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!
Monday, August 20, 2007
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
The Mother
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...
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...
Thursday, August 09, 2007
New lactose fad in China?
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
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Eyes to see
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.
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?
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.
Friday, August 03, 2007
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...
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...
Sunday, July 29, 2007
the pain of rejection
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?
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?
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
-...
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
-...
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Revolvió- lyrics
"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
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
Friday, July 13, 2007
Paris, je t´aime
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!!
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!!
Sunday, July 01, 2007
equality of sexes in the Arab world- what role does religion play in the big picture.
"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!
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!
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Living in the age of Migrations
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.
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.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Advances by Muslim women in Algeria
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!
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Jorge Drexler
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.
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.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Collisions
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...
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...
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Simulacrum of her image
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....
Monday, May 14, 2007
Single monogamous albatross, 47, seeks mate of similar characteristics
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!!!!
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!!!!
Friday, May 11, 2007
Essence of a woman
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...
Sunday, May 06, 2007
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.
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