Clarissa was kneeling on her knees and holding the bathtub with one hand and a brush with the other hand. She scrubbed the grayish enamel surface frantically. Her knuckles were bruised from the perpetual scrubbing and her wrists were swollen but she would never stop.
A year ago Clarissa was a successful businesswoman, a wife and a mother of a three year old girl, Suzanna. Suzanna was beautiful with rosy cheeks, plump lips and wide azure eyes. Her golden curls fell softly on her snow-white forehead and doughy white shoulders. Her long and thick eyelashes were flapping elegantly with each squint.
Clarissa was in sheer heaven, finding the balance between keeping her business running while taking care of her daughter and being a friend and a lover to her husband, John.
It was the day before Suzanna's third birthday and Suzanna was already big enough to understand and to get excited about the party her parents were throwing for her. Clarissa made use of a couple of quite hours, while Suzanna played in her room with her toys, and took care of some last minute issues for her business. She had no idea Suzanna had decided to take a bath by herself, to get ready for tomorrow and surprise her mother with how big she was.
When Clarissa found out it was already too late. Suzanna's angelic body was floating in the tub, her eyes closed shut and her skin bluish. Clarissa's world had fallen apart. She could not even scream or cry to the sight of her drowned daughter. She just crumpled up and collapsed on the bathroom floor.
On the day of Suzanna's funeral Clarissa started her cleaning expedition. Every morning she woke up and went straight to the bathroom and started scrubbing all day long. The enamel was peeling off and turned gray from the harsh detergents, but Clarissa kept on cleaning, hoping to cleanse her soul.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
The House On Top Of The Mountain
Today my initiation test is taking place. On exactly 2 pm I am supposed to run to the top of the mountain, get to the house and knock on the door. I am not allowed to run away from the door for a minute.
I am not afraid of doing it. Everyone in the gang have done it before me. Usually the freak who lives there doesn't get to the door at all, so it's a pretty safe shot. What is a minute? There's nothing to it. Isn't it?
The guys on our gang aren't bad, but they are respected at school and no one bullies them around. I also want to be respected at school. I am sick and tired of all the pranks people throw at me. I have had enough of the beating, the name calling and the lunch money stealing. I want to belong and in order to do that I must run up the mountain and knock on the freak's door.
How hard can that be, right?
I am tying my shoe laces twice - no one needs a loose shoe lace when running away after those 60 seconds of waiting. I am running as fast as I can, sweat pours down my forehead and through the apples of my cheeks. Some drops falls down through my eye lashes and into my eyes. The salty sweat stings my eyes. I am wiping my face with my sleeve, while running. I can't stop, or they'll look at it as a sign of weakness. A moment of fear. Finally I am standing in front of the crooked house on top of the mountain.
I knock on the old mahogany door three times. The guys are watching so I knock hard and confidently and start counting.
One. Two. Three. Four... up to sixty. On my 10th count I hear heavy steps coming toward the door. My heart drops. The freak is coming to the door. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. I hear him closer and closer and my heart is racing like crazy. Pumping blood and transferring oxygen. Twenty four. Twenty five. Twenty six. I hear the key turning inside the lock. "Why me?" I am thinking. "Why does he have to be so fucking close to the door on my day of initiation?". Twenty eight. Twenty nine. The door squeaks and opens... I cannot runaway or I would turn into the laughing stock of the entire school.
The freak peeks out and invites me in.
I am not afraid of doing it. Everyone in the gang have done it before me. Usually the freak who lives there doesn't get to the door at all, so it's a pretty safe shot. What is a minute? There's nothing to it. Isn't it?
The guys on our gang aren't bad, but they are respected at school and no one bullies them around. I also want to be respected at school. I am sick and tired of all the pranks people throw at me. I have had enough of the beating, the name calling and the lunch money stealing. I want to belong and in order to do that I must run up the mountain and knock on the freak's door.
How hard can that be, right?
I am tying my shoe laces twice - no one needs a loose shoe lace when running away after those 60 seconds of waiting. I am running as fast as I can, sweat pours down my forehead and through the apples of my cheeks. Some drops falls down through my eye lashes and into my eyes. The salty sweat stings my eyes. I am wiping my face with my sleeve, while running. I can't stop, or they'll look at it as a sign of weakness. A moment of fear. Finally I am standing in front of the crooked house on top of the mountain.
I knock on the old mahogany door three times. The guys are watching so I knock hard and confidently and start counting.
One. Two. Three. Four... up to sixty. On my 10th count I hear heavy steps coming toward the door. My heart drops. The freak is coming to the door. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. I hear him closer and closer and my heart is racing like crazy. Pumping blood and transferring oxygen. Twenty four. Twenty five. Twenty six. I hear the key turning inside the lock. "Why me?" I am thinking. "Why does he have to be so fucking close to the door on my day of initiation?". Twenty eight. Twenty nine. The door squeaks and opens... I cannot runaway or I would turn into the laughing stock of the entire school.
The freak peeks out and invites me in.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Alone In The Woods
I went on an expedition facing my deepest and most gruesome of my fears - being alone in the woods.
I woke up in the morning having some second thoughts about my journey of self discovery. I thought I might actually be OK with having fears. I am a human being and as such, I am allowed to have fears. It is normal to be consumed with fears. I have no urging need to face my fears and conquer them.
I was already unpacking when I realized it was my fears speaking through me, eating through my will and making me powerless and unable to control my own ways, so I repacked my bag and went to the woods.
Being alone is a fear I have had for a long time. Regardless of where I am at any given moment - I hate being alone and I see it as a personal failure. Even if being alone is just a momentary episode, bound to elapse, I just cannot handle it. Being alone in the woods adds the elements into the equation and stir things up inside me. My fears escalate and become more powerful outside in the woods. Now I am going to to dive right into the deep water and be alone in the woods.
