A Revolution of Innocence

Striding confidently, her smile picking up pace and her shades adding glamour to beauty, R entered my life. A momentary meeting, preceded by countless texts, would make anyone know that she's there to be cupped, held and hugged endlessly without letting go. How would one entrust life with a gem like R and not fear for her?

Her presence is longed for. She's a definition of happiness, an articulation of absolute fun. And then she was held, hugged, discovered.

That perpendicular moment, an eye to an eye, a stare to a stare, a lust to a lust. One wouldn't be able to describe that adequately, it's just hard.

She's wanted, needed. One that has her can't ever think of giving her up, but then again, "this is life." A life that wouldn't let one be next to her at all times, making every moment, a moment to be remembered, a moment relived.

And then, there is that other side of my R. The side that nobody knows of.

The side that intrigued me, that took me to a spherical journey into a universe of temptation and hotness. Actions that would glow within her eyes, and allow me the feeling of pleasures, which others rarely do realize. A smoke. A sip. A bad word. A kiss. A look. A look of heated sensations, unequivocal truths and lies, temperamental feelings.

And then, there is that safety that I'd feel with no other. The warmth of being intertwined, one hand caressing my hair, as the other hovers over my face, as I reward myself with nothing but pecks of utter appreciation onto it, hoping that that sense of gratefulness is conveyed.

"الله لا يغير الحال، نبقى مهما الزمن طال، كيف أسيبك؟"

It was once said, and it'll be reaffirmed: "I love you." 

Voices and Souls

The setting was dim. The wreckage was apparent throughout the avenue where Ahmad lived. He couldn't absorb the destruction all around him. The appalling scent of burnt rubber nauseated him. Ahmad didn't even notice the wounds covering his chest, the pain only served as a minute pinch to his senses as his eyes scurried through the dark smoke trying to make out the building of Uncle Saleh. Was it still up, did it get damaged as well? But he couldn't locate it, he didn't recognize anything around him. The sound of multiple sirens started to alert his senses, arousing his own motion of survival. Before finding anyone else, Ahmad must find himself.

Ahmad's shirt was saturated with blood, and his nerves began to respond to the blinding pain by sending multiple painful signals to his brain, paralyzing his ability to move. He's supposed to act quickly if he is to survive, only reassured by the ever-emerging sounds of sirens, presumably ambulances. He laid on his back easing off the burden on his chest, and began to breathe steadily, looking to his right and left. That is not the room he was in 10 minutes ago. Glass was shattered everywhere, half of the roof was collapsed next to him, ornaments that belonged to Mazen's apartment, which he visited often, were scattered to his left, and the dust just wouldn't subside, or was that smoke? Surprisingly, Ahmad was completely calm, with his breaths returning to the steadiness of a casual jogger. He kept muttering the verses he remembered from the Quraan, always returning to the first chapter and almost rehearsing it for the time he was going to need it urgently, up there, he kept thinking.

Then the doomed thoughts began tormenting him. His mother, grandmother, his 4 sisters and the new niece whom he just celebrated her birth. Where were they? He didn't want to think about where they were at the time, fearing the worst. Then anger. Pure anger covered him. Why? Just why? Why would one do such a thing?

Ahmad now recognized voices growing closer to him. Cries of "الله أكبر" and "لا إله إلا الله" and "إنا لله وإنا إليه راجعون" were simultaneously being called around him. He heard women and children crying and men shouting curses. Once, every few minutes, a howl of apparent mourning was initiated by one of the women signaling the death of a loved one, as he presumed. The anger choked his breath, and tears started trickling down his face. He felt, once again, as a young kid, unable to do anything, caged by the strength of the oppressive forces that surrounded him. The same feeling that was there 19 years ago, when they shackled his father and guarded him as they threw him in one of those old, dusty black SUVs, for him not to be seen ever again, until he became a distant memory, an entity worth forgetting. Now he began hearing the sounds of strenuous footsteps approaching accompanied by calls for anyone alive, and in need of help. Ahmad strained as he tried to alert whoever was coming close by, testing the ability of his vocal cords to shout "help." Nothing came out. He tried again, and again silence. Frustration now blanketed him as he was thinking of something else to do. To the right he saw a large jarred piece of glass that looked like one of the windows that used to shield his room. Haplessly he tried to move and carry that piece. Finally something was working out, although the agony of such action was indescribable. Carrying the piece of glass, and with all remaining force Ahmad had in that moment, he tossed it as hard as possible on an adjacent wall, causing a terrible screech that seemed to be magnified by the echo of the new hollowness of his destructed room, half room. The sound of the crash was a success as the distant voices grew closer and closer, asking for a response as they called for anyone in need. That was Ahmad's last duty for the day, as he collapsed, again, on a bed of sharp fragments of glass, wishing for nothing but utter and absolute revenge. Ahmad fainted.

2 days later

The makeshift hospital Ahmad was residing in shouldn't be worth being called a hospital. Beginner nurses were scattered everywhere, with the presence of doctors being as rare as electricity in medieval Europe, or for a better similarity, as rare as electricity in nowadays Homs. He woke up exactly on the 48th hour, after being sedated continuously, with the med student supervising his case knowing that the pain of his injuries, if he had woken up earlier, would endlessly agonize Ahmad. His memory wasn't fuzzed, and he remembered every little detail of that blast; the sounds of airplanes buzzing beforehand, the scrimmage for safety by the population on his street, the calls for cover, the swiftness of the whole thing, the 10 minute hammering of barrels falling everywhere, colliding with a building, and exploding soon afterwards. And when everything seemed clear for a while, that time gap of comfort when the manmade storm of explosives subsided and gratefulness streamed through his body as he thought that his building was spared, just in time for the last barrel of them all to fall directly on his head. With complete vividness, he recounted the shouts for help, the screams of "God is great," the bellows of utter fright, and the transformation of the multi-story building that he lived in into a mass of mess. Sheer pain surged throughout his body, muffling him into a chorus of moans that were heard by his fellow wounded on the beds next to him, and by the bewildered nurses as well as Uncle Saleh.

