como si sacudiera de encima todos los prejuicios, todos los dolores; como si en un trance, entraba en otro mundo, su propio mundo, donde ya no le afectaba nada de nada…
Hace ya un año que vivía en España. Aisha no lo podía creer. Cómo pasa el tiempo, decía … y cómo había cambiado, pensaba. Ya no se reconocía, España le había contagiado de su espíritu luchador, vulgar, urgente; con su vivacidad regeneradora, despertaba en ella todas esas emociones de amor, de libertad, de vida… no había vuelta atrás pensaba… Aunque quería a su país, pensaba quedarse aquí, aunque sabía que no iba a ser fácil sobre todo cuando venías de una comunidad marginada, despreciada, caricaturizada… de una comunidad que tantos años vivió bajo protección de España, de un pueblo que vivió siempre en la sombra de esa mítica España, tan cerca y tan lejos…

Siempre dejaba en Aisha un sabor amargo el recuerdo de hombres marroquíes ya europeizados que daban vueltas y vueltas en su vecindario de Targuist, en sus coches majestuosos con placa de España, ostentando orgullo, virilidad y dinero…las chicas se enloquecían literalmente, soltaban risas histéricas, hacían todo para destacarse…se ponían al tanto de todo lo que pasaba en España, hasta hacían el esfuerzo de memorizar unas cuantas frases en español para impresionar al pretendiente, por si acaso se les presentara el gran honor y privilegio de montar en tal máquina mágica y preciosa…
Aisha recuerda que también su corazón palpitaba fuerte al pasar por su lado este trozo de paraíso lento y provocador ... recordaba las palabras edulcorantes, la súbita tentación que surgía de su profundo corazón que no le dejaba otra opción que montar rápido, rápido en el coche…y dejarse al capricho de este “europeo” que hablaba de la felicidad, dinero fácil, vida lujosa.
Desde niña, veía con envidia los que volvían de vacaciones de Europa, cargados hasta rebosar de regalos, walkmans, móviles... con todas estas novedades que no causaban sino maravilla y admiración en los ojos desorbitados de la familia…

Promesas, piensa ahora. Promesas falsas. Recuerda cuando llegó aquí por primera vez, tras el largo e interminable trayecto de Alhucimas hasta Almería, su cabeza estaba tumultuosa, vacía… extrañaba a toda su familia, a su madre en el puerto gritando, soltando todas las plegarias posibles, suplicando al buen Dios un futuro seguro y feliz para su única hija…ay Dios…la ingrata la dejaba, la dejaba sola…cómo iba a vivir ahora, ya en el umbral de la muerte… Luego vinieron los días de soledad, de dolor, de inseguridad, de encerramiento en casa, todo el día, esperando la llegada de su esposo. Y luego en las noches, la brusquedad con que hacía el amor, el dolor y miedo que sentía, el inmenso dolor y luego, quieta, yacía al lado del hombre hecho bulto, intentando recuperar la respiración normal, intentando transportarse a su pueblo para sacar fuerzas con las caras familiares, en los brazos reconfortantes de su madre…

2007-04-18T02:48:00.001+02:00

'La literatura no sirve para nada útil: solo sirve para vivir más.' Javier Cercas.

intellingent passion

2007-04-18T00:36:00.000+02:00

All she wanted was his kiss. she felt like drinking him in, ebriating herself with his touch, his saliva, his tongue. she felt like having him raw, savagely and frenetically. she wanted him and was not afraid to make the first move. in fact, she felt that that was almost what he expected.. if not, he just went along, stopping at the right moment, backing out at the very last minute. then she discovered his secret.
he was also looking for passion. but not merely carnal passion which he could get anywhere, from the street prostitute to the girl next door who often showed him her nudity for free.. he was looking for intelligent passion. a beauty with a brain which was fast becoming a scarce commodity. he thought he had found that in her. but after a few encounters, he realised that this one was like the others, no different. a Samantha, a Jessica, a María. in fact, she had all the pieces but they seemed to fit clumsily together. so that when he asked her opinion on the death of the author or when he probed her understanding of certain concepts like free will, fatalism, essentialism, her cracks would become so evident, that he would immediately withdraw, afraid of breaking them altogether and causing an unwanted boomerang. he still felt a tinge of passion for that body, that smile, those warm hands, that childish laughter which both annoyed and fasinated him...but he would soon get bored in her presence...
She began to feel the distance between them growing despite their regular encounters. her charm no longer seemed to mesmerise him. she tried dazzling him with that gold bracelete or that new sexy lip gloss but he would always have a distant, distracted look that seemed to come automatically to his face when he was near her. words like "slow", "silly", "unrefined" would regularly blot their dialogues, leaving huge, heavy stains imprinted on her heart for days. she needed to let go a little, but she couldn´t.
love was swallowing her up, effacing her ambitions, blinding her insights; she was not willing to surrender to defeat, not again. He was the one for her..she only had to make him see that too...

amor asesino

2007-04-15T20:12:00.000+02:00

Hush, hush,
Wish I could take your pain away
Wish I could share another dawn with you
Quiero ver el rojo del amanecer
Un nuevo día brillará, she sang

Sit in the hallowed halls of church
Shout at the silence
Revel in your sins
You are resisting,
You are free
Come, take my hand,
Lead me to your sanctuary
Light me a candle
Pay it forward

Two steps forward, one backward
Sing me that song,
Amor en blanco y negro
Love me in black and white
Only you can kiss away that sting,
Only you can penetrate me
Merge my pain and sorrow
Into a fairy tale happiness

Why do you hate me?
All I want from you is love
I have so much to give you,
I dedicate my life to you
Look- I´m writing your name with my blood
I won’t ever let you go…

I have reached my end
I’m calling out to you
Won´t you listen, won´t you listen
I´m whispering
in a whimper
I dedicate my life to love
Love..love..love…

chaguanas

2007-04-11T06:34:00.000+02:00

Chaguanas, central Trinidad. dirty streets. families or crippled folks begging. pirate music everywhere in carts that quickly disappear at the site of police, that reappear in the middle of the streets or at the side of the market or at the entrance to the busy gas station. maxi taxis that spill over and the conductor that spill out soliciting passengers- family! sweets! round d road? short? Munroe Road?. street vendors- drinks, pastries, panties, false handbags, shoes, toys, false everything. Beautiful women in clothing so tight you wonder how they were able to get into it..smells of KFC mixed with the stench of clogged drains, mixed with the honking of angry drivers, mixed with flies and music and chattering. eyes that meet and introduce themselves, men who steal glances at the women´s behinds darting quickly over to see if their wives noticed. Sleepy Chaguanes rise up to the challenge of modernisation.

Forgotten

2007-04-11T06:07:00.000+02:00

I remember the first day of school. i remember how my mother left me and said she would be back shortly and i only saw her again in the evening. in a way, it felt like a betrayal that would repeat itself many times. like the time she left me infront of Hilo supermarket, told me she would be back in a few minutes which turned into an hour or at least that was how it felt.. i remember thinking maybe she forgot where she left me or maybe something happened to her and she would never be back or maybe she ddint want me and had abandonned me there... i remember going to the dentist and removing all my teeth (or almost) and returning home, numb, not knowing exactly what had happened, only that there was alot of blood and something was very wrong. i remember the many visits to the dentist after that and the immense fear i had inside, so much so that i would throw up every time the spit suction was put in my mouth... i remember trying to learn to swim and the immense fear i had that i would drown so that after a semester, i still failed the exam...i remmeber trying to play volleyball or even badminton but because of bad coordination, i was just lowsy and would only help my side loose... i remember not being able to let go and let be.

do you remember when you shit yourself in grade one? you needed to go to the toilet baad but you were too afraid to ask permission or even move and then u begged it to not come out but then you couldn´t help yourself.. then when the smell was evident, you still refused to let yourself be humilliated so you sat there until the teacher went around smelling everyone, until she got to you...then they took you home, putting sheets of newspaper on the seats so it wouldnt smell of shit. do you remember that reading competition you entered and didnt know you had to answer questions after which you couldn´t do and so, tried to copy from the girl next to you? Do you remember how you were ashamed of your lunch at school and would prefer to starve than take out the oily brown paper which your mother had so carelessly wrapped the roti in? or the time you lied and said you had peanut butter and jelly sandwich and even showed your egg crumbs to the girl next to you insisting it was peanut butter? do you remember all the times you would steal small things from the supermarket and secretly give it to your teachers so they could like you? or the times you would remove all the labels from the Grace tins from the shelves to trade in for the Grace schoolbag which the rats eventually destroyed because you had left your food in it from the day before? Do you remember the times riding to the little market and trying to escape the dogs who smelled your fear and seemed to be waiting for only you? or the time you grudgingly went to deliver milk and the dogs rushed after you pulling your skirt down?

or the time in the school yard when jokes were being circulated about your no-teeth mother? Or about your raisin legs or about your large nose which seemed to overpower your entire face?