Will I be able to go through it? How will I come back from the woods? Will I be stronger and more potent or will I come back shattered and subsided?
I have gone on a journey into the wilderness inside me and I have no idea how this journey will come up.
I woke up in the morning having some second thoughts about my journey of self discovery. I thought I might actually be OK with having fears. I am a human being and as such, I am allowed to have fears. It is normal to be consumed with fears. I have no urging need to face my fears and conquer them.
I was already unpacking when I realized it was my fears speaking through me, eating through my will and making me powerless and unable to control my own ways, so I repacked my bag and went to the woods.
Being alone is a fear I have had for a long time. Regardless of where I am at any given moment - I hate being alone and I see it as a personal failure. Even if being alone is just a momentary episode, bound to elapse, I just cannot handle it. Being alone in the woods adds the elements into the equation and stir things up inside me. My fears escalate and become more powerful outside in the woods. Now I am going to to dive right into the deep water and be alone in the woods.
Will I be able to go through it? How will I come back from the woods? Will I be stronger and more potent or will I come back shattered and subsided?
I have gone on a journey into the wilderness inside me and I have no idea how this journey will come up.
Friday, July 25, 2008
A Segue
I have no idea what was I thinking when I assumed that moving from one country to another, one continent to another, one type of job to another, would be a segue.
My entire life changed in one bold move and I should not have expected it to be so smooth and problem free as I did. Going through this adventure while being away from my family and friends, motivated only by my wonderful husband and my daydreaming abilities, had made the transition even bumpier.
On the day we got all our belongings to our new Dublin apartment, I was overwhelmed with emotions. Just a few months before, my husband and I had gone through the same experience, only I had my sister to help with the packaging and my father to offer a huge cup of steaming chocolate milk after a harsh day of unpacking and my mom to offer a generous dinner and a bag full of boxes for several more lunches and dinners at our new home.
However, moving in to our new apartment in Dublin had been a lonely experience with no help from anyone but ourselves. We had only each other for motivation and recharging.
We have evolved. We have found great strength in our new partnership. We have found great help in the arms of each other and that is great, but it sure was not a segue...
My entire life changed in one bold move and I should not have expected it to be so smooth and problem free as I did. Going through this adventure while being away from my family and friends, motivated only by my wonderful husband and my daydreaming abilities, had made the transition even bumpier.
On the day we got all our belongings to our new Dublin apartment, I was overwhelmed with emotions. Just a few months before, my husband and I had gone through the same experience, only I had my sister to help with the packaging and my father to offer a huge cup of steaming chocolate milk after a harsh day of unpacking and my mom to offer a generous dinner and a bag full of boxes for several more lunches and dinners at our new home.
However, moving in to our new apartment in Dublin had been a lonely experience with no help from anyone but ourselves. We had only each other for motivation and recharging.
We have evolved. We have found great strength in our new partnership. We have found great help in the arms of each other and that is great, but it sure was not a segue...
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Lost
Kara's parents owned a multi-billion corporation and made sure she enjoyed the perks. She's had dream vacations. She's attended the best public schools. She had a wardrobe fit to serve a Hollywood star. She had everything she could ever dream about, except for a family.
Her parents were always working outside and had no siblings to play with. She grew up in her own silent world, embellished by VIP parties and fabulous apparel but lonely, nonetheless.
One Friday night she was getting out of one of the most fashionable clubs in her upper-class neighborhood she was living at to get some fresh air. As always, she was there alone, outside in the chilling air. The crisp air refreshed her and she warmed herself by brushing her hands briskly up and down her arms.
Then it happened, two men with ski masks came out of a screeching car and grabbed her. She was kidnapped and was taken away from her familiar environment. She felt so lost because she wasn't alone anymore.
Her parents were always working outside and had no siblings to play with. She grew up in her own silent world, embellished by VIP parties and fabulous apparel but lonely, nonetheless.
One Friday night she was getting out of one of the most fashionable clubs in her upper-class neighborhood she was living at to get some fresh air. As always, she was there alone, outside in the chilling air. The crisp air refreshed her and she warmed herself by brushing her hands briskly up and down her arms.
Then it happened, two men with ski masks came out of a screeching car and grabbed her. She was kidnapped and was taken away from her familiar environment. She felt so lost because she wasn't alone anymore.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
People Watching
They were looking down at the people with astonishment.
"Look at that man. Look how he waves his hands funnily".
"Look at that little girl. All alone without her family around. How can she cope with the hardships of the world without having the entire flock around her?"
"Can you see that women, down there?"
"The one on the right, next to the crossroad?"
"No. The other one. The tall one with the yellow hair and red nails".
"Yes. What about her?".
"Everyday she stands here at the same time of day with the white smoking stick coming out of her mouth. She looks so sad when she comes out and light her white stick".
They were keeping on the chatter for a while. Standing on one of the rooftops of the city, having a daily break from their tedious routine, getting from one place to the other, looking for food and sunshine. People watching was their way of getting a perspective on their life. Looking at their different routines and at their peculiar gestures and then flying to the next resting place with a fresh outlook.
"Look at that man. Look how he waves his hands funnily".
"Look at that little girl. All alone without her family around. How can she cope with the hardships of the world without having the entire flock around her?"
"Can you see that women, down there?"
"The one on the right, next to the crossroad?"
"No. The other one. The tall one with the yellow hair and red nails".
"Yes. What about her?".
"Everyday she stands here at the same time of day with the white smoking stick coming out of her mouth. She looks so sad when she comes out and light her white stick".
