Sunday, December 25, 2005


I’m at a point in my life where I’m living out a fantasy story.

I’m not talking about the cindrella story thing, one because I’m not a girl, two because I’m not gay, and three because this isn’t the fantasy I had in mind.

Fantasy like Lord of the Rings, or like… The foundation, if any reader out there has a clue about what the latter is, it doesn’t matter.

Why, do you ask?

My life has many mythical characters, it’s got new geographical plains in which peoples of different powers live, it’s got great Kings, Guardians, Good guys, Princesses, and of course the inevitable bad guys.

Starting from the beginning, We have the main tribe, a great and old and widespread tribe, with the respected name Al Khateeb, The preacher, a name built from centuries (or decades) of history, disputes, and blood.

The story starts from a wise old man –Muhi Aldeen who moved down from the land Diyar Bakr, and settled in amongst the peoples of shee’aa, a fierce and dangerous peoples who posses a certain respect for Muhi Aldeen for the apparent air of respect and gravity which precedes him. He establishes the first of The Alkhateebs and moves up to the historic ageless city of Baghdad.

His progeny grows and multiplies into many variations of good and bad, and from their progeny comes this our story of love, war, and death.

There is the hero of the story, which right now happens to be me, my story starts not from my birth, but from the momentous date of September 11th, when my destiny is forever merged with the fair and beautiful Asmaa, also a descendant of the Al Khateebs.

The significance of this union is that other than the wonderful nature of this union –having satisfied all the requirements of the Order of Islam- but also to the fact that this is a union of the last two powerful kings of Al Khateeb, this already promises to be the beginning of the rebirth of the glory of this great tribe.

Namuk, the first king, lives in the land of Oz, he has lived many years and fought many battles, bringing him out a battle-scarred and revered old King, one not to be meddled with. Honored with pilgrims visiting from the east and the west. The last sign of the eminence of the olde days.

Louay, the younger King, is King of The olde days, with a formidable history of nomadic attainments and with just as many scars and just as much veneration. He now lives in the land of the Mwatneen and is at this time waging a silent battle with the ‘bad guys’ of this story, known here as the cousins.

There are also the guardians of the princes, they have many names and their stories are varied in wisdom and sacrifice, the people know them now as the mothers.

Having made their place next to their companions- the kings, they also endued just as many scars and wounds from enemies and battles as well as their Kings, they now guard the princes and guide them in their unions, protecting them from themselves, and from the fearsome cousins.

The Cousins, a group of miscreants also hailing from the progeny of Al Khateeb, only more hateful and scornful due so to living under the poisonous fumes of the land of Baghdad, then a hive of wickedness and sin. Most of its inhabitants were caught in its poisons, thus came out the new breed of the Dibesh, the cousins thus came out looking for blood, tears and destructive toil.

Thus far Alhumdulillah nothing will stand in the way of this celebrated almost holy marriage, the cousins will plot and will never tire of attempting to destroy what we are and what we stand for, but the light of love and goodness shall never be extinguished.

The kings will bring back the ages of supremacy and wisdom, the mothers will sacrifice with their time and their hearts and their very souls to serve the princes, the beginners of the new age.

Such a story is called a fantasy, I might have added in some things and bent some truths and adorned it with hyperboles, but really, who doesn’t ? that’s what makes it a good story.


PEACE ! ! !


Sunday, November 20, 2005

The gift III

Once upon a time, this town was a heaven on earth, a gift God gave to his people, but then the people strayed, and paradise turned to slaughterhouse, and slaughterhouse turned to madhouse, a madhouse that I own.

I am sitting in front of abu naji, calmly sipping at my tea, watching him calmly sipping at his tea, while his free arm is tensed on his gun, though he knows i'd be crazy to try anything in his restaurant- what with all the bodyguards he has covering him- he does sense maddness in my veneer today.

though I am as calm as my tea.

"So tell me Abu Naji," looking at him over the hot tea " are you trying to kill me?"

He looked me up and down with a Scornful eye, "you shouldn’t be coming here for trouble boy! Take your toys and go play outside"
"Someone thinks they can take me down, I want to know who it is"

The tension subsides a bit, he understands I’ve come to ask questions this time "These are the new days my friend, everything is changing, the enemies of yesterday are the friends of today"
What he was saying worried me; this is the talk of someone who knows he's about to lose.