Well, these are the bits and pieces you wanted to have erased. Done!

2007-04-03T04:08:00.000+02:00

I know adding quotations is not very original...but there are some which seem to express what we feel inside but just can´t bring to the surface, or some that we identify so much with that we don´t want to even dissemble it for fear of dismembering the idea...or some that that just takes us to this strange land and leaves us there for a while, with a mild breeze on our face and body.. here´s one of them i like from The History of Love by Nicole Krauss-
Now that mine is almost over, I can say that the thing that struck me most about life is the capacity for change. one day you´re a person and the next day they tell you youré a dog. At first it´s hard to bear, but after a while you learn not to look at it as a loss. there´s even a moment when it becomes exhilarating to realise just how little needs to stay the same for you to continue the effort they call, for lack of a better word, being human.

Lilith turned Eve

2007-04-03T01:46:00.000+02:00

M often thought that life had no meaning anymore for her. it was now more than three months since she discovered her husband was having an affair with a beautiful, elegant and sophisticated young woman. she was close to 35 and she felt old, unhappy and very alone. She knew she couldn´t confide in her family, not even her brother whom she adored. She remembers how she felt when she discovered their messages which her husband had naively saved to his computer, she still remembers the way she felt when she saw all those words her husband never once said to her, how she felt numb, like life had all but stopped. She remembered calling him- because he was away on a supposed study trip- and faking she was very ill in the hospital just so he could come home and confront her wrath... but he never showed until days after with some lame excuse like his phone was turned off...

He eventually told her he broke off the relationship, although he was bitter, harsh and extremely cold towards her now. He would often call her witch, old fag, nut case and a dunce. This was the only man she had ever lived for in the last 12 years. she couldnt imagine her life without his presence, although admittedly, she knew she was always alone.. always has been.. didn´t he tell her earlier on that he never loved her and only saw her as a mother? Wasnt she the one who helped and nurtured him all along his career, so that he could speak five languages, publish many books and also pick up young girls....

She didnt have the guts to leave. she couldnt leave. So she stayed and hoped that things would get better, that he would realise he needed her and wanted her with him. So she stood her ground and tried not to crumble each time he told her how stupid she was, how ugly and unattractive she was... how annoying she was.. many days she would just sleep under her covers and not get up until many many hours had passed...she didnt even feel hungry anymore..he had lost all her zeal, all her confidence, all hope... why didn´t she see this coming, she would often ask herself. why did this happen to her? What did she do wrong? didnt she give him everything, sacrifiing that dress she loved, or that visit to the hairdresser and that much needed balm for her sore feet? All that so he could could participate in this congress, or speak at that university, or do a course at that institute.. when did she become blind? Wasnt she the same woman who knew how to charm men and wrap them around her fingers and play with them like puppets on a string... wasnt she that same woman who left many a man dreaming of her eyes and her body at night? And when did this all change she asked herself?

What was left for her? She knew she couldnt leave him. she had pleaded with him to reason, promised to change and be what he wanted, she would smile when he insulted her, despite that raw pain that ebbed at her insides...she was willing to do anything to remain by his side.. because after all, a lonely woman was worse off...

News (noticias)/ “chisme” (gossip)- where do you draw the line?

2007-04-02T14:57:00.000+02:00

More and more, gossip pieces and other trivialities are taking over and usurping what we have traditionally known as “news”. Like the other day, I was laughing with some friends about a story- the way it was reported of course- from the Trinidad Express newspaper about a thief who broke into a grandmother´s house and stole her Christmas gift and even slippers. The story went on about how the shameless thief broke into this very old, poor lady´s house, lamenting at the state the country was in etc.. I mean, where do we draw the line here? Why can´t they simply report the story without giving us generous doses of their lamentations, moral comments and other paraphernalia? One friend smirkingly remarked that in “small island Trinidad”, that was what passed off as news- “chismes” and other anecdotes… of course it is unfair to judge the quality of a newspaper by this isolated story and that’s not the point anyway… just that more and more, we are becoming indifferent to diluted, poor, distorted and frivolous reporting…that what goes on, for example, in Victoria Beckham´s life takes precedence over say…some disaster or some more edifying news piece about art or culture etc… which brings me to what I wanted to write about. This is the headline that caught my eye and gave me a good laugh even though I didn’t read the entire story- La madre del niño obeso de Asturias murió de anorexia. Los abuelos reclaman la custodia y acusan al Gobierno del Principado de "rapto". It was all so surreal reading the little extract. That a kid, whose mother died of anorexia, was 10 years old and weighs 100 kilos!!!! Is this a record for extremes? Did the mother revert to starving herself with the daily mirror-confrontation of her obese kid?! The story only gets weirder. After her death, he was taken in to live with his grandparents, but he was removed by the government of Asturias in order to be put under a diet regime. Ok, now here’s the thing- the grandparents are crying kidnap! and “encima” they make a comment like this one- estaba gordín, pero sano como un coral. Hahah!! Who are these people kidding? Or maybe with age, their perceptions have become hyperbolically distorted?! So this is the kind of news pieces we are more and more being bombarded by…which we content ourselves with daily in a world that is more fantastic than real. No wonder García Marquez gets so much good raw material for his magical realism from the very reality which never ceases to amaze…

In search of (un)happiness

2007-03-30T19:00:00.000+02:00

I like this connection i read in Lorenzo Silva´s "Carta Blanca" between unhappiness and freedom. This is his reasoning- ..."quien acepta la infelicidad sólo puede aspirar a conquistar la libertad, como estímulo para seguir enfrentando cada nuevo día que comienza...incluso llegó (el personaje) a creer que únicamente aquel que se resignara a ser infeliz podía ser de veras libre. porque la felicidad siempre engendraba el apego, y el apego, antes o después, la servidumbre" (222). So you are freer when you are unhappy and happiness only ties you to bondship. that´s why it´s so elusive and shortlived, cause other conditions set in, leaving you disatisfied sooner or later and wanting more...
i was explaining to a friend a similar logic vis a vis expectations. if you have no expectations- about people, relationships, future, etc..then you can´t be disappointed or get hurt.. cause you assume from the very beginning that you hope and desire nothing but the moment in itself... of course, in practice, these theories just go down the drain most of the times..but as an idea its great....

Rising to the challenge of being human

2007-03-29T00:49:00.000+02:00

I read this lovely statement from the testimonial novel of Rachid Nini- Diario de un inmigrante ilegal-
Lo que nos hace seres humanos es que cometemos errores. Cada vez que cometemos un error nos volvemos más humanos. Y esto es lo que nadie nos ha enseñado en la escuela. Por eso cuando crecemos empezamos a arrepentirnos de las tonterías que hemos hecho. Y cada vez que nos arrepentimos nos hacemos menos humanos (147).

