Eve-ntually...

Usually, my first reaction when I get in a taxi is: "3am… euh… mister… akhouna… can you please turn on the radio?" I can't help it… something doesn't feel right unless there is some musical tune in the background.

Sometimes, I'd be forced to sit there and listen to the latest political news, or to some silly meaningless dedications, genre: "A7la tahiyyeh la ahla "Doumou3" & "Ashjan"… w tahiyyeh lal control… w I've been trying to call you for the past two hours, just to send my greetings to someone I'm not even sure he's listening, and whom I can just pick up the phone and call!", or to a "sexline-like" girl, who is so "mam7ouneh" that the host is nearly begging her to stop the act and raise her voice. Inno pfff!

Anyway, I got in the bus today, and took the seat behind the driver, who was enchanting us with a series of Tarab songs. They were playing "Akdeb 3aleik", my favorite! I was so in the mood, and thus sang heartily; however, little did I know that my voice was getting louder and louder and... well, louder. Tayyeb, how would I? Even the old French woman who was sitting right next to me was, the whole time, the living proof of a human statue! A few minutes later, however, the driver turned to me and said: "why did you stop?!" I was like: "hein????" When I figured out what he meant, I literally sank in my seat. "So, you don't know the lyrics of the second verse? Is that it?" he added.

I couldn't help laughing and said: "right! Shhh… don’t tell anyone about the singing passenger :-)"

My world is starting to make some sense again!

I resumed my dance classes, and it was about time, to say the least! And what do you know? I've been missed! (But of course, that has never stopped Caracalla's haughty teachers from savoring each critical observation, and making you feel like Miss Rusty Body 24/7! What a bunch of snobbish heartless idiots! They suck the life out of you, and leave you totally breathless, totally sweaty, weak and helpless. Strangely enough, you just have to love every second of it!

As I was saying, it was about time. Why? Well, there is a countdown, and there is a show. In exactly one month, starting from today, I'll be on stage for the first time in my life, dancing Dabké (ya waylehhhh!). Unfortunately, I had already missed the first two dances (the Spanish style & the Scheherazade style), and nearly missed the third one (the Dabké style). Ya3neh good thing I thought of dropping by today! They had already started with the rehearsals and I looked like an idiot, true, but hopefully I'll get use to it with time. Inno hopefully. Hope so. Cross my fingers. Inshallah……….. Ok, khalas let's face it, I'm dead! Ya3neh, a Lebanese girl who doesn’t know how to dance the Dabké… shame on me!

Try not to be there on Dec 17th, Ivoire Theatre, at (well the time isn't settled yet). Whistle a lot, and let me hear much clapping (while you're not there, that is). And most importantly, try not to laugh if I suddenly stood still, as if pinned to the ground. Ya waylehhhhhh….

Oh yeah, my world is definitely making sense again! I'm back in the game!

I think I'm losing a friend.

Crap!

Why do best friends ever get married?

This song is literally giving me a headache. Somebody please make it stop! Anyone?! I desperately need some Jad Choueiry flavor in my life...

Good night bloggers.

One of my colleagues returned today from Jordan after miracously escaping the recent bombings. (She was staying in one of the hotels, when it got hit). The sight there was beyond description, she said. She was rushing down in one of the elevators, to leave the hotel, when a lone tourist asked her with a shaking voice: “My wife was waiting for me at the bar. Do you think she's still alive? Please, tell me she is!” She couldn’t help but repeating those useless words: “I’m sure she is, I'm sure…”
When they reached the lobby, there was no bar anymore.

For a moment there, I pictured how he might have felt. I didn't even come close. But boy it hurt so!

Elle se sent comme une apostrophe qui flotte entre le vide des mots, pendue à une lettre invisible; comme une apostrophe qui s'abandonne à la rage d'un gouffre sans issue, parce qu'elle rêve de l'enchantement de la virgule d'en bas; et comme une apostrophe, elle se fige, s'isole, se déchire, se dévêt de tout un corps inutile, et puis attend là-bas, toute minuscule, mouillée, gelée, presque comme un point, pour qu'un jour peut-être on l'apostrophe.

I did this short, but cute test. It's not the first time some test tells me I'm hedonist. I guess it must be true then! I should note that it's made for girls, but guys, don't be afraid to try it out. In a way, maybe you are flowers in your own unique style :p So, come on, what flower are you?

Update: I went back and did this other fun test. How on earth did they find out I love purple? (oh and guys, you're exempted from doing this test).

It's been around four years since I last met her, but lately I'm getting the chance of watching her every night on the 8:00 news. I didn't believe it at first: "Is this really her? Is this reporter on LBC really my roommate?" Not only that, she lately became a well-known reporter, after a report she did on the arm-smuggling case, on the Lebanese-Syrian borders, where she had to cross a river to reach the man standing on the other side. I watched it by chance, but also read an article criticizing her, and caught the last episode of "Basmet Watan", where they made fun of the unusual situation. I'm so proud of you, Roomie! I cannot but remember our famous pillow fights at the dorm, our fortune-telling sessions, and our constant falls off the tiny beds we had there. Ya 3ammeh, those were the days! I even still have that calendar-like banner where we had written all of our crazy thoughts for that year. I remember it was the "Sixth-Sense" and the "Random-Hearts" year. I also remember how the evil me used to wake her up at night, complaining: "stop snoring", while she would wake me up, saying: "stop moaning, or screaming" Yep, we go way back, me and my nightmares… Anyway, of course, our ways got separated years ago, and each one of us had led her own separate life ever since. Don't ask me why, but I guess this is just how it goes. The only thing left is these sweet memories, and the story of the day she called me, right after my college year ended and I went back to the South: "Eve, I cannot stand the sight of these empty closets, and this well-arranged bed!"

Today, we met online, something which had never practically happened before. It turned out we both are on the right track, concerning the fulfillment of our dreams, work wise. However, moving to the juicy topics, the funny thing is that both the guys we dated back then, fell in love with, and stayed awake talking about, are now married. She also discovered N. is today married and pregnant, A. is engaged and Na. is on her way to. The good thing is that the two of us haven’t succumbed to this plague yet.

Life is strange 3an jad: there is some wisdom about the people who cross our path, at a certain age. There is some wisdom about the coincidences, which aren't really coincidences; about the things that are meant to happen, but don't eventually; about the dreams we build, then lose at the expense of greater dreams. But maybe we're not meant to understand the essence of the ambiguity just yet. So wait ya Eve, wait a little longer...