To his right was Uncle Saleh, commanding the nurses to call the young doctor. The brightness that always illuminated the old man's face wasn't there anymore. Creases and darkness were now the features highlighting the lineaments of his face, with a deep sorrow permeating by his looks of worry and anguish. Ahmad worked up the power to voice a few words through his moans in the form of small questions that required answers.
"Mama?" Ahmad lightly said.
"No." Uncle Saleh confirmed by shaking his head.
"Grandma?"
"No."
"My sisters? Little Sophie? "
"No."
His heart was crushed. He wished he was dead. Death was a better salvation. The agony increased as he frantically wailed and cried his heart out. Uncle Saleh joined in, not caring to comfort him or ease the agony. Both were distressed to disproportional measures, to inconceivable states of loss and emptiness. Ahmad then felt that thud of hope as he recognized that Uncle Saleh was alive. If Uncle Saleh is alive, then so is... Not caring about the formalities of traditions, and the inappropriateness of such care in his following question, Ahmad uttered, "and Amna? Where is Amna?"

Uncle Saleh lowered his head and shrieked at the mention of his beloved daughter. The patients, nurses, and the hurried doctor all stopped as they saw the old man hit his head, crying her name multiple times, afflicting pain on himself and emotional pity on the others. The scene was frantic, the devastation colossal. And Ahmad. Ahmad stopped crying, stopped moaning. Ahmad just stopped. Tears left his confounded eyes with his pure soul.

I cannot imitate or describe the utter devastation of war and death. I never experienced or have ever been close to someone who did. This is all fictitious, but this is just my way to falsely experience such trauma and highlight it. We look at wars indifferently. The numbers of the dead turn are just numbers lacking any sort of humanity or personality. I just hope that this short piece is a means for my little group of readers to know that the dead are humans that once lived, having aspirations and ambitions, wishing for safety and security, and were unfortunate enough to be under the fire of dirty politics. May the souls of the martyrs have the comfort of bliss, and may their sacrifices be remembrances for all of us.  

Versus

When he looks into her eye, the reverence of a prayer is formed within him.
She's the supplication of an orphan in need of a parent's lap. 
She's the divinity of his life, the just judge of right and wrong. 
Her anger is the wrath of hell and her pleasure is the bliss of heaven. 
Mercy is nothing but a kiss.

He's an outright sinner.
He's the guilty works of the devil. 
He's the naughtiness of a wrongdoer, the abolished conscience of evil. 
He's the motto of vile, the title of immorality. 

She's the innocence of a good child, the cultivation of virtue. 
She's the look of love. 
She's the holiness of faith. 
An epitome of repute, an exemplar of decency. 
She's the beauty of Joseph, the patience of Job, the doctrine of Noah, the trust of Ishmael. 

And the two met.

To The Left, To The Left

To those who don't know me well, well I'm a lefty. I write with my left hand. 

But then again, is this disclosure worthy of a blog post? Well, no. 

Okay. Let me try again. [This talking to the reader thing isn't working out so well with me so far]. [Why am I saying/writing 'well' a lot?] Sorry sorry. Back to the subject of this blog post. Fuck, I don't like where this is going. 

I'm listening to Laura - M7amad 3abdu, very nice song written by late Ghazi Al-G9aiby. 

Okay okay. So, to those who didn't talk to me for a while, or didn't get a lecture about the benefits of social justice and/or the woes of the bourgeoisie in the world, let me announce this: I'm a lefty. Lefty in the sense that I, on the political/economical spectrum of historical theories and world views, am on the left of things. 

This means I do not like capitalism. And it also means that I like socialism and communism. Wow. Such an important thing to disclose right? I apologize for dismaying you. 

Such a bland blog post mu? 

Asef. قاعد أعيد ذكريات الماضي بالكتابة الحرة وما إلى ذلك من ترهات. 

3ad really do you know what really surprised me recently, and is making me doubt my 12 years of Arabic language education? So you know when you write in Arabic? Okay. What does 'and' mean in Arabic? "و" right? So it's its own word mu? But the trick is that when you write it, you don't put a space between it and the word after it. Let me show you. 

Example: "مشيت مع جعفر و فجحان." This is wrong. 

"مشيت مع جعفر وفجحان." This is correct. 

I was stunned when I knew of this :(. *The choice of names is the result of my efforts to bring together the social divides in Kuwaiti society. We, the lefties of this world, do this. And call each other comrade flan and other stuff, you know, we're cool like that.*

Now I'm listening to "صوتك يناديني" by 3abdu as well. 

Bye.

Sarah

The smile is everything. The joy she conveys is universal but only unique to her. Life lives in her as she lives herself. Culture is united within Sarah. What would one want but music, art and the heart of a loving soul?

"اللي بيني و بينك أكبر من السوالف." 