Then, in the same book, he cites a few thought-provoking lines from Milan Kundera´s book titled "La Broma"-
la mayoría de la gente sucumbe al espejismo de una doble creencia- creen en la perennidad de la memoria (de los hombres, las cosas, las naciones) y en la posibilidad de la reparacion (de los actos, los errores, los pecados, el daño). Tanto la una como la otra son falsas. La verdad se sitúa precisamente en el lado opuesto: todo se olvidará, nada podrá ser reparado. La función que debe cumplir la reparación (mediante la venganza o el perdón) la asume el olvido. Nadie reparará los daños cometidos y todos los daños serán olvidados (147).

I find the above logic so simple and yet so fascinating... el olvido natural como la panacea..but this takes time right?
and finally, this last citation in his book about the world being the ultimate consolation-

Viajar te enseña a mirar el globo terráqueo como si fuera una agenda de bolsillo con muchas direcciones. Cada ciudad queda reducida a una calle con un número. A veces, hojear la agenda es como hacer un pequeño viaje…las amistades que hacemos en los trenes son como las amistades que nos unen a los libros. Tan pronto como los terminamos, los arrinconamos en un lugar de la estantería…pero el tren seguirá pitando siempre. Igual que el escritor .

Much food for thought... so let´s have a feast...

llevar el burka

2007-03-25T17:45:00.000+02:00

Here is the lyrics of the song entitled "Burka" by the famous cantautor Pedro Guerra:
Pies que no pueden hacer ruido al andar,
mujeres condenadas tras el velo,
dedos que no pueden escribir ni contar,
labios que no pueden sonreír ni cantar.
Brazos que no pueden recibir ni abrazar,
mujeres condenadas tras el velo,
mentes que no pueden decidir ni pensar,
ojos que olvidaron el placer de mirar.
Muertas en vida,
dolidas del alma,
personas heridas,
mujeres fantasma.
Pasos encerrados sin unir ni venir,
mujeres condenadas tras el velo,
letras denegadas sin nombrar ni decir,
besos que no alcanzan labios donde existir.
Vidas que no sacian ni el amor ni la sed,
mujeres condenadas tras el velo,
rejas que eliminan cuanto se quiere ver,
burkas enrejadas, libertad tras la red.
Muertas en vida,
dolidas del alma,
personas heridas,
mujeres fantasma.

I cite this song in connection to an article which appeared in the newspaper El Mundo entitled "The burka arrives in Spain". Like the song, a very prejudiced, biased article which really criticises and condemns the apparently barbaric, backward practice of covering oneself in the 21st century because apparently it goes against the current trend of show-it-all; skin is in; the more u show, the more liberated you are...I do not deny that there are alot of women who would probably take off the burka if given a choice without any kind of pressures- society, male folk, conditioning etc.. Just look at Afghanistan.. but then again, there are still women who apparently continue to wear it despite the apparent freedom to remove it..some might say its out of custom, fear, tradition..maybe.. During the war between Algeria and France, women fought to keep the veil on against the french orders to remove it..in Turkey, women doctors and other students, forced to remove it, also demand their rights to wear it... i think its unfair to cast all the apple in the basket as rotten just because one or two are! Some women- and i´ve met some- actually feel better being covered and feel more secure of themselves to express their opinions and socialise in public etc.. Is it right for the outsider to look at them and say they are all oppressed because they arent dressed like normal women? Women wear the hijab for so many reasons..i think we need to overcome this first obstacle of judging them simply by what we see on tv and read about... i do not deny that it is a complicated topic because a sacred book is involved and "reason" apprently seems useless in any kind of debate..but that does not mean that individual freedoms must be violated either..
i also acknowledge the fact that burqa is different from what is currently referred to as hijab- just the head covering as opposed to the burqa which is a full gear with the face covered...the debate centred around the two is obviously different. In my country, Trinidad and Tobago, of catholic majority, you also find women in the streets, almost totally covered and in black.. in the university there too, you find a few as well.. having spoken with some of them, i was assured that this was their choice- one of the girls came from a non-practising muslim family- and wasnt married or anything- because they felt safer and less harrassed by unwelcome gazes.. although it may be difficult for many to understand, i think one individual wishes, as long as it doesnt affect or encroach on anybody else´s rights and freedoms, should also be respected.

TE DOY MIS OJOS

2007-03-23T02:20:00.000+01:00

Finally sat down to see the much talked about movie "Te doy mis ojos" since i had a chance to listen to the director yesterday- Iciar Bollain. The movie is simple but has some excellent moments which are really intense. its basically about a woman who is caught up in a violent relationship with a man she thinks she loves and understands more than anyone else..she leaves him only be persuaded once more with the usual refrain of "i am a changed man", "i´m seeking help", "i can´t live without you", "you are the only one who can help me" etc etc. The development of some of the characters was really "trabajado" and i liked that alot. Like the sister who looks in from outside and can´´t understand her sister´s position and love for a violent man, when it seems so simple...or the victim, who so wants to believe in something, afraid to face the world alone; or the victimiser who is also victim, left alone in the end, not knowing what to do with himself...there are some intense moments in the movie especially the one love scene, the paintings which play such an important role in the whole movie or in the pain and trauma of the protagonist subject to a violent husband...like when he strips her naked and locks her out..only to find her peeing herself once he pulls her back inside..or the scene at the police station where she just breaks down faced with the whole idiocy of the interrogation and the suppression of her pain...or in the end when she says..no me veo, no me veo...i no longer know who i am...
It´s always a bit fascinating to be a spectator to this kind of drama...what really keeps a woman in this kind of relationship, all the emotional manipulations that take place... it was also interesting to see the whole "curing" process of the husband, going to help sessions, seeing the whole dynamic of violent men, their weaknesses etc and how they are forced to open up and discover an unknown side of themselves... its always problematic when they think they are seeking help for the other and not for their one benefit...they dont realise the problem is theirs to deal with, with the other person or not...
Anyway, these are just some of my sleepy musings on this film which awakens you to a path of self discovery...

WAITING TO EXHALE

2007-03-23T02:12:00.000+01:00

I am waiting. Waiting for I don´t know what…waiting to begin, waiting for it all to end, waiting to fall in love, waiting for the next crisis, waiting to live. Durante la espera, duermo, me ensimismo, como, follo, me bestializo…todo en la espera… Why wait? Waiting for what, for whom, when, why? Isolation, memory, fragmentation, splinters, the END…. A new beginning? Nothingness…I wait in solitude and fear…

VIOLENCE... what is hate, why take revenge, why draw strength from the weaknesses of others.. cripple, maim, destroy and triumph.. dog eat dog world; P.E.A.C.E. Putrifying, Egotism, All-Powerful Carcass; Enshrined in, Englobing…Evanescent Escape… Closer, Closer to that Nine Inch Nail- You let me violate you, you let me desecrate you, You let me penetrate you, you let me complicate you. Help me, I broke apart my insides; help me I've got no soul to sell.Help me, the only thing that works for me, help me get away from myself

Love is…never having to say you’re sorry? Love is sharing an intimate moment with someone? Love is letting oneself go to the whims of another? Love is regalando las partes del cuerpo al amante del alma? ¿Te doy mis ojos? Love is being able to transcend this virtual reality world? Love is that smile, that confidence, that hope, that spark that makes you want to live forever; that gives you a taste of immortality? Love is un círculo tramposo that takes you on a ride and drops you back where u have started…but you are never the same anymore…
Disappointment…love, life, world, human being caught in the web of deceit…waiting to exhale…

