Frodo's Wisdom

“ Frodo : How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart you begin to understand there is no going back. There are some things that time can not mend. Some hurts that go too deep... that have taken hold.” JR TOLKIEN .

A great line by the famous writer of the Lord of the Rings Books, JR TOLKIEN. I might have  chosen another line from these books. The script is great, not just random babbling of a writer. Not just a random plot for an  exciting adventure.

 Tolkien's characters are not shallow, they are not  just fighting an evil , they are fighting for the truth, they are fighting for values. They speak eloquently, they speak wisdom. They speak about life, death, patience, trust, and enduring each other for the sake of one aim.

But the main reason I  chose this above quote , because  I have been wondering about this line  for few days. I have been thinking :

 How do we move on? 
How do we forget? 
How does  the book close ?
  Will we ever open it again? Can we? 

Or the book would be burnt already? 
Can time mend everything?
 Can we actually forgive ?

Questions and Questions. No assured answers. 

Time might tell. And time might conceal. 
But I  am sure I will find the answer either in this life, or later....

I Will Disappear

I will disappear like the falling rain that touches your face, and then drying out on the pavement, once the sun shines on it.
I will disappear like the green color  of the leaves you saw on  that tree, fades as winter approaches.

I will disappear like the symphony playing strictly by the orchestra in a concert you attended.

I will disappear like the pain vanishing instantly after the needle pierces your fingers.

I will disappear like the lights of the airplane taking off, as it levitates higher in the sky.

I will disappear like the eyeliner that cover those eyes, gets removed off as night approaches.

I will disappear like the words written on the postcard, as the dust ate them throughout the years.

I will disappear. I will depart.
  But beware!


I will transform.

Like that rain drop transformed into free bubbles roaming in the air.

Like that leaf transformed into a beautiful yellow color, flying away from its bounded tree.

Like that symphony transformed into a sweet humming, played generously by all who heard the symphony.

Like that pain transformed into a giggle because the ache was foolish and minute.

Like that light transformed into a vigorous one when the same plane landed back again.

Like that eyeliner that transformed into a plain truth that unraveled the fakeness of those eyes.

Like those words transformed into a memory that can never be erased.

And so, I will transform into something more free, more beautiful.

For I was something that was real and now I am something that is intangible.

Journal Entry : Beirut I forgive you

Today, I will be posting something different, something personal for me, something I wrote a while ago and hesitated to share on my blog.

But now I am comfortable to share it.

Journal Entry

Saturday, January 29, 2011

10:23 PM

Today , it was the first day I took a TAXI and crossed beirut after the events that happened this week.

Today, it was the first day I left the “security zone” I was living in for the past days.

It was the first day, I left western Beirut , to its other parts.

It was sunny, warm with a cold breeze playing with my hair in the cab . Just a typical Beiruti weather in this time of the year.

Traffic Jam as usual,  grumbling Taxi drivers, along with vulgar drivers with their posh cars.

I watched people faces from the window of the cab.

There was melancholy. People looked disheartened.

I smiled to an old woman walking, holding lots of grocery bags in her hands. She smiled back at me.

I saw an old guy with rotten cloth. He looked homeless. He was screaming in the street.He was screaming out of pain, out of craziness perhaps.I lumped. I am sitting here with my cloth , my money , I have a good health and an old man almost dying in front of me. What am I doing here? How I can even call myself a human?

Where is my action?

The traffic jam infront moved. The taxi had to move on too.

We passed by a beggar. At least I can give pass him some money. But even the traffic was fast, as if no one waits . There are no stops in this world. We are semi-robots. Working on the clock and ignoring what we see and what we hear.

Perhaps am not the first to watch these things, or to record them or even to write about them.

But what I felt today is nothing to be disregarded. I felt my heart ripped out of my chest.

Let me continue this semi journey in Beirut.

The taxi dropped me after taking two other people aboard. The signs of fatigue was all over them . Their weary looks, made me lump again.

I walked two blocks to reach my grandma's house. I passed by a place where international domestic workers go to call their families. I always pass by their and hear them shouting with their foreign language and talking to their families with passion. I usually hear  voices of nostalgia.

But this time I heard a different voice. I saw one of the domestic workers, had red eyes and  was full of tears.

It wasn’t just the voice of missing someone, it was the voice of pain, the voice of wretchedness.

I couldn’t help but join her in her own misery and shed tears as I passed by.

But what have I done to lessen this misery? Nothing. I am just a hypocrite.

I reached my grandma's house. Atleast I will find some hope their. Some bubble of joy lost so that I can catch and let me forget all this miserable life I had seen in just one hour!

But even when I saw my grandma , it was the same story. She heard my voice as I entered the house and she thought it was the voice of her daughter( my mom ). And when she realized it wasn’t her, she cried. I hugged her, kissed her forehead and cried …She whispered to me crying,: “Everyone is agonized. Everyone has something to be anxious about. Noone is resting. Noone is happy ya teta.”

True, there were no bubbles of joy but a flood of sadness.

Beirut, how can I love you? Beirut tell me how to love you when you hide all this misery under your silk beauty!

How can you not let us see what are people feeling and going through.

Until when , you want to deny this pain soaring through your skin.

Until when , you want to live with a fake smile drawn to let people love you.

Until When , you want this virus of sorrow to seep into your veins.

Beirut, tell me.

Today, you broke my heart.

Yes, I want to let the world that you broke my heart.

 You told me people are happy. You told me people are enjoying their lives despite all what is happening to them. You told me I am the most beautiful city.

You told me , my streets are spirited. My houses hold charming fables inside them.

But your truth was not convincing. 

 Like a lover cheating on his love, you cheated on me.

Will you give me a  bona fide justification for what you said?

Perhaps  like the lovers who forgive each other  at the end of each fight,  Beirut, I  will forgive you.

I forgive you. Because it is not your fault. It is ours.