They were keeping on the chatter for a while. Standing on one of the rooftops of the city, having a daily break from their tedious routine, getting from one place to the other, looking for food and sunshine. People watching was their way of getting a perspective on their life. Looking at their different routines and at their peculiar gestures and then flying to the next resting place with a fresh outlook.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Be Careful!
Mike has been looking for his little brother for the past 4 years. His kid brother went out with his friends on his 17th birthday and never came back home. He was an apt student and a talented football player and had absolutely no reason to run away, despite what the police said.
Mike was following a lead, suggesting that his brother had been caught by devil worshipers and was brain washed. He is now living in the gutters, harvesting human and animal organs for his leader. Mike was appalled and could no believe it is true, but he was determined to follow any lead and not to give up on his little brother, like the police had done a couple of years before.
His mother was trembling and her voiced quivered when she said: "be careful!". She didn't want to lose another son, but like Mike, she didn't want to miss any opportunity to find little Ben. She pressed lightly on Mike's shoulder blade - not sure whether she wanted to hold him back or to send him away with her blessings. She said "be careful!" again, as if doubling the greeting might double the protection and Mike's level of carefulness.
Mike took a small pocketknife and a flashlight and went on his way to the gutters. The water were constantly dripping and making an echo inside the darkness of the gutters. Miked walked carefully, one small step following the next. He was afraid to open his flashlight and was led only by his wish to find his brother and save him from the evils which had caught him.
--Time's up--
Mike was following a lead, suggesting that his brother had been caught by devil worshipers and was brain washed. He is now living in the gutters, harvesting human and animal organs for his leader. Mike was appalled and could no believe it is true, but he was determined to follow any lead and not to give up on his little brother, like the police had done a couple of years before.
His mother was trembling and her voiced quivered when she said: "be careful!". She didn't want to lose another son, but like Mike, she didn't want to miss any opportunity to find little Ben. She pressed lightly on Mike's shoulder blade - not sure whether she wanted to hold him back or to send him away with her blessings. She said "be careful!" again, as if doubling the greeting might double the protection and Mike's level of carefulness.
Mike took a small pocketknife and a flashlight and went on his way to the gutters. The water were constantly dripping and making an echo inside the darkness of the gutters. Miked walked carefully, one small step following the next. He was afraid to open his flashlight and was led only by his wish to find his brother and save him from the evils which had caught him.
--Time's up--
Monday, July 21, 2008
Finding Motivation
Lately it has been hard for me to find motivation. Vast amounts of my time are going to waste on aimless and idle web surfing.
I have a routine going. First comes my e-mail account, then my rss reader, then my You Tube subscriptions and some other social networks news. When I am done with my routine, I just start all over again in a vicious cycle. Chasing after my custom made news flashes.
It isn't always like that. Sometimes I get up in the morning with an urge to write and to create. I get up with a strong will to get forward and to succeed. I get up with a great passion to excel. On these days I go through my routine only once and start working right away. Sometimes I am not even patient enough to go through my entire routine. I just want to write something myself, to create something my self and not to watch what others have created and written.
Not lately though. I am trying to find motivation everywhere. Visiting websites that usually inspire me. Speak with friends and family that usually motivate me to be more active. Reading inspiring books and rereading books I have already read. But nothing helps.
I feel like there is an enormous pothole right next to me and my motivation keeps tripping and falling inside that hole instead of getting into me and filling me up. I feel quite desperate, as this is a feeling I have been having for the past couple of weeks.
where has my motivation gone to?
--Time's up--
I have a routine going. First comes my e-mail account, then my rss reader, then my You Tube subscriptions and some other social networks news. When I am done with my routine, I just start all over again in a vicious cycle. Chasing after my custom made news flashes.
It isn't always like that. Sometimes I get up in the morning with an urge to write and to create. I get up with a strong will to get forward and to succeed. I get up with a great passion to excel. On these days I go through my routine only once and start working right away. Sometimes I am not even patient enough to go through my entire routine. I just want to write something myself, to create something my self and not to watch what others have created and written.
Not lately though. I am trying to find motivation everywhere. Visiting websites that usually inspire me. Speak with friends and family that usually motivate me to be more active. Reading inspiring books and rereading books I have already read. But nothing helps.
I feel like there is an enormous pothole right next to me and my motivation keeps tripping and falling inside that hole instead of getting into me and filling me up. I feel quite desperate, as this is a feeling I have been having for the past couple of weeks.
where has my motivation gone to?
--Time's up--
Friday, July 18, 2008
Strawberries & Whipped Cream
As a personal exercise I am trying to look at a child murderer from a different perspective, only I am giving him the proper punishment....
Here it goes ==>
Samir was born at the Dakhia neighborhood in Beirut. His father was recruited as a fighter by the Hezbollah and was killed by Israeli troopers when Samir was 3 years old. His mother was forced to clean other people's houses in order to bring home some food for Samir and his five siblings. Times were tough for the Al'Mukhtar family.
When samir turned 15 he was recruited as a fighter for the Hezbollah and followed his father's footsteps. He wanted to make an impact, to be commemorated on the pages of history. Somewhere in the dark corners of his heart he just wanted to revenge his father's death and the harsh poverty he grew up in due to his father's death.
Samir Al'Mukhtar was an exemplary fighter thus chosen to serve as a Shahid at the early age of 17. He went on an operational mission inside Israel, in a city the Zionists call: Qiriat Mozkin, which is located near Haifa.
Samir was smuggled across the border, carrying a gun and a picture of his late father. He was constantly repeating verses from the Koran. When he got to the city of Qiriat Mozkin he penetrated a Zionist apartment building and broke into one of the apartments.