"Ali, I love you. Ali, your presence in my life is unmatched by anybody." She utters those words as if I do add anything into her ever-blossoming existence. It's the other way round really. One would feel the days without her as lacking essence, lacking life. I'm the fortunate one having her, and since those first few days of Twitter directs until the long hours of Skype sessions, which make time stop as Sarah recounts the events of her past few weeks/months, Sarah never seized being the Sarah I know, the Sarah of exotic innocence. 

It's hard to find any eloquence in describing Sarah because she really doesn't require any eloquence. It's the vague simplicity of her manner that makes her arise from the boring ordinary. She yearns for my onlooking eye, my unbiased analysis of her expeditions, those quite eye-boggling adventures, and I'm always happy to provide the advise she seeks, whether she takes it or not. But the tales that she recounts only add to my need to be there, next to her. I want to protect my Sarah, shield her from the flirtatious eyes of her admirers and the stabs of her enviers. Yet my nods of dual apprehension is the response, as the fact that I can't be there is set solid. 

And there is that desired kiss. 

It's very hard for my heart to flutter when one appears on my screen. But Sarah is different. Sarah enchants the core of my senses, bringing me to a state of elation translated into a smile that I can't resist. And the eyes are a different story, requiring their own piece. However she looks, she's mesmerizing and memorable, and addictive. That is exactly how I know that I love my Sarah. 

Outlet

One needs an outlet. One needs to blow off some steam, and one is just bored of reality.
One is disappointed, ungrateful and lazy/slacking/being not one's self.
One is helpless, caged, depressed, hateful, heartbroken, torn and angry.
One needs fantasy, love, courage, friendship and faith. One lacks all.

One is surrounded by amazing people. One is loved by many. One is remembered by all. But one only wants one. One has only one target. And one cannot accept that that one is not to be. Never meant to be and never will be.

One is being practical.

One is sad.

One made mistakes. One lost his heart. One became an automatic machine. One's days are just numbers, and one's hours are simply times. One remembers but has no memory. One is too afraid.

One's moments of such are temporary. One will be smiling in a few seconds. One will overcome this and return to normalcy.
Yet one fears.
One fears the yearning, the longing, the heartaches. One is not crushed but is duly tortured by such feelings. One relied on time, but time failed one, and one is giving up to grueling reality.

One wants to be so wrong. But one's heart is sure enough.

Insomnia

*Warning - Unethical content in this post.

Trickles of sweat were tickling his temple as he sat on a bench alone, on a humid night, in the dim university campus, simply pondering on the sleeping trees.

He almost envied these trees for their ability to just sleep, uncaring of the outside elements of this world.

The trees' nakedness wasn't hindering them from the pleasure of exiting life for a few hours and returning on the mornings to resume their works.

A grin then escaped his lips. "I need to see a psychiatrist," he thought.

20/6/2011

"Chub wala kelma!!"

"Ya S3oud, mu ana elly yengally chub, mu ana."

"Btasketeen wella shlon?, Menu entay A9lan?, Who the fuck are you?. Ga7ba, ga9ait 3alaiha bkelmetain, Necht-haa, O Al7een Lo ta7lem ma ra7 tetzawaj men 7atta zabbal bangaly!! Tgouleen 'mno ana?' Entay wala shay, WALA SHAY."

Tears were beginning to form in her eyes, as she gathered her bra and panties, without even caring to put them on. She quickly zipped up her dress and slammed the door as she left.

S3oud simply continued sipping his scotch.

21/6/2011

"Just released, a police report just affirmed the death of a 19-year old female Kuwaiti student at the deceased's apartment in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. The report said, 'Sarah Al-Thamy committed suicide by over-dosing on Vicodin, a pain killer.' The investigation is going as to why Sarah killed herself. Police never found a suicide note." ABC News.

S3oud's insomnia kicked in.

Not in anyway is this a true story. Names are fake.

7 Months.

It has been around 7 months with me being in boring old Kansas. Studies aren't that great, well I have never been the study type, add to the fact that comprehending both calculus and chemistry is a difficulty I'm facing.

Life is good, yet I still didn't meet the right person for me to spend the next 3 years with in America. I'm referring to an American girlfriend of course ;). Nobody is noticing my beauty :(, bess wait for it.

Ma Wa7asht El Dar?

I miss Kuwait very dearly. Life here is not bad, but the comfort of home is longed for. Being asked about, knowing whats going on and sharing the grieves and happinesses with the family is something my heart aches about for not having.

And I miss writing. The inspiration is almost non-existent.

And believe it or not, my english is getting worst in America. Nobody is stimulating any intellect in my system, and everybody cares about drinking, smoking and possessing the best ass in Manhattan as a companion. That's the vice of being in a university town.

I went to Adele's concert dudes and dudettes. Something I'm bragging about although I know just a few of the lyrics in one song she sings.

Twitter has been gone in the last 2 months, as I was planning to 'concentrate' on my summer course, yet I believe it came to no positive avail, grades have barely gotten better, but they're better which is a good sign.

Its my exams period right now, and I wish I would do well and get the fuck out of here for a change.

Oh how much I miss blabbing around here, so Anony would comment and Zifny ;).

O Wait, let me dedicate a song to someone that may be reading this.

كنت أعرفك لما كان الحب يعرفك .. كنت أعرفك لما كان الطيب وصفك ..

كنت أشوف الدنيا فيك .. كنت أحب خوفي عليك ..

لكن إنت اليوم ثاني .. جاحد و قلبك أناني .. و السؤال عني يكلفك ؟ يبا كنت أعرفك ..

Well I'm not dedicating it literally because it doesn't really explain what I feel, bess inna its playing on my itunes now .. Lets continue ;p ..

