Who am I ? The eternal Question . Have not figured it out fully yet. All you need to know about me is that I am a Middle Easterner, an Arab Woman - old enough to know better. I have no homeland per se...All the rest is icing on the cake. Copyrights reserved 2006-2020
Delete and Rename...
About a year ago, some Iraqi blogger renamed me " Arab Woman Fuse". I found that to be too funny...have not stopping laughing since... He probably felt that I have a few wires missing, I guess. So "fuse" I shall be. Sounds better than "blues". Don't you think ?
Let me teach you a few words in Arabic. Ashes is "Ramad" and Dust is "Turab" which also means earth, the soil, and "Turba" may also mean tomb or more exactly the grounds where someone is buried. Ramad and Turab is what Ramadi looks like today. Ramadi in the Anbar province. The hated Anbar, part of the "triangle". The ever so despised Anbar by both the Americans and the Iranians. The hatred was most evident today. The American Forces - wait, I take that back - they are not forces, they are cowards. The American cowards bombed Ramadi today. Many homes were demolished. A family of thirteen was buried under the rubbles. More than 26 civilians were killed, out of which 4 women and several children. Two infants, the youngest was 1 month old. Men rushed to the ruins trying to rescue whatever human form they can find. Bare hands, rugged, dust covering their faces and hair, digging and digging... Most had nothing but a shirt on. No vest, no sweater, no n
I vaguely remember the title of this film. It was “Looking for Mr.Goodbar”, starring Diane Keaton, if I recall correctly. Another neurotic, desperate, dependent, insecure, American “woman”, looking for love in all the wrong places... An emotional survival story. I've read a lot of your so-called emotional survival stories... Your dog dies, and you seek emotional survival by either sleeping with the first pretender or you are stuck in therapy for another 5 years. You lose your job and there you go, acting out, fucking around as if there is no tomorrow... You grandparent or parent dies and ditto, you recourse to the same... Your twin towers collapse and ditto again – you have been in therapy ever since. Your therapist is very understanding, after all you pay him/her over 200 dollars an hour and she/he pats you on the back and tells you it’s ok, it’s nothing but a phase of grief...don’t punish yourself, you are just trying to heal... How very touching indeed. You the puritanical, hall
I must be somewhat of a masochist. Whenever I feel a kind of " blah" pervading me, I watch these "religious" TV stations, with the secret hope for a " pick me up" kind of feeling. The "pick me up" has to do more with a few giggles rather than a "moment of Grace" even though I would not refuse the latter. I have no particular preference. I zap from the depressing shia al-Forat channel to the equally depressing sunni Iqra channel and to the even more depressing "born again" Christian channels. And each time I do that and watch what these guys (and most of them are guys) have to say, I feel like flagellating myself afterwards. No, no, it is not due to some secret hidden desire to become a "sect martyr". It has more to do with a sense of guilt for having put my poor mind through so much torture. What is torturing about it is the way I feel afterwards... The subliminal message is almost always identical : " You are n