It was pitch dark inside and his eyes had to adjust to the darkness. He started walking across the room and shot everyone on his way. The first to be killed were the father and the mother in their bed and from the shouting and the gun shots, their eldest son woke up. Samir had shot him in a breeze and than he could hear the crying of a small child. He followed the crying voices and found a small baby girl in her crib, crying her lungs out from all the commotion. At first he stopped moving and thought about his kid brother, Ibrahim, who was born shortly before his father got killed.
Samir heard the sirens, the police is on its way. He was sweating and started shivering. The magnitude of his deeds has daunted him. What has he done? He shook his head to take away these weak thoughts and remembered how small Ibrahim was when he had to work at the food market, waking up everyday at 3 am and carrying heavy baskets of fruits. Then he raised his gun and smashed its shaft onto the crying baby's skull.
He immediately put his gun into his mouth for the final deed. It is time to turn into a shahid so the Israeli police won't catch him and interrogate him. He squeezed the trigger and could already hear the policemen entering the apartment, but there were no more bullets in the magazine. Samir was caught.
Samir was a bit surprised that no one had hit him. No one had tortured him in a dark basement. He was even given an Arabic speaking lawyer by the state of Israel to represent him during his trial and there were several appeals, served by Israeli organizations, for calling off the death sentence he was given.
On his last hour, before the death sentence was carried out, he was asked what would he like to eat for his final meal. He thought for a short minute and confidently said: "Strawberries and whipped cream", Ibrahim's favorite.
--Time's up--
Here it goes ==>
Samir was born at the Dakhia neighborhood in Beirut. His father was recruited as a fighter by the Hezbollah and was killed by Israeli troopers when Samir was 3 years old. His mother was forced to clean other people's houses in order to bring home some food for Samir and his five siblings. Times were tough for the Al'Mukhtar family.
When samir turned 15 he was recruited as a fighter for the Hezbollah and followed his father's footsteps. He wanted to make an impact, to be commemorated on the pages of history. Somewhere in the dark corners of his heart he just wanted to revenge his father's death and the harsh poverty he grew up in due to his father's death.
Samir Al'Mukhtar was an exemplary fighter thus chosen to serve as a Shahid at the early age of 17. He went on an operational mission inside Israel, in a city the Zionists call: Qiriat Mozkin, which is located near Haifa.
Samir was smuggled across the border, carrying a gun and a picture of his late father. He was constantly repeating verses from the Koran. When he got to the city of Qiriat Mozkin he penetrated a Zionist apartment building and broke into one of the apartments.
It was pitch dark inside and his eyes had to adjust to the darkness. He started walking across the room and shot everyone on his way. The first to be killed were the father and the mother in their bed and from the shouting and the gun shots, their eldest son woke up. Samir had shot him in a breeze and than he could hear the crying of a small child. He followed the crying voices and found a small baby girl in her crib, crying her lungs out from all the commotion. At first he stopped moving and thought about his kid brother, Ibrahim, who was born shortly before his father got killed.
Samir heard the sirens, the police is on its way. He was sweating and started shivering. The magnitude of his deeds has daunted him. What has he done? He shook his head to take away these weak thoughts and remembered how small Ibrahim was when he had to work at the food market, waking up everyday at 3 am and carrying heavy baskets of fruits. Then he raised his gun and smashed its shaft onto the crying baby's skull.
He immediately put his gun into his mouth for the final deed. It is time to turn into a shahid so the Israeli police won't catch him and interrogate him. He squeezed the trigger and could already hear the policemen entering the apartment, but there were no more bullets in the magazine. Samir was caught.
Samir was a bit surprised that no one had hit him. No one had tortured him in a dark basement. He was even given an Arabic speaking lawyer by the state of Israel to represent him during his trial and there were several appeals, served by Israeli organizations, for calling off the death sentence he was given.
On his last hour, before the death sentence was carried out, he was asked what would he like to eat for his final meal. He thought for a short minute and confidently said: "Strawberries and whipped cream", Ibrahim's favorite.
--Time's up--
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Parallel universe
I live my life on two parallel universes. One is happy and filled with joy and bliss and the other is a sad, sad universe, filled with my fears and frustrations.
The portal through which I move from one universe to another is continuously changing and is always found in the most unexpected corners of my heart and mind, flipping me from one universe to another without a control panel for me to handle with care and with thought.
My husband's sweet words, whispered in my ears. My nephews' wide and radiant smile. My niece's smart observations. All are triggers for being launched back into my happy universe. Sometimes I need a higher doze of my little helpers to get there, when the gravity of my dark universe is getting stronger and pulls me in with no sympathy and no remorse.
When I am in my happy universe, I can create freely. I feel inspired and full of ideas. In my sad universe, I feel blocked and any glimmer of inspiration on this universe only yields ugly and miserable creations.
Living on two parallel universes helps me remain sane. It helps me keep all the sorrow and despair confined to one place and to achieve bliss on the other side of my personal solar system.
--Time's up--
The portal through which I move from one universe to another is continuously changing and is always found in the most unexpected corners of my heart and mind, flipping me from one universe to another without a control panel for me to handle with care and with thought.
My husband's sweet words, whispered in my ears. My nephews' wide and radiant smile. My niece's smart observations. All are triggers for being launched back into my happy universe. Sometimes I need a higher doze of my little helpers to get there, when the gravity of my dark universe is getting stronger and pulls me in with no sympathy and no remorse.
When I am in my happy universe, I can create freely. I feel inspired and full of ideas. In my sad universe, I feel blocked and any glimmer of inspiration on this universe only yields ugly and miserable creations.
Living on two parallel universes helps me remain sane. It helps me keep all the sorrow and despair confined to one place and to achieve bliss on the other side of my personal solar system.
--Time's up--
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Out for A Run
Today's write is a personal journal entry, following the events that took place today in Israel.