عد و احسب كم عذرتك و كم عذر خليت عده ..

و عد جروحي من عرفتك .. و لا جرحي صعب عده ؟ ..

و أبعدك عن كل شكي .. و أنجرح و أسكت ما أحجي ..

Why is it that I'm feeling sad right now. I feel that, a select few that really care about me, which is sad La2ana y3ny, you'd think that you'd be cared about, bess inna la2, I don't feel it.

O I'm sad la2ana there is nobody that I really care about right now, nobody to share my emotions with. Just this blog and the occasional, although starting to be the rather frequent ciggy.

Such a liberating feeling to be able to write all of the random none sense that predecessed this sentence on a laptop's keyboard. And it doesn't require any energy at all, but a few minutes of worthless, misused minutes.

Till another, date-unknown, post, Tata.

Starbucks 8

*Warning* - Unethical content in this post.

Infatuation was the prime sense that seized Yousef's mind, heart and soul. He was intoxicated by that powering feeling, yet he did not resist its presence. He welcomed it and embraced its existence in his system, in his life.

A while went by, after that acquaintance, before he remembered that he noticed something different in Dalal's appearance. He recalled that he loved that variance in her, but it tormented him that he could not pin-point that change. It was absolutely excruciating on Yousef.

He sat there, at the same Starbucks, at the same green table, where he met Dalal the second time, on a beautiful Monday morning. Yousef convinced himself that he was there, again, to wait for 5aled to wake up, after a another partying night in Dubai, yet he could not take away the idea that he might meet her again and witness that beauty before his eyes.

As he sipped his regular white mocha, Yousef tried hard to relive those 5 minutes of his life. He thought to himself, as he realized how enchanted he was by her, about how ridiculously fast was the time for him to fall in her charm.

He sat waiting, and imagining for two long hours.

7amad was enjoying his last free day in Kuwait, before he goes back to the army's training camp on Monday. Sitting in the Derwaza Cafe, smoking the grape flavor which he always loved and eating a shitty burger for breakfast made by the lousy morning staff at the cafe, he fondly remembered how much he missed his friends' presence there.

7amad, although a failed graduate from a private English school, never forgot his bedouin heritage. But on the contrary, he tried to make it a part of his life. His love for camels and the desert never left him, and he was exceptionally extraordinary in poetry. 7amad always entertained 5aled and Yousef with his poems that were brilliant, and could compete with the best of poets, despite his young age, however, his military duties compelled him and his poetry to never see the daylight of publicity.

After finishing his meal, he decided to call Yousef.

.

.

.

.

28/12/2009 12:32 pm

Yousef was startled by his loud blackberry indicating to him that he had a phone call. "Aloo?"

"Hala BuYa3goub, kaif el 7al?"

"7maid? 3ash men sema3 hal 9ot, walla b5air 6al 3umrekk, Ent shlonekk, shemsawyy?"

"Wallah b5air, yserrik el 7al? Shfeeh 9otek ya 5ooy? 3asa ma shar?" 7amad noticed a difference in Yousef's voice.

"Ma shar, ya 5ouk, ma shar, bess tadry, Eddenya o balaweehaa" Yousef, although rarely spoke out his feelings, wanted to disclose some of the emotions in him.

"Esma3 wana o5ouk, goully shelly m'9aygekk o Inshallah, el 7al 3endy." 7amad pounced on the opportunity to glance inside Yousef's heart.

"Ya 7amad, tara shakly 6e7t eb mushkelat 7ub." Yousef exhaled in comfort whilst confessing that fact to 7amad.

As he heard that sentence, 7amad exclaimed, "Wana o5uu Lulwa, Yousef yenjeber?"

"Ee wallah ya 7amad, sheft shlon?"

7amad never believed in love and before letting Yousef continue he said, "Esma3 ya Yousef, hal 7mara elly 5aletek mahmoum ketha ma teswa. O esma3 hal baitain elly thekart-hum, wana asma3 saleftek ya Bu ya3goub."

7amad started reciting on the phone,

تكفى يا بو يعقا ترا خاطري ضاق .. ما عاد به ناس تصون المحبه ..

كل ما عشقت, الوقت يعطيني طراق .. يقوللي صحصح؟ علامك؟ تنبه؟ ..

إنت بزمن ما فيه عاشق و عشاق .. هذيك تفرك كسها و ذاك زبه ..

أبي لي حب عذري مثل شمس الاشراق .. حب الذي في دنيته خاف ربه ..

ما يهمني لو آخره يآتي فراق .. الحب جرح القلب و الخل طبه ..

"9a7 lsanekk ya 7amad." Yousef was amazed by how related he was with that poem.

"9a7 bdenek ya 5ouy, o 9addegny taraha ma testahlek ya BuYa3goub." 7amad still did not understand Yousef's situation.

"7abeeb alby ya 7amad, mashkourr Yal '3aly."

"elmohem, el dector janbekk?"

"La walla, Lail7een bel fende8, shaklaa nayem."

"Zain zain, el wekad ana asta2then al7een ya 5ouy, O tredd bel salama, wala tkadder 5a6rekk."

"7abeeby, mashkour, o allah ysalmek men kel shar, bye." Yousef teased

"Shno bye, esta7, Ma3a El salama."

Yousef smiled at how 7amad never forgot his culture. He was satisfied by 7amad's call and thanked God for his presence as a friend.

7amad used the opportunity of 5aled's seclusion from Yousef and gave the med student a call. 5aled was asleep.