Film "Flores de otro mundo" based on director´s comments

2007-03-21T22:49:00.000+01:00

Today in our course on immigration and cinema, the director of Flores de otro mundo, Iciar Bollain came to speak with the group and share with us not only the genesis of the movie but also general comments and anecdotes concerning the topic of immigration. the film made in 1998, maps the lives of three women who arrive in the fictitious pueblo of Santa Eulalia in a caravan, invited by the bachelors there.. As in many parts of rural Spain, as the director noted, the absence of women who all migrate to the cities is a common phenomenon.. the idea for the movie came in fact, from a popular newspaper piece on a said caravan loaded with about 40 women who were invited to some isolated town in the Pirineos..the director herself would later jump onto a caravan headed south and gather valuable documentation for what was later converted into a movie.. the movie looks at relationships in this small town, the complications which arise, the hopes which are dashed etc. What complicates the relationships even more is the presence of foreign migrant women- one Dominican and another brought from Cuba. We see not only "soft racism" but the problems which arise from cultural differences, different desires and interests etc. The Cuban, a vibrant 20 year old feels lost and alone in the middle of this empty, parched town where nightlife is practically limited to a bar where men gather to see football etc. The interesting perspective in this film could be its double focus on the women as active participants of migration and work etc and the men as victims in part.. Carmelo who has brought Milady from Cuba, and offers her love and economic happiness is deceived in the end and abandoned by Milady who escapes perhaps to meet her lover in Italy. The dominican also confesses that if it werent for her economic situation and the desire to give security and stability to her children, she would not have come to the pueblo and would not have hooked up with Damian..although she confesses that in the end, she loves him and wants to be with him..Many have approached the film with labels of immigration or the woman as the "double other"...but as the director herself notes...its more about parejas and the problems encountered.. although the other key factors already mentioned- migrant women etc..complicate the plot and add to the film´s particularity.
it was interesting to see the town´s reaction to the foreign women- exotic morenitas from the Caribbean..exotic jewels to display before the other envious and aging bachelors... of course, the town women feel threatened in their own way by these exotic women who threaten to ruin their stability and security.. while the men welcome them and hope to enjoy their exoticism...its strange to see all these mixes in the film- race, exoticism, the desperate condition of the men, the setting of a small isolated town and how all these unique elements lend itself to the debate on immigration, say, or even, relationships etc...
im interested on seeing how different the whole debate would be if there were also black male migrants in this little town and the reaction of its inhabitants...just corroborates how much individual factors- gender, demographics, stereotypes....influence and even dictate the way we understand this increasingly complicated phenomenon of immigration... i remember waiting for the metro one sunday evening in Madrid and this old, fresh guy- viejo verde par excellence! who was ogling all the women there...mostly immigrants and he looks at me and asks- i think- where i was from- and then, almost as if musing to himself...he marvels at the number of immigrants which crowd the streets and metro of Madrid, adding that he was delighted to have all the women from all over the world in Madrid, but the men no way! Guessing his intentions, i slowly eased my way away from him...not wanting to be too close to such characters which seem to abound in Madrid!, capital of Spain... just to close off, i remember a friend in Alcala who was recounting her experience in the supermarket where an old guy was going around, "pescando" foreign women and offering to marry them if they were interested in staying or living in Madrid..he approached both her and her Colombian friend...stories such as these abound... dont know if its only due to lack of companionship or if its the old Spaniard´s desire to live life to the fullest....any clue?

Islam and the West- dialogue of civilizations; coexsitence

2007-03-15T00:59:00.000+01:00

Today, i attended a chat by the director of the ABC newspaper here in Madrid. He was supposed to speak of Zapatero´s pioneering promotion of an Aliance of Civilizations. he mentioned that the idea goes back to Iran´s Khatami in fact and he did start off by saying that all cultures should be respected and treated equally or something like that...Then he went on to say that it was going to be a massive challenge for the West since there are some values in Islam which just seem too incompatible- like issues with fudamental human rights, women´s rights, whihc he went to town about, then he moved to the idea that since the Shariah laid out such clear patterns and rules of law and order, that it was difficult to change or come to some of agreement...in other words, the problem was Islam. I´d like to mention briefly some of his statements which caught my attention, like at the beginning when he was asked to differentiate amongst the terms moro, arabe, musulman. he rightly noted that musulman and arabe were definitely not synonymous..that arabs arent the only muslims and then stated to name other countries with Muslim majorities, noting Egypt, Pakistan, Nigeria, Iran. He then went on to say that it was India that had the most Muslims!! it drew my attention that he didnt mention neither Indonesia nor Malaysia...

Next he went to town again with the whole debate on women´s subjugation and lack of rights in Islam- how two women witnesses were equivalent to one, how women only inherited half the amount of property as men, women were forced to cover up and he even went so far as to say that he felt the suffering of those Muslim women (we assume all of them) who are forced to wear the hijab etc. Well, what im really interested is in the question segment, where it seemed students were much more knowledgeable and reasonable. Some noted that he didnt quite differentiate between Islamism (extremist) and Islam but attempted to show that it was Islam, with some of its values, that was the problem in the dialogue with the all extending hand of the west.. one guy made mention of the nationalist, socialist movements in some Arab countries, like that of Nasser for example, and its failure which led Muslims to adopt more exteme views and give attention to extremists...another spoke about the degradation and humilliation of women in all religions, and that if Europe now respected women more, it was only because it was able to partly get out of the clutch of the Church... another mentioned that like Christ, the prophet Mohammad could also have been seen to dignify and elevate the status of women... yet another mentioned, and this is a point i´d like to stress, that this whole Alliance of civilisations, which is in reaction to Huntington´s clash of civilisations, only seeks to reinforce the divide in cultures and does not promote at all the idea of one single civilisation, but that totally different cultures, almost incompatible, had to find at least something in common... Well it seems that the idea that religion is attacked only when it appears as an obstacle to the free movement of capital, has to be reinforced.. what does the West really care about women who are seemingly oppressed under veils that nobody would bother to wear if given the choice... or about the poverty and violation of human rights in these countries.. Bush in his visit to Latin America, is trying to appease violent protests by attempting to highlight this humanist side of good America, in its fight to improve the conditions of people etc... rhetoric that nobody believes... in the end, though, the debate seemed to all come back to secularism and the hijab...and women in Islam... the eternal question.. and well, the eternal paradox of me being there with my hijab, silent, passive, listening to this debate while others spoke... the guy behind me asked me if i suffered due to my hijab, going on what the guy had said.. i told him i had just read an article of a Moroccan who did a study and found more than 60 reasons why women wear the hijab... he tried to almost force me to tell this to that guy.. because as he said.. he was only fomenting.. lack of knowledge... well, thats how it ended, i left, just as i came in, silently and alone.

Finding the humanist side

2007-03-12T21:56:00.000+01:00

Throughout history, religion and violence have always been closely associated. Nowadays, its Islam that we see in the news all the time with bombings, kidnappings, angry mobs burning flags, taking hostages etc. Just yesterday here in Spain, the third anniversary of the Madrid bombings was remembered with the unveiling of a monument dedicated to its 100 plus victims. Of course this worse terrorist attack to hit Spain has been linked to Islamic extremists and not ETA terrorists and in fact, there is an ongoing trial now, with about 23 accused. In Aamin Maalouf´s book- Deadly Identities, (original- Identités meurtrieres), there is a nice quote about the possibility of violence as well as good in every discourse, from communism to nationalism to secularism. I quote the sentence which caught my eye in Spanish-
El siglo XX nos habrá enseñado que ninguna doctrina es por si misma necesariamente liberadora: todas pueden caer en desviaciones, todas pueden pervertirse, todas tienen las manos manchadas en sangre: el comunismo, nacionalismo, liberalismo, todas las grandes religiones y hasta el laicismo. Nadie tiene el monopolio del fanatismo y, a la inversa, nadie tienen tampoco el monopolio de lo humano.
So if each ideology can be openly interpreted to serve extremist or humanist purposes, where does the problem lie? In interpretation, we might add, or in the inherent, potential violent nature of man? In this book by Maalouf which is basically a long essay on the revindication of the complex and multi-facetted identity which we all possess and which makes each person different from the other, but at the same time, sharing common values with the other in one way or another, Maalouf attempts to show the current predominance of tribal identities has lead and will lead to violence and misunderstandings. When one part of a person’s identity is threatened- race, religion etc, it is this part which is isolated by the individual and revindicated. That’s why, he notes, its so important that the idea of multiple pertenencias be reclaimed, without one encroaching on the other but each coexisting with the other, not in compartments, he stresses, but as one single entity. Maybe, when there is only a single world, and not many worlds, as the French philosopher Alan Badiou notes, the humanist side of man will finally dominate the evil side …

trying to decipher this elusive concept called "identity"