As I woke up this morning, I woke up into a darker universe. I was still half asleep when my husband told me with sadness that our two soldiers - Ehud Goldwasser and Eldad Regev - came back in coffins.
I was devastated to hear about the death of two Israeli soldiers who were captured two years ago inside the Israeli border. Soon after their abduction missiles were shot from Lebanon to northern Israel. It is still difficult for me to hear the sound of the siren, which signaled the coming of the missile, two years ago when I was in Haifa and under attack.
However, I am even more heartbroken from the price that Israel had to pay for these soldiers' decomposing bodies. 29 years ago, in 1979, a group of terrorist had penetrated the Israeli border and had managed to go as far inside as the Israeli city, Naharia. I was not yet born when that horrific event took place.
The terrorists had entered a civilian apartment building. Among the terrorists was the Lebanese shameful "hero" Samir Quntar. Quntar had found it in his heart to kill the father in front of his 4 year old daughter and then to put a bullet through the little girl's head. After shooting the poor orphan, he had smashed her sweet little head with his rifle's shaft. While this horror story had occurred, the child's mom and baby sister were hiding inside a kitchen cabinet. The baby started crying and her mom tried to keep her quiet, not knowing that by hashing her little baby in panic, the baby was suffocated to death.
This animal, Quntar, was 17 years old at the time. He was trialed and sent to life in prison for numerous counts of murder in the first degree (2 police officers were also killed by him after the raid). In prison Quntar had put on much weight and had attained an academic degree.
This animal is now released and an entire nation is celebrating his release. In my ideal world no one would have wanted his release and not a soul would have celebrated it. I am not living in an ideal world and I feel ashamed and nauseated by it.
today was a sad day for me and for the world's morality.
Trying to quiet my head and tunnel my frustration into positive channels, I'm now going out for a run.
As I woke up this morning, I woke up into a darker universe. I was still half asleep when my husband told me with sadness that our two soldiers - Ehud Goldwasser and Eldad Regev - came back in coffins.
I was devastated to hear about the death of two Israeli soldiers who were captured two years ago inside the Israeli border. Soon after their abduction missiles were shot from Lebanon to northern Israel. It is still difficult for me to hear the sound of the siren, which signaled the coming of the missile, two years ago when I was in Haifa and under attack.
However, I am even more heartbroken from the price that Israel had to pay for these soldiers' decomposing bodies. 29 years ago, in 1979, a group of terrorist had penetrated the Israeli border and had managed to go as far inside as the Israeli city, Naharia. I was not yet born when that horrific event took place.
The terrorists had entered a civilian apartment building. Among the terrorists was the Lebanese shameful "hero" Samir Quntar. Quntar had found it in his heart to kill the father in front of his 4 year old daughter and then to put a bullet through the little girl's head. After shooting the poor orphan, he had smashed her sweet little head with his rifle's shaft. While this horror story had occurred, the child's mom and baby sister were hiding inside a kitchen cabinet. The baby started crying and her mom tried to keep her quiet, not knowing that by hashing her little baby in panic, the baby was suffocated to death.
This animal, Quntar, was 17 years old at the time. He was trialed and sent to life in prison for numerous counts of murder in the first degree (2 police officers were also killed by him after the raid). In prison Quntar had put on much weight and had attained an academic degree.
This animal is now released and an entire nation is celebrating his release. In my ideal world no one would have wanted his release and not a soul would have celebrated it. I am not living in an ideal world and I feel ashamed and nauseated by it.
today was a sad day for me and for the world's morality.
Trying to quiet my head and tunnel my frustration into positive channels, I'm now going out for a run.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Addicted
We had the best time of our lives when we were together. Strolling barefoot on the shore. Hugging and kissing under the sunset. Awakening together into a beautiful sunrise. Exploring lost pieces of heaven across the globe. Walking through vibrant and colorful markets and picking up fresh vegetables and fruits for our dinner around the fire.
We had had the time of our life but I lost you.
You are no longer in my life and I find it difficult to concentrate, now that I am without you. I find it difficult to breathe. To enjoy life. To taste food. Everything is so dull and colorless without you.
My skin is yearning for your touch. Hanging on to its memory of your smooth hand caressing it softly. The memory starts to break down as time passes and the skin grasps any illusive and broken fragment of memory tightly. My lips are awaiting your soft and luscious lips, craving to get lost inside them.
But you are gone. You are no longer taking an active part in my life, but still I have such vivid feelings. I am addicted.
--Time's up--
We had had the time of our life but I lost you.
You are no longer in my life and I find it difficult to concentrate, now that I am without you. I find it difficult to breathe. To enjoy life. To taste food. Everything is so dull and colorless without you.
My skin is yearning for your touch. Hanging on to its memory of your smooth hand caressing it softly. The memory starts to break down as time passes and the skin grasps any illusive and broken fragment of memory tightly. My lips are awaiting your soft and luscious lips, craving to get lost inside them.
But you are gone. You are no longer taking an active part in my life, but still I have such vivid feelings. I am addicted.
--Time's up--
Monday, July 14, 2008
Transparent
Mike has had a hard day. His entire world has crumpled up. He has lost his wife, kids and job today and it seems like he is very close to losing his sanity as well. He was thrown away from the house he had built by his own hands and checked into a sleazy motel.
On his way to the motel he stopped at the liqueur store and bought a few bottles of Vodka and from there he moved on to the drug store and bought a large bottle of sleeping pills.
On the motel's dirty bed he sat and cried like a small child. He swallowed all the pills with long gulps of Vodka and slowly drifted into a deep sleep, hopeful that he would never wake up.