"Aloo," 5aled grunted, disturbed by the phone call.

"Hala Buwaleed, Kaif el 7al?"

"Minu?, 7amad?"

"3ajal minu? Ga7betek?"

"Hala bel zain, shlonekk yal 5ewee?" 5aled still has last night's wild effects in his system.

"3alamek mraffe33? Shsawait el bare7?"

"Masawait shay, la tsaweelna suwalef."

"Elmohem ya Dector, 5eweeyekk Yousef kalamta gabel shway, kan metkadder. Abeek, wana o5ouk, traffe3 men jawwa shway. 5allah yestanes shway b-hal safra. Fahem Shagoulek?"

5aled almost fell in a snooze, listening to 7amad. "Ee, Ee weyyak."

"Ee, waddah hal 7aflat, o eshbeka ma3a wa7da, la t5alleeh brou7ah."

"7a9'er, Taamer Amer Yal 5ewee."

"Yalla, Ma Tshouf Shar, salaam."

After hanging up with his friend, 5aled contemplated that idea. He liked it, and planned on making it happen. "It is gonna be a wild fuckin week in fuckin DUBAI." He thought to himself. Smiling.

Starbucks 7

Regret began to infiltrate Yousef. The past two nights of drinking started to build up guilt in Yousef's conscience.

The reason why he drank was also cracking into him.

He drank because he thought of a girl that bewildered him. A girl that he saw just once, and could not take her off his mind. How could he do that? Why would he do that?

And now, here she was, heading towards him with a white paper cup, looking ever so fascinating. He met her again, at another Starbucks in another city, yet the effect was exactly the same.

Mesmerizment.

Hatred was the other aspect of his feelings. He hated the bars, he hated his mentality, he hated his lack of faith. He realized how big of a mistake drinking was. Not only to him, but the shame that would be bought to his family, if anybody knew.

He hated how he honored his late mother. He honored her by getting wasted.

The girl that made his heart beat faster with each step she takes to approach him shouldn't be forgotten through drinking. The girl that thrived with confidence, as she strides through the cafe, should be remembered. That girl, thought Yousef, should be loved.

.

.

.

.

27/12/2009 9:12

"Shfeek?" Said the girl, as she seated herself opposite of Yousef and noticed the different, grim expression on his face.

Yousef quickly adjusted his mindset and offered a genuine smile to her direction, "Mafeeny shay, 6al 3umrech, bess kent ga3ed afakker bsha'3la." Replied Yousef truthfully.

"Ahaa, my name is Dalal by the way." Said Dalal, as she returned the smile to Yousef.

Dalal & Yousef

"3ashat el asamy Dalal," he replied, "Wana esmy Yousef."

"O ne3m a5 Yousef."

"Allah yen3am b7alech, 6al 3umrech."

"Ee, O Shga3ed tsawy B-Dbay Mr. Yousef." Said Dalal with a playful smile, to try to break the ice.

"Walla, just partying out the engineering stress with a friend."

That innocent beauty.

That excruciatingly pretty smile.

Those eyes. Those indescribable eyes.

"Yousef, Yousef." Dalal called, interrupting his thoughts.

"Hala, 6al 3umrech, aamray." Yousef noticed that she was talking to him whilst he stared blatantly, straight at her eyes.

"Wain sera7t?" Although that was the second time she ever saw him, she felt comfortable asking him that question.

"Haa, laa walla, bess y3ny don't get me wrong, your eyes mashallah, wayed 7elween."

A blush escaped Dalal's cheeks. "Thanks." The reply was formal, yet that wasn't what she was feeling.

Before saying anything else to regain himself, Dalal continued, "El mohem, I got to go, 9ar akthar men 5 minutes, o a5af my cousins y7atouny, nice chatting with you Yousef, o hope to see you soon."

As she started to stand up from her seat, Yousef looked up and asked confidently, "And how will that happen, if I know nothing about you but your first name?"

"I'm sure I will," returned Dalal with the same confidence. "There are a lot of Starbuckses in this world."

A smile followed.

Understanding that particular remark, "Bye Dalal." Said Yousef with a grin overwhelming his face.

"Bye Yousef."

Butterflies never escaped their tummies, that day.

Starbucks 6

Those brown eyes never left his mind. He kept thinking about them, endlessly. Yousef thanked his memory for remembering them so vividly.

He longed for more, he wanted to know more. What did she like? What did she hate? Was what he looked that day good? Good for her?

Who was she?

What's her name?

Yousef was waiting for 5aled to wake up after his long, eventful night out. Morning was Yousef's time, he loved the early, fresh breeze and thought that he could think much better in his mornings. Sipping his usual white mocha, with extra espresso shots to erase last night's heavy ingestion of Jin and watched people commute in and out the cafe.

Preferring the seat outside, to smoke his cig, Yousef let his mind wander. He let his mind wander into the details of her eyes.

.

.

.

.

28/12/2009, 9PM

"Oh it's you again?"

Startled, Yousef replied, "5air?" The face wasn't strange, thought Yousef. He knew those details, more than expected. A Deja Vu, he concluded hastily.

"Enta, the engineering guy, elly kent eb Mishref. Ee Enta."

Suddenly, the eyes began to sink into Yousef's system. She was her. "Entay." Yousef replied stupidly.

Glad he recognized her, "7asafa, there are no notes I can peek into this time," she replied with a fake frown.

Regaining his composure, he said, "Ma ye7taj yuba, a coffee is more than enough for you to have a seat, 6al 3umrech." He could not believe his own eyes.