2007-03-12T20:52:00.000+01:00

Amin Maalouf in his book called "Identités meurtrieres", roughly translated as Deadly Identitites, attempts to unearth all the complexities included in this thing we call identity. Recently, i was chatting with a Catalan friend and she was amazed to find out that I was a Caribbean Muslim, of Indian origin living in a country formed mainly by displaced African and Indian communities, brought here by the British to work in plantations, either as slaves or more euphemistically, after the abolition of slavery, as indentured workers. Needless to say, I don´t speak hindi or arabic, just english and well spanish and french. It is always intriguing to see the reaction in people´s faces here in Spain when they find out youré not Moroccan- since the majority of Muslims here are either from the Maghreb, although there are quite a few Pakistanis, Bangladeshis etc. To add to the dilemma, they always seem disappointed when i explain to them i come from the Caribbean and im of Indian origin, but hold it! I don´t speak a word of hindi, expect the basic phrases i would have learnt from the many Bollywood movies I´ve seen...so here I am, a frustrated individual in Spain who is continuously confronted with her multiple "pertenencias", but who feels that she doesnt belong anywhere really. So, my friend Gloria, reminded me of Maalouf´s essays in his book, since he also encounters a similar dilemma, being a Christian Lebanese immigrant living in France, a country he has totally adopted without denying any of his past baggage. This reminds me of the franco-algerian rai singer, Faudel, who in his song "Mon pays", only revindicates France, which he sings, will always be his country. Curious enough, he also sings in arabic and the mix produced is totally entrancing... so we ask ourselves, why is there a need, especially nowadays, to assert one identity and conceal or suppress the multiple others which make each individual unique and irreplaceable? I shouldn´t say a need, but maybe a desire, an urge etc... Well in his book, Maalouf gives many examples showing how historically, peoples have identified with one aspect of their identity- be it Arab, Muslim, yogoslav, Catalan etc only to "switch labels" later under different circumstances.. he stresses, and rightly so, that identity is never a static condition but a lively, continuous dialectic process..whether we choose to give precedence to one aspect depends on many factors. He also interestingly shows in his book how a country and identity influence each other in a reciprocal way.

We obviously need the other to complete the image of ourselves..today, in a session, we were talking about how European communities here in Spain- specifically wealthy English and German retirees, come and settle in the coast and over the years have formed isolated communities where they managed to create almost a separate world apart from the rest of Spain, where everything is in their language, where there is no integration with the host country etc.. However, nobody seems to pay attention to these immigrants who arent even considered as such and who dont even see themselves as such...which leads one to wonder about the term "immigrant" and how it can be replaced quite easily with "poor", "different"; in other words, the other, the one who immediately stands out because he/she is seen as a threat in some way... the immigrant is never treated as an equal, that which is obvious, which leads me to really ponder over the immigrant psyche and how this will be played out in the future..I mean, when an immigrant is confronted with a white, he/she is made to feel his inferiority, his exclusion, his difference, even if only subtly...i don´t want to generalise either, but more and more i find it extremely disturbing to live in a society where u are constantly reminded that u are not wanted or u are an intruder.. i know this isnt always the case but i can also add that it is quite common... Despite the good intentions by some to higlight these contradictions and to force the society to take a look at itself, the media, the stereotypes etc are too strongly rooted to disappear anytime soon...

Anyway, these are just some of my identity musings here in Spain, Madrid to be more specific....

uproar over Dolce & Gabbana´s recent printed ad

2007-03-03T22:20:00.000+01:00

Amnesty International has asked Dolce & Gabbana to remove their clothing ad which consists of a male-nuded torso, pinning down a model by her wrists while four other men look on..one other with his torso also bared. Many other groups have also intervened arguing that the ad is an apology of violence against women. Spain seems to be proud of this new call from Amnesty Int´l since the said ad was apparently denounced here by the spanish Institute for Women about a month ago. when the advertisement was banned in spain, the designers accused the Spanish market of being backward and not appreciating the meaning of art!!! In Italy, trade unions have already warned that if the ad is not removed before International Women´s day on the 8th of March, the clothing company will be boycotted. The designers are being asked to issue a public apology to women for thier ad which is seen as promoting a culture of female submission and "generating machismo" based on violence.
there seems to be unanimous calls for the withdrawal of the ad, with thirteen Italian senators also joining the bandwagon. I wonder if this decision is simply based on growing outside outcry over the whole ad or if the ad is genuinely seen to promote violence against women... i also wonder how many women would look at this ad and not find anything wrong with it at all... just goes to show how much our reactions and responses are based on conditioning and constructions and media brainwashing etc. I also think that if this ad is to be removed, then it should be done so properly, establishing some kind of precedent or certain regulations and standards as to what is appropriate and what is offensive.. and who is to decide what should be censored or not.. I personally have seen worse ads- can´t name any right now- which have gone by totally unnoticed, which only underlines society´s inconsistencies and double standards. This does not mean i condone the ad, simply that we should be more responsible and consistent, and also realistic and truthful when protesting about what constitutes an "apology for violence against women".
On the other hand, as to be expected, no image has only one interpretation, so there have been various counter-versions to the original argument (of inciting female violence), one going so far as to say that the men are all gay and one of them becomes attracted to the woman he pins down, cause he is confused about his strange attraction, while the other men´s reactions are also re-interpreted.. i guess this is the beauty of interpretations, images and language... that there is no single truth...

la esencia y sustancia del hombre

2007-03-03T20:54:00.000+01:00

Here is an opening quotation in spanish from the short story titled Trabanxi by the Moroccan author Ahmed Ararou, taken from the shory story anthology of moroccan authors, edited in Spain:
hay hombres, y quizá por eso creen serlo, que parecen haber vivido sólo para la gloria y la eternidad del terruño que los vio nacer. Ulises fue uno de ellos; con el empieza el mito de la raza civilizada encarnada en el aventurero que acumula recuerdos para el ineludible día de su retorno a Itaca. desde entonces, renunciar a Itaca significa renunciarse a uno mismo, ser sin conciencia de lo que se es....los hombres sólo son hombres, su condición impone que coman y beban de los mitos, por eso asumen destinos urdidos por los dioses y caminan en sendas forjadas por héroes que se confunden con el tiempo. pero, de vez en cuando, irrumpen hombres fuera de molde, para dar el contraejemplo y recordarnos a todos que, como el hombre no es un semidiós, es capaz de las más sorprendentes diferencias.
I find this quotation very suggestive and rich in meaning... what is the essence of the human being? How is identity formed, what deeds and actions make one individual "different" and more noble from the others.. how do we invent and explain our origins...the importance or role of myths in either creating or preventing the "formation" of "great men"... drawing the boundaries between the individual and his native land etc...