"Have you heard anything on the streets?" - "nothing, just the usual everyday crazy business, people robbing people, people killing people, do-gooders running around killing with their own agenda, it's becoming hard to stay afloat, other than the nothing else is of interest"

"What do-gooders"

"Oh it’s nothing really, just some Robin Hood wannabes, what I'm worried about is abu hizb, he's hard to kill, that bastard"

"Oh I wouldn’t be worried about him"

“Look Sami, The streets don’t belong to you any more! It’s chaos now, crime and corruption are eating this city alive, it’s too dirty even for us big timers.”

“My time here isn’t done abu naji, I’m just getting started”

“Go home little boy, your time is over, leave my restaurant before my bullies pick on you".

By some ironic coincidence we both finished our tea at the same time, he was quite relaxed now, I wasn't his enemy, he could drink.

I was also enjoying my tea, but in my head there was a countdown, the perfect time to strike, because you see my friend, before I started talking to abu naji, I had decided to kill him.

I drop my istikan to the floor as if by mistake, and apologising I pick it up, NOW ! with one quick motion of the hand, I push the broken shard of the istikan into his eye, he falls off his chair grappling for his eyes. Before he starts screaming I stand up and grab for my guns, aiming at the four guards I'd counted when I came in, I blast hot lead into thier chests, in the confusion only one of them reached for his pistol, though it did him little good.

thought all the ensuing screeming and yelling of the crowds in this 4 star retarant, I hear more people behind behind me, from the kitchen splirt out 4 more gurads, with more panic and confusion than some of the screeming diners around me, thier guns high but thier eyes all wild and scared, I shoot at them untill my gun clicks empty, there are many more of abu naji, but now that abu naji is dead, his army is no more.

That's when I hear his bloody breathing, he's still not dead ! I walk over to him while loading my gun, one bullet is enough for this swine.

"Were you trying to kill me? "

throughs his gurgling I make out a no.

"Do you know who wants to kill me? "

he just looks now, his whole body is still now, except for his eyes, beseeaching me to do something, to help him. So I help him, I lean over close to his face, and pull the trigger one last time.

The carpets are red with the blood of my enemies, the restauant is quiet, I leave.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

When the israeli art seller knocked at my Door

Alsalamu alaikum

I was on the internet chatting to... someone, and the doorbell rang and was answered by my sister...

Then my younger sister comes to my room and she's like, there is a guy selling paintings and Amasy is talking to him, you better go downstairs see who this guys is.

I don't know why, but I had a flashback of reading something about Israeli spys posing as art students. So I go downstairs to see the guy, AND HE LOOKS ISRAELI ! ! ! so I get closer to the door and hear him talking IN AN ISRAELI ACCENT ! ! !

At this point I start freakin out, do I have an israeli spy at my door ? is he even Isreali ? so I ask him "are you israeli ?" (something which my sister thought was a bit too abrupt, not saying hi ot nothing)


So yeah, he was showing us some paintings of his, and giving us "wildly inflated prices" of $120.

So yeah, I said thanks, not interested, please spy somewhere else (I didn't say that), and he was gone.

Now it seems that these guys actually exist !, or sort of anyways coz nothing gets proven. What if this guy was part of this spy ring ? or is he maybe an actual art student trying to live off his art to live with his lover in a rundown apartement building somewhere in North Melbourne ? what does it matter ? We're not art people anyway.


Monday, October 24, 2005

The gift II

In the hot sun I was driving fast, the leather seats were scorching hot in the stifling hot air that made my eyes ache in their sockets, but I didn’t open the window or turn on the air-con, I was angry and I wanted to be angrier by the time I reached my destination. I saw blood and I wanted blood, no one messes with Abu Sami.

My first stop was Abu Hizb, the oldest most respected gangster in Baghdad, this guy’s been around for as long as I can remember, with connections and controls all over. He was the killer, the drug runner, the pimp, if there was something illegal or bloody, he had his hands in it.
That was Abu Hizib then, he’s an old man now, though his posse still ruled the land he was decaying slowly and everybody knew it, and they showed it in little ways, little signs of disrespect have been springing up everywhere around, he would have needed to prove himself to survive for the next 30 years, or even 5.
If he thought he could mess with me, he’ll be dead tonight.