Mike did wake up. His head was pounding and his body felt as light as air. He was sweating and trembling and somehow had managed to drag himself towards the filthy mirror. He looked at the mirror in bewilderment as all he could see was the room behind him. The messy bed and the empty bottles of booze and drugs.
It took mike a couple of minutes to comprehend that he has turned transparent.
--Time's up--
On his way to the motel he stopped at the liqueur store and bought a few bottles of Vodka and from there he moved on to the drug store and bought a large bottle of sleeping pills.
On the motel's dirty bed he sat and cried like a small child. He swallowed all the pills with long gulps of Vodka and slowly drifted into a deep sleep, hopeful that he would never wake up.
Mike did wake up. His head was pounding and his body felt as light as air. He was sweating and trembling and somehow had managed to drag himself towards the filthy mirror. He looked at the mirror in bewilderment as all he could see was the room behind him. The messy bed and the empty bottles of booze and drugs.
It took mike a couple of minutes to comprehend that he has turned transparent.
--Time's up--
Friday, July 11, 2008
Snap, Crackle, Pop
Andrea and her father worked hard on the project for the science fair. Her father, especially, got drown in the project. For the first time in Andrea's wee life, her father came back early, every single day, do work side by side with her on the project.
He made her actively participate in it and study all the background information and by the second month they were working together on it, she was also drown into the wonderful world of the reptiles.
Her mother was delighted about the quality time they spent together and smiled lovingly, whenever they would get to the dinner table, their cheeks rosy and their eyes bright and wide with excitement, talking about the latest development on the project.
At the day of the science fair, Andrea's dad took the day off and they both went together to school, excited and giggly, like two kindergarten children on their first day of school. Her father carried the project in a padded suitcase they had made together.
Andrea was explaining the details of the project and her father was filled with pride. She stood confidently in front of the class and gave a lecture that wouldn't put his fellow professors at MIT to shame.
Then she turned on the switch and waited. At first nothing happened and she nervously looked at her father for an extra boost of confidence. After a few minutes, the class began to lose its patience. Andrea, consoled by her father's gentle eyes, said: "these processes take time. You all need to be patient" and just as she finished her last word, all of a sudden there was a peculiar sound coming from the project. Snap, crackle, pop and the starch white egg she had brought to the class opened.
The entire class stood, with their mouths opened and their eyes squinting in disbelief, a tiny little dinosaur jumped out of the egg.
--Time is up--
He made her actively participate in it and study all the background information and by the second month they were working together on it, she was also drown into the wonderful world of the reptiles.
Her mother was delighted about the quality time they spent together and smiled lovingly, whenever they would get to the dinner table, their cheeks rosy and their eyes bright and wide with excitement, talking about the latest development on the project.
At the day of the science fair, Andrea's dad took the day off and they both went together to school, excited and giggly, like two kindergarten children on their first day of school. Her father carried the project in a padded suitcase they had made together.
Andrea was explaining the details of the project and her father was filled with pride. She stood confidently in front of the class and gave a lecture that wouldn't put his fellow professors at MIT to shame.
Then she turned on the switch and waited. At first nothing happened and she nervously looked at her father for an extra boost of confidence. After a few minutes, the class began to lose its patience. Andrea, consoled by her father's gentle eyes, said: "these processes take time. You all need to be patient" and just as she finished her last word, all of a sudden there was a peculiar sound coming from the project. Snap, crackle, pop and the starch white egg she had brought to the class opened.
The entire class stood, with their mouths opened and their eyes squinting in disbelief, a tiny little dinosaur jumped out of the egg.
--Time is up--
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Bright Lights, Big City
For the past few years Donna was living in hell. Her parents were constantly fighting with each other and as their battles worsened, so was the way they have treated Donna. She was constantly yelled at and sent to her room and the blue and purple bruises on her arms, legs and back made it difficult for her to fall asleep and turn off the havoc in her life.
One day she decided to run away. She packed some clothes and took all the money from her piggy-bank. There wasn't much there, only money her grandparents gave her from time to time, when they were able to remember her birthday. That didn't happen often but she was saving every penny.
That day she didn't come back home after school. Instead, she took a bus to the big city and started life away from her predatory parents.
When the bus arrived at the city it was already dark. Donna was startled by the bright city lights and its fast pace. She was standing in the light drizzle, her skinny knees were shaking and she didn't know what to do next. She was trying to find a dry bench to lie on, but each time she found one, someone shouted at her "Go away. This is my bench".
Donna didn't know what to do and started crying. She was pouring all the tears that were aggregated inside her eyeballs all these years. She never cried when she was beaten or yelled at or when her mother passed out from either alcohol or her father's pasting. Now she let her tears loose and cried.
--Time's up--
One day she decided to run away. She packed some clothes and took all the money from her piggy-bank. There wasn't much there, only money her grandparents gave her from time to time, when they were able to remember her birthday. That didn't happen often but she was saving every penny.
That day she didn't come back home after school. Instead, she took a bus to the big city and started life away from her predatory parents.
When the bus arrived at the city it was already dark. Donna was startled by the bright city lights and its fast pace. She was standing in the light drizzle, her skinny knees were shaking and she didn't know what to do next. She was trying to find a dry bench to lie on, but each time she found one, someone shouted at her "Go away. This is my bench".
Donna didn't know what to do and started crying. She was pouring all the tears that were aggregated inside her eyeballs all these years. She never cried when she was beaten or yelled at or when her mother passed out from either alcohol or her father's pasting. Now she let her tears loose and cried.
--Time's up--
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Homeward bound
Taylor was recovering from a bad breakup when he decided to sign up to an extreme travelers group online. When Taylor received an e-mail announcing a challenging trip to the Himalayas he didn't think twice about it and registered immediately.