"La, you seem to be enjoying yourself alone, I don't want to intrude, I just wanted to say 'hi'."

"Believe me, company is something very welcome with me."

"Ok, just for 5 minutes la2ana my cousins na6reeny in the hotel room, bess 5al aa5eth a mocha o ayee."

"7ayyach Allah."

Was this a start of something, wondered Yousef, as he watched her ordering from the barista?

Starbucks 5

The death of Yousef's mum didn't really help him. The frustration, the anger that builded up in him was immense. Looking at his mum being carried from a cold room, seeing the familiar outlines of her body on top of people's shoulders, covered in a white cloth. Forced into praying in the front row of his mother's funeral. She, being so close, yet so far wasn't an easy thing to handle for young Yousef.

He was also moved by his father's behavior. Recognizing, for the first time, the weakness any human being can be exposed to. His father, the successful, wealthy, business man. The person that divorced his mother, the person that seemed to hate her, that talked shit about her all the time, was weak, fractured in her lifeless presence under that sheet. Tears never left his father's red eyes, and occasional bursts of baby whimpers were noticed by Yousef.

That was the first time Yousef was really tested by life, and it was a tough lesson that Yousef never passed.

After a period of lonesome time, Yousef, under the continuous pressure of his father to enjoy his time and get out of that depressing state, travelled to Dubai for the first time without his family. 7amad accompanied. A virtually unlimited cash flow was in Yousef's credit card, with the blessings of his father.

To say the least, it was fun.


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27/12/2009
"Ha Buwaleed, elyom Ay Club?" was Yousef's question, as he entered 5aled's room.
"Wallaa chinna Mal Ams Jayyed?, Mu Chithee?"
"Laa?, Ent tathker shay men Ams Allah Yhadak, 3ashan T3arf etha kan jayyed Wella La2?" Yousef joked, to start a chuckle between the two.
"Walla, La2." Answered 5aled. "A9lan nasee Esmaa ba3ad."
"Shfeek Ent Ath-wal?, Esma The Lodge"
"Yalla, 3ayal grayyeb, 5anrou7laa again?"
"Ana adree laish yal kalb tabee trou7, Hatheek elleeee Rega9t weyyaha o ma 5alait shay ma jesta feeha, shakelha mwa3detekk Ehnak?"
"Went shdarak 3anhaa?, Ana 7a6 3ainy 3alaik, ma hadait el kas, O Kent 6afee, Shlon La7a9't?"
"Yuba, 5ft la teshtekee 3alaik, Lammast Ellee Aku wellee maku, Shway shway, mu chithee 3ad"
"Ya Yousef, Ent shfeek?, Hatha el fan yuba. Ent mu meshait mbacher?, Raddat Weyyay Jessica, O kanat Laila men Bed Elleyalee"
"Kiss Ummek, SHLON? Ent wain o Hal 7elwa Wain? A5af 3amya"
"Expertise yuba, Expertise?" 5aled continued, "Went Laish ma 5athait Ma 9'aba6t A7ad?, Thalatha yaw solefaw weyyak. Shfeek?, Hal yomain chinnaa el Dubai personality ellee 3endekk 6aye7 Sougaa?"
"Walla madree, 7atta rag9 ma rega9t T9addeg?"
"Shfeeek, Bess masek hal Vodka o Ga3ed?"
Yousef hid his beautiful secret from 5aled, he didn't want to share a cheesy, romantic story at this moment with 5aled. So he kept silent.
"Ahaaa!" Exclaimed 5aled. "Dam chithe El Salfa, Goum baddel, Warana the lodge, I wannaaa lodge it, in it, yuba"
"La tensa el Durex, Mu tneechly Ay wa7da, 3ala bu ennaa Sakran o matadree 3an hawa darekk Lamma tred?"
"Taamer Amer M3alemnaa, O Ba3dain Ana el 6abeeb mu ent" 5aled, Joked again.

The night was very similar to the last. Yousef kept to his drinks, with shots of Jin with Mountain Dew being the main theme of his drinking night. And 5aled, went on working his magic with the various, diverse, hot expats in short dresses looking for some warmth from december's chills on the dance floor and possibly, hotel suites.

Starbucks 4

Yousef never really loved a person before. He did have his occasional crushes in his previous school years, with gorgeously looking girls always within his sight, but never really loved a person. He respected girls, appreciated love, but never experienced it.

On the other hand, girls were all over Yousef. They were awed, by his mysterious personality. The calmness he always possessed, his well built body and his smile.

7amad, was a different story. 7amad loved the attention. He was the popular guy, and he always wanted to drag Yousef into the same kind of life. 7amad, did get the girls. He actually tossed them around, having a relationship one day, and breaking up for stupid reasons the other. 7amad was frustrated by Yousef's lack of action toward the girls that desperately longed for just a kind word from him.

Yousef was entertained by 7amad's short relationships. How 7amad would promise love and be all serious about it and shortly later, he would be dissing the girl and making fun of her, being mad. And the cycle would continue for months to come. Yousef often also offered fruitful advice to 7amad, when asked for, and they would, most of the time, work. 7amad always wondered how a guy like Yousef, with minimal experience, would know so much about girls and their lives, how they acted and how to deal with it.

"Why the fuck doesn't he date someone?" 7amad repeatedly asked.


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25/12/2009
Yousef just woke up from a deep sleep on the comfortable King-Sized bed of Jumeirah Beach's Movenpick. It was about 3:30 PM and he was hungry. 5aled would be reaching Dubai by 8:00 PM so he wouldn't wait that long for him without food. Showering in the white bathroom, and went down to 'The Walk' to look for his favorite Indian restaurant, Indian Palace.