Abu Hizb’s mansion is across the river, the primest most expensive land in all of Baghdad, all these years of profiting from crime has treated him quite well. One thing about his mansion was that you couldn’t enter without his say so, his guards were posted everywhere. One thing about me though, is that I know my town, and this old man won’t have me for a toy.

My Jeep driving slowly up the driveway so as not to raise any suspicions from his sentries suddenly roared into life, picking up speed as it raced to the large metal gates, which were designed to withstand potential car collisions but never really tested for such.

With a huge CRASH ! I was inside, the only damage was my Jeep’s fallen bumper, the three guards were dozing under the trees in the small garden outside the mansion, by the time they woke up and realized what was happening, they were lying down again with their blood washing their sins.

I went up to them, picked up two of their guns, and walked up to the front gate, I looked at it long and hard, I was losing my sanity little by little, now standing in front of this thick wooden gate something ticked in my head, I remember roaring with a sound so deep I didn’t know I had, and blasting my way in.

I was out 20 minutes later, a lot calmer now; I could feel the blood on my hands and face cooling me down, flashes of what happened inside made me warm inside, hungry for more; Abu Hizb is dead, so are his sons, wife, mistress, daughter, servant, dog, and two bodyguards.

My hands were aching, I should have hit his wife with a brick or something rather than break her windpipe with my hands, this was admittedly more fun however, I feel a lot better now.

With calm hands I reload my Gun, get in my car, and drive out slowly.

One dead, two to go…

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

The gift I

Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven, that’s what I say.
Baghdad’s my home, I was born here, I lived here all my life, my first crime was here, my first jailing, first murder, first gang, and I will probably die here.
Until then, I will rule this city; Tyrants and invaders come and go, but what never leaves Iraq is us, the criminals, the gangs, and the gang leaders: me…

Even from this Café, drinking my tea and watching the passers by in the centre of Baghdad City, I know I have control over all of west Baghdad.

I worked hard to get to where I am today, had to sacrifice friends and family, millions of dollars and dinars to governments and informants, and those damn Americans, but in the end, I rule Baghdad though drugs, prostitution, racketeering, you name it.
No civilian in Baghdad can sit where I’m sitting and have a gun like my Desert Eagle on his table without getting shot or arrested by any of the chaotic police of army forces roaming around in Baghdad. People know me, people fear me, respect me.

The streets are not very busy at this high noon hour, it’s too hot and dusty, but still there are people walking around to things to do. A man in an old suit walks past me, there are shoe cleaners and books sellers lining the sidewalk, two girls walk by, too young to catch my interest, my eyes are always analysing the scene in front of me, my enemies are everywhere, I didn’t get to where I am today by overlooking my surroundings.

Which is why I was taken by surprise when the man suddenly stood over my table, he was a non descript man, not too tall or short, nor is he thin or fat, his hair is not long or short, the sort you’d would see every day, all was normal except for his grave look.
It wasn’t his features that troubled me however, oh no, it was something –though simple- very disturbing to me, and anyone who knows Baghdad.

He had a long white Bedouin dress, it wasn’t originally white and dusted, it was brilliant white, the sort that makes you squint if it was under the sun, which I did.

The weather in Iraq, and especially Baghdad, has been very dry and dusty for years now, nothing white will remain such for a long time. This guy must have been wearing a jacket over it.

Where did he come from though ? did I sleep ? was I looking at something too closely ?

You have 24 hours to meet your master.

And he was gone. I couldn’t see him go, all of a sudden he had gone, ran away, picked up by a car, I don’t know.

I looked around, there were not many people in this coffeehouse, two old men playing chess, and an informant looking man in a leather jacket reading the newspaper.

In a rage of panic and rage, I jumped from my chair, my half empty tea glass fell and shattered on the floor, by the time the informant looked up I was over him with my gun against his nose.

“WHO WAS THAT ?” I yelled at him, no one talks to be like that.