A month later he was at the starting point with a heavy backpack and brand new hiking shoes. The group had planned this trip carefully and had had a clear route. On the third day the weather became really bad. Heavy snow was falling down from the sky and the wind was picking up strength and speed, threatening to blow them all away to the mountain's gap. They decided to assemble their camp and stop hiking for the day.
At night an avalanche went through their camp and wrecked havoc in it. When Taylor woke up his tent was covered in snow and after he had dug himself out he found out he was alone and lost.
About a month later Taylor was still on the Himalayas, trying to find his way out. He was exhausted and his food supply was emptying rapidly, despite his desperate rationing. All odds were against him and he had no idea what happened to the rest of the group but he was determined to get homeward bound.
-Time's up--
A month later he was at the starting point with a heavy backpack and brand new hiking shoes. The group had planned this trip carefully and had had a clear route. On the third day the weather became really bad. Heavy snow was falling down from the sky and the wind was picking up strength and speed, threatening to blow them all away to the mountain's gap. They decided to assemble their camp and stop hiking for the day.
At night an avalanche went through their camp and wrecked havoc in it. When Taylor woke up his tent was covered in snow and after he had dug himself out he found out he was alone and lost.
About a month later Taylor was still on the Himalayas, trying to find his way out. He was exhausted and his food supply was emptying rapidly, despite his desperate rationing. All odds were against him and he had no idea what happened to the rest of the group but he was determined to get homeward bound.
-Time's up--
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
The Time Has Come
Tanya sat on her naked bed. She was leaning against the wall and her small 10-year-old hands were gripping her ankles. She looked at the window, watching her mom and dad overloading their belongings in the big truck they have rented. Their entire life went into that run-down truck. They were moving away today. A few thousands mile away - to be exact.
Tanya got off her bed and strolled around the house. She lightly caressed the lines on her bedroom wall, where her father used to mark her changing height. She went to her parents' bedroom and jumped up and down the mattress for the last time. She went to the living room and has noticed there was a bright white mark where the piano used to stand and she remembered how they all stood by it and listened to her mother playing. She looked at the kitchen table, where she used to paint with her crayons while her mother was making dinner and while her father was preparing his famous pancakes and chocolate milkshake.
"Tanya, come on. It's time to leave now", her father called her.
She quickly ran outside and climbed on her tree house she had built together with her father for the very last time and than slowly came down. The time has come to leave and to aggregate new memories.
--Time's up--
Tanya got off her bed and strolled around the house. She lightly caressed the lines on her bedroom wall, where her father used to mark her changing height. She went to her parents' bedroom and jumped up and down the mattress for the last time. She went to the living room and has noticed there was a bright white mark where the piano used to stand and she remembered how they all stood by it and listened to her mother playing. She looked at the kitchen table, where she used to paint with her crayons while her mother was making dinner and while her father was preparing his famous pancakes and chocolate milkshake.
"Tanya, come on. It's time to leave now", her father called her.
She quickly ran outside and climbed on her tree house she had built together with her father for the very last time and than slowly came down. The time has come to leave and to aggregate new memories.
--Time's up--
Monday, July 7, 2008
Lights. Camera. Action!
Every morning has been a struggle for Hannah, dragging herself out from under the covers and into the emptiness of a new day without him.
Hannah didn't bother to brush her teeth in the mornings or to dress up when she went outside. She thought that these were actions for living people and not for people who simply existed. After his death she had lost her appetite and her withered figure has alarmingly showed that she barely existed as well.
She strolled down the streets, looking around feverishly. Perhaps she was hoping to catch a glimpse of her deceased loved one among all the living or maybe she was planning their reunion among the dead.
She has abandoned the last shreds of interest in life and each day was nervously anticipating the night, when she could freely throw herself into dreamland.
But each morning the pale rays of a cold sunshine invaded her dreamland and her alarm clock shouted: "Lights. Camera. Action" and again she had to wake up into another day of misery.
--Time's up--
Hannah didn't bother to brush her teeth in the mornings or to dress up when she went outside. She thought that these were actions for living people and not for people who simply existed. After his death she had lost her appetite and her withered figure has alarmingly showed that she barely existed as well.
She strolled down the streets, looking around feverishly. Perhaps she was hoping to catch a glimpse of her deceased loved one among all the living or maybe she was planning their reunion among the dead.
She has abandoned the last shreds of interest in life and each day was nervously anticipating the night, when she could freely throw herself into dreamland.
But each morning the pale rays of a cold sunshine invaded her dreamland and her alarm clock shouted: "Lights. Camera. Action" and again she had to wake up into another day of misery.
--Time's up--
Friday, July 4, 2008
Fire In The Sky
I have always loved fireworks. I still do. The beautiful visual effect. The excitement involved. Not to mention that it always signals that there is something to be happy about - an independence day, a wedding, a party of some sorts. There is always a happy occasion that follows the fireworks.
My nephew doesn't share my attitude towards fireworks. He is petrified when ever he hears the explosion sound and sees the fire in the sky.
When my nephew was almost 3 years old, we were celebrating one of the intermediate days of Passover. My mother had made a huge lunch, full of color and flavor, and my uncle and his family were with us as well. It was a lovely spring day and we all hanged out on my parent's porch. All of a sudden we heard a huge explosion and saw fire coming out of the gas station below the street. My nephew saw that as well.
As always (...), we immediately opened the television and the radio and our fears verified. There had been a terror attack in Haifa. A suicide bomber exploded inside a crowded restaurant near the gas station. Probably aiming to explode the fuel reserve and causing maximum harm. My nephew saw that. He saw the views of the injured and killed people. He heard everything.
From that point on, my nephew doesn't like fireworks anymore. He celebrated his 9th birthday yesterday.