overview of Cartas de Alou, based on director´s comments

2007-03-01T00:38:00.000+01:00

Well, i had a chance to listen to the director of Cartas de Alou today- Montxo Arendáriz. His discussion was very pleasant.. the anecdotes that these directors recount are just priceless and invaluable and obviously shed new light on many impressions u would have formed by looking at the film with your own cultural baggage etc. Like there were questions and theories behind whether the initial scene in which Alou´s voice is heard, reading a letter in wolof was supposed to carry subtitles or not and the implications of the director´s intentions.. or whether the fact that there was no real intimacy between the senegalese immigrant Alou and white Carmen, was because these tabou areas are better left untreated, etc.. Well, you would have had to see the film to know where im coming from.. but its really amazing that this film which was made in 1990 when the whole immigration affair in Spain was in its incipient stages... is prophetic in many ways since the entire drama is very much alive and the same more than 15 years later.. i would have asked the director whether there was anything in particular he would have liked to revise or change considering the present polemic and media saturation of the whole affair.. alas, what i did ask was about the whole identity issue vis-a-vis the immigrant taking into consideration Alou´s comments during the film and in the end, trying to return to Spain, adding that he now knows how to treat with the Spaniards..he acknowledged that he wanted to leave it very ambiguous as with the whole identity question. the previous speaker, referring to the film, had noted that Alou se ha españolizado pero el espectador se ha africanizado..
Well, the director emphasised the whole genesis of the film, the racism that pervaded spanish society then although everyone was in denial. the exploitation and subhuman conditions in which many of the immigrants were living etc.. he underlined that in this film, he wanted to give voice to the immigrant, let the immigrant speak and allow the spectator to follow Alou´s journey through his voice and eyes... very nice.. he also noted that he didnt want to indulge neither in "buenismos" or in "criminalizaciones" with respect to the whole immigration debate..in other words, not falling into the trap of maniqueísmos...and the whole problem of having to work with real illegal immigrants, the technical and bureaucatic difficulties etc..
Well, he would have also touched on many issues..like how the majority of the cast could not read spanish which in the end enriched the whole idea of their lines and how this opened up the script to more interpretations from their part after hearing the jist of what the director´s intentions were.. a lot more dialectical and enriching in this sense...and many other anecdotes that allow for multiple interpretations of the film.. he recounted too, for instance, how he was totally blown over when he visited a building designed for about 50 ppl, if i remember right.. but which was rented out to immigrants-in the hundreds- and who converted the building into one of their communities to which they were accostumed- for instance, no doors were closed and a room at the bottom was left for prayers etc.. he added that when he explained this to his friends- who by the way, only lived like 15 km away- they refused to believe him. in fact, he stressed, many ppl assumed that if u entered these places, you would be killed or something because of the image there was of these immigrants- drug addicts, thiefs, violent, indulging only in prostitution etc..
i also asked the director about the scene in the cave- where the immigants lived- and the comments by the moroccan when the senegalese was resistant to stay there because of the subhuman, degrading condition- he told Alou that they were stinking smelly rats etc and therefore that this was where they belonged... when Alou moves to Barcelona, he returns there with Mulai and two Spanish women who look aghast when they see the place... i asked him if he wanted to critically and ironically confront the spaniard with the reality which they denied or avoided... Montxo added that it was actually the initiative of the moroccan who had made this comment and so, it was incoporated into the film...all in all, anécdotas mías based on today´s session which left me feeling both contented and disturbed at the same time... it is in fact a film which continues to shed light, more than 15 years later on the whole topic of African immigration in Spain and the society´s reaction...

sexuality in children´s literature

2007-02-18T13:47:00.000+01:00

ok, so in the land that never ceases to amaze vis-a-vis its many contradictions, there is a furore brewing over the word "scrotum" which has made its way into a "children´s book". On the first page of "The higher power of Lucky" by Susan Patron, there is mention of the word "scrotum", which the ten-year orphan kid Lucky hears through a hole when someone mentions that a rattlesnake bit his dog on the scrotum. I think what´s disturbing for many, apart from the word, is that attention is drawn to it; Lucky proceeds, with her child´s mind, to dig deeper into the meaning of the word - to her, "it sounded like something green that comes up when u have the flu and cough too much"..or that it sounded medical and secret, but also important, one reads. Because of this brief passage, many school librarians plan to ban the book from elementary schools. to be fair, there have been varied reactions towards the whole issue with some calling for a more holistic view of the book without singling out words. Personally, i agree with the latter. The author has had to justify her use noting that it´s based on a true incident and besides, Lucky is in a phase of discovery- learning about language and body parts etc. I personally do not see what the link is between it being a true incident and her justification for including the passage...if it were not, would she not have mentioned it?
Well, this whole incident, apart from being hypocritcal, myopic and surprising considering the society we live in, reminds me of one i read of earlier in my country where the Education ministry wanted to band cell phones in schools because a sex ring had been formed with the circulation of vulgar and sexual images of girls having sex etc. Of course, the two topics are different altogether but what links them is the reaction by the authorities..who seem to invent vacuum like responses without even scratching the surface to see what the main issue at heart is.. i think on both sides, there is a lack of what real education is and how we deal with societal and other influences on our young, impressionable ones. I mean we are part of the technology, or as Cronenberg says, technology is an extension of us. We are a transformed society because of it, our bodies are transformed, what we see and how we think are revolutionised and we as adults need to be able to transmit this maturely to our young ones without these silly censoring and radical, couter-productive measures.. censoring a children´s book due to the mere mention of scrotum is ludicrous, especially when children more than eight (not wanting to generalise here) already have a list of synonyms for private and tabu body parts.. and let them slip unabashedly... i think what we need is precisely a wise yet cautious treatment of these topics at this very age to orient children in the understanding of sexuality etc..instead we prefer to just bury our heads in the sand and leave it up to tv, internet, advertisements, adult conversations etc... well, we are definitely living in postmodern times...

Days of Glory- Rachid Bouchareb

2007-02-16T11:39:00.000+01:00

A quick comment on this Algerian/ moroccan/french film nominated as one of the best foreign language film for the Oscars- I haven´t yet seen it but this review i just read (link provided) reflects not only a relatively novel angle of the war theme but one that eloquently treats so many of the hot topics in today´s media- immigrants, identity, minorities, revision and subversion of the offical memory, advocacy of cultural difference as against diversity (Homi Bhabha´s reading) etc. I´m reading material now on the participation of Moroccans in Spain´s civil war - very similar with France and the use of Algerian and Moroccan soldiers in their European wars- and worse yet, the use of these "moros" in the indigenous colonial police force during the time of the Spanish Protectorate (1912-1956) to fight and kill their own compatriots!! I´m fascinated in exploring the psychoanalytical side of the identity problems which arise; how these moros perceive themselves, how the locals see them and how they are seen by the colonial power on whose side they fight. It appears that tribal hostilities were greatly used by the colonial powers to spread hate, resentment and division amongst the moroccans. The same question of identity and the locating of the "other", the other within oneself, the colonised, is treated by Homi Bhabha in The Location of Culture. Recently, there has been a tendency to give an outward look at these inside stories, which in some way blurs the private/public divide, transgressing these historical tabous. From the "boundary", from this liminal space- french colonial subjects fighting side by side the French in their international wars, or moroccan soldiers fighting with the Spaniards- we discover new, subversive histories which are universal narratives.

Bush and the veto dilemma

2007-02-07T22:20:00.000+01:00

Just saw this cartoon published in Islamica magazine that really caught my eye and reminds me of how inconsistent and fraudulent this Bush really is... i mean..he inspires zero credibility!-
So this is the "bushy" musings-
"why did i veto stem cell research legislation?... because, deep in my heart, i believe that stem cells are a form of human life"...then "why did we veto a U.N Resolution to stop the bloodshed in Lebanon?...because, deep down in my gut, im not 100% sure that Arab children, women and unarmed civilians ARE a form of human life!". Then in the corner, u see a puny shrouded semblance of a human saying "have mercy: Arabs are full of stem cells!". One more example of the Bush logic which needs a category all by itself if u ask me.

movie "Cartas de Alou"