“What are you talking about ?” He knew I meant business, from the barrel pressed against his face, and from his bewildered face, I knew he wasn’t lying.
“Did you see that guy in the white thawb talking to me ?”

“ No ! I swear to you ! I was reading my paper I didn’t notice anything”

Shit, someone wants me dead in 24 hours, I have to know who, “ Do you know anyone wanting to take me out”

“Take out Abu Sami ? No ! no one is that crazy !”

I pulled my gun away from his face, I must find out who. “here is 500 000 dinars, find out who’s rocking the boat, I want an answer by tonight”

“I can’t get news by tonight, Baghdad’s too big, and I need to…”

I threw another 500 000 dinars on his table, “By tonight !”, and walked out. The two old men continued their chess game, in the hell that is Baghdad, devils are common.

Who could have it in for me ? who would be crazy enough to send me a messenger ? I was very angry now, and deep inside I was still troubled by that messenger’s visit.

Talking to myself “have to get him before he gets me”, and with a lot of screeching and smoke, I roared off in my car, looking for my next victim.

Saturday, September 03, 2005

Story: Nadia IV

Sitting on the top of the HumVee with wind (and the occasional sand) blowing past my face and hair, under the hot December sun of Iraq, I very easily forgot about everything outside of iraq.
The past week has been quite hectic, with the crashcourse in emergency and war procedures, and the travelling half way around the world. It now feels like i'm in a different world, one filled with mystery and culture, and death, and danger.

The American Marines I'm riding with seem friendly enough, I don't know if I can get over the heavy texan accents, or the seemingly hateful tone they have when speaking of AYEraqees- any iraqis. It makes me worry about what would happen if we did see any "f$#@ng sand niggers"

Next to me is the scout, Captain Connor, (pronouced CAANIRR appearantly), they
let me ride on top because this area is usualy quiet, "HollIRR if you see anyTHAING" Connor yells over the wind and the car.

But for now, I'm just enjoying this beautifull desolate iraqi desert, nothing but sand and hills around us, and the road, stretching for ever it seems.

I take out my camera and start taking pictures of the horrizon we're leaving behind as I look to the back of the vehicle, looking through the camera I can capture beautiful scenes, only it was too empty, no cars, no people, not even horses. Wait ! a horse comes running out of one of the hills about a mile away, I can't see anyone riding it, so I start taking pictures of it.

I finish my roll of film on this gorgeous creature running our track, I hurriedly grab for my bag to get another roll while keeping my eye on the horse, which is getting closer and close. Where is that film roll? that horse sure is fast, what's that on it's back ? a saddle ? did it run away from someone ?

As I turn to tell Connor about it, I catch from the corner of my eye the horse changing shape.

"oh shit" A dark figure rising out of the back of the horse, I half turn and call our "CONNOR !" I can still see the figure, now pointing at us, not with a finger but with a gun !

Connor pulls me down hard to see and starts to yell "CODE RED IT'S A HORSM@#

in the next few seconds all I remember are many jumbled pictures coming fast at me; Connor's throat is all red and half gone, he's down and not moving. I look to him and refuse to belive he was sniped from that distance from a running horse.

The second in command jumps up, I dont' remember his name, takes out his sniper while yelling YOU KILLED CONNOR YOU MOTHEF$@# I'LL F$# YOU UP YOU SANd@#$#@ AAARGH ! !

His shoulder is gone, he's yelling again, all this time I'm staring at the horseman, how can he snipe on horse back ?

Then it all gets too fast to understand, feelings more than memories, bombs, explosion, people thrown, I'm thrown with them, sand all around, loud dinn in my ears, look around there many horses approaching, they're all dead only one marine shooting aimlessly and crying yelling I don't know falls blood squirts falls down more shooting running horses loud NOISEGUNSHOURSESHOOVESGUNINMYFACE !!!

suddenly it's all quiet, there are 10 horses I can see not 5 meters away, the leader-whose gun is aimed at me (like I'd try to do something) descends from his horse and walks towards me, it could be my panic stricken brain, but his bedwin clothing is very intimidating.