Whilst eating, a brilliantly cooked Beryani, Yousef was thinking about that previous sighting.

Where Was she heading?
Who was with her?
Why the fuck is she so gorgeous?
Why am I still thinking about her?
Did she notice me?
Is she possibly in Dubai?

He tried spotting her in Gate 21, the Fly Emirates gate in Kuwait's airport, but he didn't find her. She engulfed his mind, she was constantly there, mingling in him, infiltrating his heart. Why?

He then shifted his thoughts to what he was going to do in Dubai. Suddenly a faint smile built up on his face. Yousef was planning on having fun here, with 5aled as usual.
He then remembered 5aled's comment once in a gathering in their gahwa, "Yousef Dbay 3'air 3an Yousef LeKwait, 3'aaiiir."
The smile turned from a faint one to an outright one.

"Do you want a refill on that Heineken, sir?" Asked the waitress.

Starbucks 3

Yousef grew up in an unusual household. His parents separated when he was 10, but that didn't actually hurt him. He never thought much about it. He liked his parents together, but their continuous fights made them seem much better separated. The complications after a few years of the divorce did affect Yousef.

Yousef didn't have to move out of his house, he stayed in it with his mother. His father got another house with another wife 6 months later.
A few years after that, when Yousef was a month from celebrating his fourteenth birthday, he received life-alternating news.

Whilst in class at school, the Co-ordinator came into the class and asked for Yousef to step out and talk to him. Whilst getting up, Yousef kept recapping the day in his head to remember if he did anything stupid that required that unexpected intervention by Mr. Harry. Getting out of class, Yousef noticed a very nervous facial impression. Mr. Harry lead him to his office and offered Yousef a seat that he accepted. "Your father is going to pick you up in a few minutes Yousef," Mr. Harry began.
"Why?" Was the response by Yousef.
"Um, it seems there is some kind of emergency at home, but I know no details." The untruthful impression was responding.
Moments later, a startled maid came by and said that Yousef's father was in the reception. Yousef walked confidently, but a pinch in his heart was aching everything in his body. Curiosity was, too, eating up on him.
As soon as Yousef's father laid eyes on his son, very rare tears began pouring down his dad's eyes. Yousef was just standing there, trying to absorb what was causing all of this. Nausea is the primary feeling in his body right now. Tears were also seen on the receptionist's cheeks and the maid too.
"Baba, Sh9ayer?, Shfeek ga3ed tabchee?"
Yousef's father hugged Yousef, a very strong hug.
"BABA, SHFEEEK??" Yousef exclaimed.
Between his tears, his father said, "Ta3al el Sayara, awal shay."
Without any defiance, Yousef went to the car.
"Yousef, 3a9'am Allah Ajrekk"
More calmly, with panic building up, "Meno Tewaffa?"
"Ummek"

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24/12/2009
Yousef was entering Kuwait International Airport, with just a small carry on bag following him on wheels. He planned on spending the winter break at Dubai. Finishing the check-in process at Fly Emirates, he was glad to see the long-haired, topless, green mermaid's logo. Yousef, noticed his heart's skip of beat, as he remembered the incident 3 months ago at Mishref.
Ordering his usual white mocha, that lacked any whip, he thought back to that particular incident. Yousef learned that, even the attempt of trying to recall that day, bought joy to his heart.

That white dress,
The brown hermes bag,
That perfectly tanned skin.
That white, angelic, knee-lengthed dress,
The depth of her brown eyes, almost matching the bag's antiquity.
The courage,
Boldness,
Beauty.

A boarding call to his plane, interrupted his thoughts, and alerted him to go through to the gate. As he cleared his Starbucks' table, he sighted a familiar figure. A very recent sighting of that person was probably what made them so familiar. Yousef tried so hard to remember the name of that person.
Adjusting his sight more towards them, furry Ugs were captivating the lower part of her skinny dark-blue jeans. On top, she was hugged by a thick, heavy, grey Georgetown University hoodie.
Fixating his pupils on her long brown hair, and then on those brown eyes. Everything suddenly got much more clearer. The person that captivated his thoughts, was once again infront of him. Alone. Seconds later, a guy approached her and offered her a grande Starbucks beverage.
Not caring about the frequent 'No Smoking' announcements, he took out a dunhill, lit it up, and complained to his everlasting best-friend.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas from DC.
It's snowing on Christmas morning.
It's like a dream come true.
Yes, I just arrived here, and I'm loving it.
Life can't get any better.
I'm happy.

Starbucks 2

Yousef wasn't an abnormal person. He had quite a lot of friends with 5aled and 7amad being his closest out of the bunch. The scale in which the proximity of his friendships isn't calculated by literal closeness, they're his best friend due to the basic fact that whenever he's free, he's with them. No deep, personal discussions are ever discussed with his companions.
The inability to discuss stuff with his friends frustrates Yousef massively. Venting out, in Yousef's world, is summarized in a ciggy. It's hard to find Yousef without a fag between his fingers.