--Time's up--
My nephew doesn't share my attitude towards fireworks. He is petrified when ever he hears the explosion sound and sees the fire in the sky.
When my nephew was almost 3 years old, we were celebrating one of the intermediate days of Passover. My mother had made a huge lunch, full of color and flavor, and my uncle and his family were with us as well. It was a lovely spring day and we all hanged out on my parent's porch. All of a sudden we heard a huge explosion and saw fire coming out of the gas station below the street. My nephew saw that as well.
As always (...), we immediately opened the television and the radio and our fears verified. There had been a terror attack in Haifa. A suicide bomber exploded inside a crowded restaurant near the gas station. Probably aiming to explode the fuel reserve and causing maximum harm. My nephew saw that. He saw the views of the injured and killed people. He heard everything.
From that point on, my nephew doesn't like fireworks anymore. He celebrated his 9th birthday yesterday.
--Time's up--
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Knock Knock
Knock. Knock.
Sarah had heard someone knocking on the front door and slowly got out of bed to open it. She was so sedated that didn't even ask "who's there"... and just put on her silk robe and her bunny slippers and sluggishly stepped toward the front door.
A man with a wide brim hat and a trench was standing at the door. He had his sun glasses on, although it was pitch black outside. Dark and pouring. A lightening had struck just as she opened the door. Thunders were roaring soon after.
Her eyes widely opened with terror but she didn't manage to close the door shut. The man grabbed her and took her away in the rain to his black Volvo. Inside the car he tied her hands and gagged her. She noticed that the handle on her side was broken. There's no escape.
They were driving for about an hour until they got to the lake. He took her out of the car and she already knew where were they going and why had he come over to get her.
It was time to pay for what she had done 20 years ago at the same place and on the same time.
--Time's up--
Sarah had heard someone knocking on the front door and slowly got out of bed to open it. She was so sedated that didn't even ask "who's there"... and just put on her silk robe and her bunny slippers and sluggishly stepped toward the front door.
A man with a wide brim hat and a trench was standing at the door. He had his sun glasses on, although it was pitch black outside. Dark and pouring. A lightening had struck just as she opened the door. Thunders were roaring soon after.
Her eyes widely opened with terror but she didn't manage to close the door shut. The man grabbed her and took her away in the rain to his black Volvo. Inside the car he tied her hands and gagged her. She noticed that the handle on her side was broken. There's no escape.
They were driving for about an hour until they got to the lake. He took her out of the car and she already knew where were they going and why had he come over to get her.
It was time to pay for what she had done 20 years ago at the same place and on the same time.
--Time's up--
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Customer Service
I have had my share of run-ins with customer service. some experiences were more pleasing than the others. Sometimes I have gritted my teeth after talking to a customer service person and other times I was a spectator in other people's run-ins and could understand why the customer service person eventually got mad and impatient.
Despite the many flaws one can find in a customer service, it is very comforting to know that you have a place to go to when you have problem. A place to approach and be attended to. A place to refer your needs and wants to.
Unfortunately, you do not have such a place for your day-to-day life. You cannot call customer service and complain about not losing weight or for losing yet another day to procrastination. You have no customer service to e-mail and request a manual for how to handle an annoying co-worker or how to take care of your relationships.
Or maybe you do have such an establishment in life. Your day-to-day customer service is actually a FRIEND.
--Time's up--
Despite the many flaws one can find in a customer service, it is very comforting to know that you have a place to go to when you have problem. A place to approach and be attended to. A place to refer your needs and wants to.
Unfortunately, you do not have such a place for your day-to-day life. You cannot call customer service and complain about not losing weight or for losing yet another day to procrastination. You have no customer service to e-mail and request a manual for how to handle an annoying co-worker or how to take care of your relationships.
Or maybe you do have such an establishment in life. Your day-to-day customer service is actually a FRIEND.
--Time's up--
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Do I Have An Accent?
My father immigrated to Israel in 1950 as a toddler. He was born into a family which had survived the holocaust and had lived under horrible conditions. He had a sister he didn't know, as she passed away during the war when she was 4 years old.
My father's family of five was situated in a transit camp, called "Ma'abarah", and they had lived there in a tin house, under the burning sun of Israel for a couple of years. My father was blond and fair skinned and it didn't take him long to get awful sunburns. His hair turned red and his skin was beaded with freckles.
My father had picked up the language very quickly and had forgotten his mother tongue completely. Instead he had picked up some juicy words in Polish, Hungarian and Arabic from the other kids in the transit camp.
My father had no foreign accent. He spoke Hebrew fluently and no one could tell he was a new immigrant (shy of his red hair and freckles). Both his parents and him like the way he was integrated so quickly in Israel but years later he decided to adopt the rolling 'r' of the Romanians. He does not use it all the time, but some times - in times of happiness or distress - maybe in times he wishes to reconnect with his roots, a rolling 'r' would flicker in his speech.
--Time's up--
My father's family of five was situated in a transit camp, called "Ma'abarah", and they had lived there in a tin house, under the burning sun of Israel for a couple of years. My father was blond and fair skinned and it didn't take him long to get awful sunburns. His hair turned red and his skin was beaded with freckles.
My father had picked up the language very quickly and had forgotten his mother tongue completely. Instead he had picked up some juicy words in Polish, Hungarian and Arabic from the other kids in the transit camp.
My father had no foreign accent. He spoke Hebrew fluently and no one could tell he was a new immigrant (shy of his red hair and freckles). Both his parents and him like the way he was integrated so quickly in Israel but years later he decided to adopt the rolling 'r' of the Romanians. He does not use it all the time, but some times - in times of happiness or distress - maybe in times he wishes to reconnect with his roots, a rolling 'r' would flicker in his speech.
--Time's up--
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