2007-02-07T03:24:00.000+01:00

Just saw the above titled movie about a Senegalese immigrant who comes to Spain illegally by boat, in the end, gets deported and is seen attempting once more to return to Spain by boat. What do i think about the movie? Well, it was made in the early 1990s when i imagine the immigration topic wasnt in the news as much as it is now, although it was then that the whole "patera" issue came into the headlines after a tragic incident so i guess maybe it was already in the news. So it starts off rather dramatically with the boat ride, one person actually falls off, but later we find out that he is alive and is in Spain. in fact, thats the same person who Alou finds himself with in the boat at the end, reattempting to enter Spain. One thing i can´t grasp though and seems very inverosimile is how perfect Alou´s spanish is when in the beginning, he couldnt speak a word! As usual, the issues of racism, exploitation, solidarity, love etc are raised and treated in the movie, effectively i would say. One can describe Alou as an ambitious immigrant who holds on to his friend Mulai in Barcelona almost like a dream of everything which the West is supposed to represent. He meets Mulai finally but in many ways he is disappointed. He admires Mulai but also wants to seek better, to have his own life, but with dignity, and legally too of course, which Mulai cant give him,Mulai leaves his flat with his spanish wife and child and leaves it to Alou and another compatriot. Alou, at the moment, was working in the dump, collecting old appliances which could be repaired in some way. he finds a heater and behind his boss´s back, takes it home and he and his compatriot celebrate when they are able to light it. However, as to be predicted, the said heater only brings tragedy as in the end, it kills the friend.
the movie also attempts to highlight the African immigrant as a subject with a culture of his own, with its traditions, its language etc. Many times, the dialogue evolves in the african language, we see a scene where they pray in congregation in the cave, and then the burial of the friend and the walk to the cemetery where they chant and do a kind of "janaza" before they place the coffin in the slot.there are some harsh racist scenes, for instance, when alou, this time, picking fruits, throws some to his friends from a box during the lunch break. A spaniard who sees him orders him to leave the fruits adding that only the fallen ones from the tree are for them. alou breaks out into a fight with the guy and has to leave before a scene occurs and the police intervene. Then there´s another scene in the bar where he enters and asks for a coke, several times, and is ignored. he serves himself and is violently told to get lost, that there is no place for him here, that his people only bring trouble, more or less.Then there is his love encounter with a Spanish woman who helps her father in a bar. When the father realises that there is something between the two, he tells Alou to get lorse, albeit discreetly, that he doesnt want problems for his only daughter... in the end, they meet secretly and it is during one of these meetings, when Alou accompanies her to take the train back, that he is stopped by police and escorted to the station when he admits he doesnt have papers. his girlfrend witnesses this from the train.it is interesting to note too that once again in his home town, he realises that this is not where he belongs, he says that he now knows how to treat whites and that he is gonna try again...all this in a letter to his friend Mulai.
The film has been described as "una película de denuncia" which sought to highlight the precarious conditions of the immigrant in Spain. this was one of the first Spanish films to treat this topic. One critic describes the director´s attempt in the foll. words- Montxo Armendáriz consigue en Las cartas de Alou un film que es al mismo tiempo comprometido, riguroso y objetivo. Al denunciar este problema social huye de los planteamientos extremos y de las situaciones dramáticas que fácilmente provocan la identificación sentimental del público, pero que no tienen eficacia alguna como reconocimiento crítico de una situación de la que todo el mundo es, en cierto modo, responsable.

Indian women in the 21st century

2007-02-03T23:54:00.000+01:00

interesting article in spanish on the evolving role and place of women in the Indian society. Focus on actress and director Shabana Azmi and her function as an activist in dignifying the Indian woman, among many other things... and mention of other noteworthy female examples from all spheres of Indian society

Artículo- Arte de escribir sin arte

2007-02-03T23:51:00.000+01:00

Cercas maintains that the largely decorative, ornamental style continues to take precedence in todays writings, to which he disagrees. he notes that the reader in the main, distrusts his own tastes, following instead what he is told he must like, giving us an example, he cites- el adjetivo desusado, la acrobacia sintáctica, la metáfora pinturera. he maintains that what is behind literature is not beauty but truth, he adds that what sounds like literature is never really literature, because wirting well, he says, is the opposite to writing beautiful phrases...he quotes Hannah Arendt who notes that the only element whihc seduces and attracts the reader of Kafka is the truth...he ends with the following citation from the author Alaiz- “No es el hombre quien ha de hablar como un libro abierto”, dice Alaiz, “sino el libro abierto quien debe hablar como un hombre”.

Classical "Love Story" (Ali MacGraw and Ryan O Neil)

2007-02-03T23:50:00.000+01:00

Jan 29 Edit Note Delete
Last nite a friend and i looked at the classic and beautiful movie "Love Story", a huge hit when it came out in the 1970s- it´s set in the tumultuous period of the sexual revolution, student protests, opposition to the Vietnam war, questioning of conventional moral codes etc. A beautiful story of a couple who is in love and gets married despite opposition from the guy´s super wealthy, famous and intellectually loaded family. He breaks off all contact with his parents and the young couple struggle to make ends meet. the girl, Jenny, sacrifices her dream of Paris and her studies to work and maintain her husband while he struggles to climb the law ladder.. they soon discover that Jenny is dying from leukemia and well she has very little time left... Apart from some extraordinary scenes and a beautiful script as well as rewarding character development of both protagonists, the film has a haunting musical piece chosen by Francis Lai. then there is the motif of "love means never having to say youré sorry" which is also quite powerful in the film.. I also liked the character Jenny and her stubborn, sincere and sarcastic attitude to life and love. i like the part when she tells her husband Ollie that she also likes his name and the numeral attached to it and that its part of who he is...which is conciliated in the end when he tells the doctors that he is a millionaire and returns to his father, with respect but maintaining his rebeliious truthful stance, asking for a loan and not giving even the reason for his request... it was also lovely to see how he keeps the memory and character of his wife alive, when he tells his father who discovers the wife´s ilness that "love means never having to say youré sorry".something that crossed my mind today though was how much women in general sacrifice for the ones they loved. in the movie, it is rewarded and equally compensated by a loving wonderful husband. in real life though, i know too mnay cases of women who abandon their own self and plans to help their husbands and all they get in return is infidelity, harsh remarks, ungratefulness etc... i know its unfair to generalise but it seems to be a growing phenomenon... anyway, at least we have movies like this classic to give us hope and enjoy a beautiful, evasive love story to the very end...

Taken from the 17th century Jesuit monk Balthasar Gracian, in his work- The Art of Worldly Wisdom:

2007-02-03T23:49:00.000+01:00

Taken from the 17th century Jesuit monk Balthasar Gracian, in his work- The Art of Worldly Wisdom:"Knowledge and courage. These are the elements of greatness. Because they are immortal they bestow immortality. Each is as much as he knows, and the wise can do anything. A person without knowledge is in a world without light. Wisdom and strength are the eyes and hands. Knowledge without courage is sterile."

original intention for the Statue of Liberty

2007-02-03T23:48:00.000+01:00

Curious to know that the Statue of Liberty by the French sculptor was initially intended to be an Egyptian peasant girl who was supposed to adorn the entrance of the Suez Canal...

cita sobre la capital de España- Madrid

2007-02-03T23:43:00.000+01:00

POOR Madrid. Stuck in the middle of Spain, the city has long been perceived as the provincial, sleepy sister to Barcelona. Even today, you can see little girls dressed exactly as their mothers were, in 1940s-style dresses and matching topcoats. But that is precisely Madrid's charm. As the city fast-forwards into the 21st century — with designer hotels that rival any international city's, a sleek new airport terminal designed by Antonio Lamela and Richard Rogers and non-tapas bars that flirt with minimalist décor — Madrid is still the country's political and cultural capital. It remains, as Ernest Hemingway wrote, “the most Spanish of all cities.” (Sarah Wildman, 2007)
Well Madrid´s lema "de Madrid al cielo" seems to be gaining adeptos a pasos gigantescos.. the mix of new and old seem to hold a particular charm as the citation indicates.

closer to a cure for smokers?

2007-02-03T23:40:00.000+01:00

It seems that damage to a certain area of the brain- near the ear, to be more precise- could remove instantly and entirely addiction to smoking...says scientists. So now brain injury is a possible solution to addiction...sounds freaky and scary to booth. Scientists, it seems, think this part of the brain has no real function! For now at least. And further add that its removal, for instance, doesn´t have any negative effects on say..appetite etc- I wonder why this part of the brain is only being considered for smoking adictions..wonder what would be the effect on other addictions as well......All the same, it still seems to be a crazy, drastic idea... imagine eliminating part of the brains of our already brainles society!

