Thursday, July 27, 2006

An Angel Called Dana

Dana is the first grand daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Al X. Mr. X loves Dana so much that he keeps thanking his daughter for bringing him such a wonderful gift. The story started when Mrs. X wanted to go to Lebanon. Mr. X didnt like the idea thinking that it isnt a secure place to go to. But Mrs. X insisted. She even bought herself an apartment close to her family and friends. Mr. X had no saying but to accept reality and let them go.

Mrs.X took her daughters and her only grand child and left for a promised vacation in Lebanon. Her new apartment was ready and she couldnt wait to enjoy her summer vacation there. Mr.X didnt want her to take her grand child Dana; he was worried about her more than he did to his wife and daughters. But ofcourse her mother couldnt leave her in Kuwait alone.

Now I guess that you know what happened to the family the second day they arrived. War had started. Mr.X couldnt just sit there waiting for his family to come back especially that his precious little Dana was stuck there. He grabbed his car first thing he heard the news and drove directly to Syria then to Lebanon. He took them all and made reservations for them to go back by plane to Kuwait while he returned by his car.

It was all for Danas eyes. Mr.X who always feared going to Lebanon. Mr.X who was one of the first people who left Kuwait during the Iraqi invasion. All fear was gone, adrenaline for saving his grand daughter gave him enough courage to go all the way to Lebanon to save her. If it werent for Dana, his family wouldve been still stuck there. They were one of the first people who escaped back to Kuwait.

Love does wonders.

p.s. no spell checking here. if there are grave ones, please tell me.


It was raining
Lovers were french kissing

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

weinich ya lebnan

mino el maynoon eli ehid el barad fi deerta wiroo7 esayyif fi deera a7ar?


Its damn hot. When would Europeans get used to the idea of global warming and install ACs? Cooling ACs, and not the fan operating ones.

Even my chocolate is melting.

allah yer7omich ya lebnan... wiraji3 ayyamich. sij enni mare7t ella marrah wa7da but it was the best.

chan al7een ana ga3da 3ala jabal lebnan el 3ali eli ahlo ye3eesho fi dalali ma3a moza oo khathra bidal el fi6ees eli ga3da feeh.

Sunday, July 16, 2006

للكويتيين الذين تجمهروا أمام السفارة الأمريكية

Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam

Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam" playing in the background...

Indian incense burning in the car's ashtray

I and mere zindagee are resting in my dad's Chevy watching the stars on a cool October night over looking AlBidi'e beach.

He was so dark and skinny when dad brought him from the airport. "This is Rajkumar" my dad introduced him to me. He was our new driver. His wife had just passed away before he decided to come to Kuwait and earn a living. She was a medical doctor who caught a deadly virus on one of her trips to save sick children in southern poor areas.

Rajkumar came mainly to drive my dad to some distant areas my dad had to go to for business. There were days when I faked being sick just to let Rajkumar drive me to school. I was a senior at colleague and all my friends enjoyed driving their own luxurious cars, when I only cared for being with Rajkumar. I didn't know what I felt, but something deep inside made me want to be with him. The sorrow in his eyes? His tall slim dark figure? I didn't know.

Two years after my graduation and I still went out with Raj. He even drove me to the nearest co-op anywhere close or far; I just wanted to be with him. He was then a fuller man, less tanned, and smelled like my dad's after shave.

"You love him being around because your dad isn't around enough" my friend blurted out once. "He does what you command him to do. He's always there when in need. You are living a fantasy dear. Wake up; you can't be in love with your driver."

My friend's so called "reality shocks" hurt me but I couldn't care less. The joy of being with Raj was the reason I kept living. I had no sisters or brothers, and my mom was a social worker who helped people from the entire country, but forgot the one who needed her most; deeply captivated by lust for her driver.

"I can't touch you, mere dill, only 8 years till I gather enough money from your dad then we can go to Delhi and get married the traditional Indian way you dream of"

"Just like the indian movies? With all the flowers and music?"

"Yes, my dear, I will honor and cherish you"

"I will ride an elephant, run on the highest mountains"

"I will let my sister teach you how to dance"

"Kama sutra?" I thought to myself. "Remember that I don't like the smell of henna"

"Don't worry, our henna is original unlike the one you have here. You'd love it's smell. I will never let you cut this beautiful hair of yours. You will be able to wear sari without anyone gazing although I doubt that. You are so beautiful honey and you're great Indian grandmother's features are so obvious. I bet no one will know you're Kuwaiti there."

Raj plays "Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam" again with his curry scented fingers. My mobile interrupts the scene, It's "di3la" my friend who reminded me that it's near Fajir and my dad might wonder where his car is on his way out to the mosque. Raj drives me back home and I quietly sneak in to my room. I sleep for two hours dreaming of a lovely morning and a long nice ride with Raj to work.

Category: Fiction

Monday, July 10, 2006



حبيت واحد بس ما حبني

حبيت واحد بس ما درى عني

حبيت واحد بس ما يازله شكلي

حبيت واحد بس ماعجبه اسمي ولا رصيدي

حبني واحد بس ماترس عيني

حبني واحد بس تشرط علي

حبني واحد من غيرته خنقني

حبني واحد بس أمه ارفضتني

حبينا بعض بس انظلونا وافترقنا

حبينا بعض بس أهلنا ما رضوا عنا

حبينا بعض بس دمنا ما طبق

حبينا بعض بس الموت أخذه في ليلة عرسي

تزوجت واحد بس اخذ غيري

تزوجت واحد بس خاني في ليلة عرسي

تزوجت واحد بس طلع زطي

تزوجت واحد يحب الحداق أكثر مني

تطلقت من واحد لأنه وسواسي

تطلقت من واحد لأنه عافني

تطلقت من واحد لأنه ريحته ماعجبتني

تطلقت من واحد لأنه بيده طقني وبريله رفسني

يا ناس يا عالم ويش أسوي

الناس مو راضيه تهدني بروحي

مو عاجبهم لا عزوبييتي ولا حبي

لا زواجي ولا طلاقي

ياناس خلوني أعيش بريحاتي

تري فيزتي جاهزه

باكر أطقها سفره

وما تشوفون رقعة وجهي أبد في ديرتي


On a lighter note, enjoy this menage-a-trois

The Kiss
Originally uploaded by creativity+.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

What do you want from life?

Do we have to want something from life?

If one didn’t know what he wanted, does this mean he’s lost?

Does this mean that he needs therapy?

This was an argument I had today with my friend who searched the entire directory looking for a shrink.

Dr. Foziya dree3: is not available.

“Something” clinic: the doctor answered the phone instead of a secretary and when asked for guidance he said that he’s just a counselor and that she can be referred to mustashfa el 6ib el nafsi for drugs.

NLP/mantra (not so sure) at AlRazi clinic: she is on vacation.

Dr. Marwan AlMutawa: the number listed in the paper is the number of a restaurant! So my friend called el baddala who gave her his house telephone number. The housekeeper answered and told her that Marwan no longer has an office!

Dr. “Something” (who deals with Jin): the secretary said “I don’t know I will ask and call you back”.

Why finding a healer/therapist/ or whatever is this hard here?


6abakh diaries

6abakh visited us at work today. This is the conversation that took place after saying our hellos:

6abakh: enta sawi 3aroos?

Me: la.

6abakh: laish? Ana kilyom wallah sawwi do3a’ 3ashan enta sawi 3aroos.. wallah ana 3ala tool enta fakkar.. Kil yom..

Bas allah mako yisma3.

He then felt guilty for saying such thing about God, licked his fingers and then tweaked his ears; their way for asking for forgiveness.

Monday, July 03, 2006