5aled, an established 20 years-old medical student at Kuwait University, met yousef in a football match 4 years ago. As always, Yousef was chain smoking his Dunhills anticipating a goal by Al-Arabi football club, alone, and 5aled was right next to him at the packed end of the stadium absolutely disgusted and annoyed by the endless smoke.
5aled interrupted Yousef's absorption in the match, "Yal 3'alee, Chinna wayed tda5en?"
Yousef, surprised by the interruption, replied in a mannerly way, with the infamous phrase, "Hammee, Lo shekaita 6efl, Terak 7aleeb umma o Wala3 zegara."
A chuckle by 5aled broke the ice instantly. "Wel faree8 mu msa3dekk ba3ad."
"Ee Wallah, hal kalb el mudarreb, 9arat el degeega 70 o lail7een mu mbaddel wala la3eb, Madree shno Na6er."
The exchange of words continued till the end of the game and resulted in a further exchange of numbers. Since, a seat was always reserved for the other in any game and the friendship grew more.

7amad's friendship with Yousef started at school, and they were 'best friends' since. Although 7amad took a U-turn in his education and joined the army due to his constant failing grades, but the meetings with Yousef and then Yousef/5aled never stopped. The trio bonded in their own means of interest and enjoyed the company of each other.

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17/9/2009
Yousef was at el Derwaza alone, watching a live UEFA cup match, and complimenting it with more drags and puffs of his cigarettes. He was awaiting the arrival of 5aled and 7amad as they always meet up here at the weekends. 7amad would come back from his training base and 5aled finishes his studies and comes here for some relaxation time.
Yousef tried to concentrate at the match, but the thought of that angelic stranger that sat at his seat would always come back gently to his mind. He couldn't get her out of there. He was actually contemplating the idea of maybe going to starbucks and maybe finding her there.
Yousef was then interrupted by the arrival of 5aled. 5aled noticed something different about Yousef. He was astray, not his usual self, especially when watching an entertaining match.
"Bu Ya3gouub, Tara el mbara 3-3, shfeeek sar7aaan??"
"Haaa?" Confused, Yousef was surprised by the result. "Shfeenee Ana?" He thought to himself.
The day continued normally after that, but he still couldn't shake her out of him.
And he lit another cigarette.

Starbucks 1

Days were ordinary for Yousef. Very ordinary. Engulfed by his studies at ACK, Yousef was trying to prove everybody wrong.
To prove that life, although endlessly cruel, is a beatable thing.
To prove that miseries and woes piled on upon him, could be dissolved and hidden, although only temporarily.
Life for this, 18 year-old, was simply dragged in and puffed out through his Silver Dunhill treasures.

He also found another outlet to hide himself from life. Studying. Yousef found peace and tranquillity in placing himself regularly near the left window of Mishref's well-known starbucks. Over-studying himself.
Getting that engineering degree was Yousef's idea to the route of freedom. Freedom from the shackles of life. Freedom from the chains of his ever-lasting miseries. Freedom from everyone.

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16/9/2009
Yousef was roaming Mishref Co-Op getting a routine ciggy break from his studying, holding a paper cup of the cold white mocha he ordered an hour ago and drinking the remaining sips of it.
As he crushed the bud and returned to the packed coffee shop, he was surprised by a foreign presence at his seat.
A girl was seated on his chair and seemed to be looking through his notes. Yousef did not recognize her.
Meanwhile, Yousef did recognize that she was a beautiful girl. He felt somewhat fortunate.
The girl, was dressed in a knee-length white dress complimented by a brown bag. Yousef also noticed how perfectly tanned her skin was.
"5air?" Yousef faking his impatience.
Surprised, the girl hesitantly but softly replied, "Walla sorry, mu 8a9dee. Ana yait o ma legait mukan o enta mukanekk fa9'ee, fa gelt ag3aad o a5ale9 my drink o amshee"
"O notatee?!, You're going through them e5tee."
Comfortable with the English, she fluently returned, "I study engineering, O well, la7a9't inna you do too, so I took a look. Bess Sorry, I really didn't mean on intruding."
With that she stood, faintly blushing, and apologized again then left swiftly.
Yousef, adjusting himself back to the seat was simply mesmerized.

Looks!

Glimpses of hope.
A stare, a look. A very quick look.

Eyes meet.

Eyes leave each other, with regret preceding their next action.

A 'hello'.
A 'hi' back.

That's it.

Ra7altay ..

Poof!
Just like that.
Leaving me alone, lost in my thoughts.
Overwhelmed, bewildered, astonished.

2 Days later

160
Hints of a tear began to form as I drove back home.
3araft el nas wel denya, Nader el wefa feeha, Rwaished's meaningful lyrics piercing the depths of my heart.
180
Two sleepless nights and a sickening diet's toll are already in action. No energy whatsoever.
The VW's churning engine's sound effects failing to match Bu5aled's beautiful performance in this classical oldie.
220
I seemed to be for once in control, the road completely my own. No back-stabber. No unfaithful.
No love.
240
Atharee kel ma geltay kalamen fe kalam
A quick thought of her managed to infiltrate me.
260
A blast.

0
3ala Eddenya el Salam
The last thing my mind processed.



10/11/2010
She was back.

USA

In a couple months time I'll be tweeting from Uncle Sam's pad.
I got accepted in Civil Engineering at the United States of America by the Ministry of Higher Interior.
Now the thing is, what university should I go to?
I've been impresses a lot by Penn State University, but I do have a lot of other options.

I really regret the fact that I'm not going to be stationed in England.
Also for the fact that I won't be studying Political Science, but then again, this is life. I'll try to nurture whatever I got that needs to be preserved and hopefully pursue a related career.

3eedkum Mbarak By the way.

Anony still awaits her long forgotten 9ou3'a .. Which I'll try to bring in for her anytime soon.

Saher el Lail!, That's me :( ..