Racism, case of Spain

2007-02-03T23:37:00.002+01:00

Over the last weekend in a town called Alcorcón, in the outskirts of Madrid, violence erupted between hispanic immigrants and young spaniards. Apparently it was all organised through the use of mobile phones. It seems that another outburst is being planned for the upcoming weekend. there were cries of racism, xenophobia and the usual politically loaded terms were bandied about- integration,failure of social systems etc..What is curious is the way the incidents were reported...im not totally aware of all the details..so i cud be out of line here..but it seems that many residents, denying that they are racist, seem to justify the spanish violent reaction by saying that it was a response to delinquency problems. Well this brings me to the current article im reading and which id like to quote from:España no es solo un país racista, es la quintaesencia del racismo, todo lo que significa ser racista concentrado en la conciencia colectiva. Un país forjado en los mitos de la invasión islámica y de la reconquista, en la pureza de sangre y el confesionalismo obligatorio, un país que todavía no ha logrado arrancarse las cadenas, que no asume gran parte de su historia como propia.Well to be fair, i don´t think one can generalise especially when it comes to such dlicate issues, but i must admit that i´ve encountered quite racist comments since im here...some of the speakers not being aware of thier "peso"..but sometimes i have to remind myself that because of our histories, in one way or the other, we are all racist..
Just a quick quote from Tahar Ben Jelloun, a morocca author who defines racism as the following: "El racismo es un comportamiento bastante extendido, común a todas las sociedades, que desgraciadamente se ha vuelto banal en muchos países porque llega y nadie se da cuenta. Consiste en desconfiar de las personas que tienen características físicas y culturales diferentes de las nuestras, e incluso en menospreciarlas". In english more or less, it would be- Racism is a well extended behavior, common in all societies, which unfortunately has become banalised in many countries because it appears and no one takes note. it consists of distrusting or even despising persons based on their physical and cultural characteristics, whihc are different from ours. for starters, not a bad working definition

Congrats to the Caribbean island of Tobago (Trinidad and Tobago)

2007-02-03T23:37:00.001+01:00

Well alot of ppl here in Spain have no clue where to put Trinidad and Tobago in the map. In Rome, after attempting to explain its location in the Americas, a girl insists- so it´s close to Madagascar! hhee. Anyway, so this most southerly Caribbean twin islands, right above Venezuela is known for its petroleum, carnival, beautiful queens (we won Ms Universe in 98), sports players, Nobel Winner Naipaul who has issues with his home country...and well its beautiful natural landscapes..Hence this note- tobago has won the World Travel Market Award for BEST CARIBBEAN ISLAND for the second year. Well at least we trinbagonians living in scary times of rising prices, political tension and corruption, growing crime and kidnapping..have something to smile about. So, hooray for tobago!

un Dios maldijo la vida del emigrante...the cursed emigrant

2007-02-03T23:33:00.000+01:00

Esta es la vida del emigrante (This is the life of the emigrant)
del vagabundo del sueño errante. (of the indigent with errant dreams)
Coge tu vida en tu pañuelo (Bundle up you life)
con tu pobreza tira pa´lante. (and push ahead with your poverty)
Si encuentras un destino (if u find a destiny)
si encuentras el camino (if u find a path)
tendrás que irte a ese lugar (u will have to go to that place)
el polvo del camino (the dust along the way)
cubre tu rostro amigo (covers your face)
con tu miseria a ese lugar. (and accompanies your misery to that place)
Un dios maldijo la vida del emigrante (Some god cursed the life of the emigrant)
serás mal visto por la gente en todas partes (everywhere u go, u´ll be shunned)
serás odiado por racistas maleantes.(and hated by evil racists)
y la justicia te maltrata sin piedad.(there will be no justice)
Todos hermanos. Todos farsantes (We are all brothers, all bluffers)
hacen mentiras con las verdades (who distort truth)
buscas trabajo y tienes hambre (u look for a job, u are hungry)
pero no hay sitio pal emigrante. (but theres no place for the emigrant)
La tierra de occidente, ya no tiene vergüenza, (The West has no shame)
arrasa nuestra tierra, nos roba la riqueza (destroying our land, stealing our wealth)
¡Qué bien se come de restaurante! (Eating out is soo good)
¡Cuánta miseria pal emigrante! (but what misery for the emigrant)
Nuestros hijos se mueren. (our children are dying)
Estómago vacío. Tú lo ves por la tele (empty stomachs, u see it on tv,
después de haber comido. (after having eaten)

This is the words of the song "the emigrant" by the Spanish group Celtas cortos. the music is nice, the dancing is cool in the video, but most of all, the lyrics is powerful..speaks of the difficulty of emigration, the ostracism and illtreatment in host countries, the injustices and imbalances which characterise our societies...it is a show of solidarity with any "emigrant"- in whatever guise and whatever form... in the end, it pays tribute to the sacrifice and hardships in the life of the emigrant...nice song...

Jimmy Carter´s new book on Palestine- "Palestine, peace, not apartheid"

2007-02-03T23:30:00.000+01:00

When Jimmy Carter spoke about his work at an American Jewish university, he was branded a liar, bigot, antisemite, coward and plagiarist! Whoa! Because he was honest and not politically correct when speaking about the conflict that is only half known by so many of us...It seems that for many, the issue at heart lies in the obstinacy of Palestine to recognise the existence of Israel... but who really wants to hear about the occupation in Palestine, the refugee camps, the deaths which occur waiting at checkpoints etc. Only today i was reading another silly comment by the former president of Spain, José María Assnar who seems to be putting his foot in his mouth too much these days! First he says Muslims needed to apologise for the occupation of Spain during eight centuries and now he says that Israel must be defended from the many threats of Palestinians, suicide bombers, Hezbollah, Al Qaeda and...Iranian fundamentalism...poor Israel..always the victim!Let´s see...who has the non-sanctioned nuclear powers here? Hmm... He added that the Iranian President and his silly remarks (they are silly!) should not go "impune". I think in my book, Aznar would hold the record of the day for the most outrageous comment of the day. Somebody needs to wake him up it seems.. let me share his quote- Israel has to be defended because it´s " una nación plenamente occidental” y su desaparición significaría "la pérdida de nuestra posición en este área del mundo y, con toda probabilidad, el inicio de un ataque contra nosotros"!!! Ok, the sad part is that many ppl would share this view.. talk about distortion and misinformation.Now, getting back to Carter and the choice of the word "apartheid" in his title which seems to be provoking so much controversy. Let´s hear the guy´s defense- all he intended, he said, was to describe conditions in the occupied Palestinian territories, and did not mean to equate Zionism with racism, but he wanted to underline that that "this cruel oppression is contrary to the tenets of the Jewish religious faith and contrary to the basic principles of the state of Israel.” Well seems that plain truth does offend. Well as a form of conclusion, it is ironic that very few would raise a finger to defend the millions of Muslims who are equated to terrorists each day, while simply pointing out the grave injustices in occupied Palestine is rewarded with titles such as antisemitic etc....

My first blog

2006-05-22T15:52:00.000+02:00

Why did I create this blog? Well, it was a friend´s idea which seemed exciting at the moment. A chance to "publish" and have your stuff read by any and everyone; a chance to share your thoughts and ideas in an open, limitless space definitely seemed intriguing. A friend recently told me he thought it counter-productive to publish silly things like news articles etc. on your blog. When i mentioned that that was part of my intention, he cringed. Well, to each his own. I agree with him in a way, but i also see it important to highlight articles of interest and its intimate or personal relevance to you, how it affects society, its value etc. Of course, the more diverse, the better. So here´s to my attempt to share... from intimate family and friend photos to newspaper articles to my own film reviews to...hopefully my own literary production. Hence the name "Meanderings".