Standing over me, he yells at me "MINO INTA ?" I just look at him, my face a canvas of fear, my eyes open wide waiting for the bullet.

after yelling into me a few times, he turns around "MITLIG !"

another horseman descends and approaches, a younger arab, 18. he comes to me, "HEY, WHO YOU ARE ? YOU AMRICAAN ? "

I'm still looking, I feel I wanna talk but panic has totaly taken me, inside I'm imagining a sign (our of order, rebooting).

the man takes out a gun from his garb, that's it, my last few seconds on earth, he cocks his gun, points it at me, my wide eyes watching the infinite darkness of the barrel, 3. 2. 1...


The young one calls out. for a second I think I'm dead, but wait, he didn't shoot !
He makes as if to grab me by the collar, but instead pulls something from my neck and looks at it.

Oh my God ! Nadia !

her name works like a charm on me, just like her charm works on the boy, who looks at me with confusion, he turns to the elder "Hai Elmuqadimma"

"mal Ibn Khaldoon ?shjaabha wiaa? "

they talk that gibberish for a while, watching them I'm starting to get my brains back, what are you talking about ? I don't want to move and remind them of my existence, even if it's 1 minute more to live, I still want it.

The boy looks at me again, and this it's him who puts his hand in his garb, that's it all he wanted was the charm. He pulls out his gun which glints in my eyes from the sun and the mettalic shape of ... not a gun... what ? could it be ?

a PDA ? in in this corner of the iraqi desert ? I start to think I'm hallucinating. He takes my charm, and breaks it in two, but ho doesn't break it. IT"S A USB KEY !

I'm not in more confusion than panick, my eyes are wider now, not with fear but with questions, the boy looks at me and laughs "you think we are dumb ?"

he sticks the charm/usb into the pda, checks it, finds something of interest to him- and me-, talks to the elder again. gives him the pda to see or read something.

the elder reads it. he's got an amused smile on his face

"Wa alaikum alsalam"

The elder looks at it for about a minute, the smile growin on his face, he gives it to the boy. and starts giving orders to the others.

Confident my won't fall out when I talk, I asked softly to 'mutlig', "what's happening" he looks at me "she says you are good man" I'm so confused and scared now i dont' ask or argue.

another horseman comes and hands something to the elder, who gives me things that are not mine; food, a gun, and his horse ! pulling me up he tries his english and his voice on me.
pointing up the road "GO BAGHDAD ! BAGHDAD THERE ! YOU GO!" he turns and gets my charm/usb and hands it to me, shaking me hand he yells again "YOU ARE GOOD MAN! YOU GO SAY GOOD THINGS ABOUT US"

They then salut me in a funny hand gesture, and exactly like the story goes, ride off into the sunset, leaving me alone.

that was my last trip to iraq, now my name is now Mohammad Mitlig Gabriel, I still work for The Current under that name, only I work in Australia mainly because I don't like to write negative propaganda.

Iam learning to read arabic now, a bit from university and bit from my wife, you'd like her, her name is Nadia.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

Story: Nadia III

"Mr Gabriel, I must admit we were quite impressed with your resume, the skills you offer are exactly what we're looking for in our next assignment, and our current reporter is... under the weather right now, so really. you're a godsend"

I smiled at the chief editor of The Current, the finest newspaper establishment in Melbourne, and grabbed my seat from fear of flying in a joyous array of laughter, "easy Pete" I thought, "don't lose it now you're almost there!"

She took a breath, I could tell this was going to be an offer I can't refuse, "We would need you to go to Iraq in about a month, and cover parts of the country for three weeks"
I could tell my facial features were giving away my surprise, I could never keep that sort of thing inside. "We realise it's a bit hurried of us to ask you like this. but we're a bit overstreched, and this trip shoudln't be too much trouble, I mean the war's been over for 5 months now"

"I'll take it, thank you" we both stood, shook hands, and that was it !
I was flying, I told my friends, my family, everyone was happy for me, my parents were a bit worried ofcourse, but they're suppose to.

Then I told Nadia.
It was really her opinion I wanted, I could almost hate myself for needing her like this, but she always seems to know what to say, and I hoped to get her blessing as well.
We'd talked about this alot. I knew she didn't like the war, but I thought she might like that I'd go there to see it for myself, maybe prove to her how criminal these insurgents were.

"I don't think you should go" for the first time in a long time, she wasn't smiling anymore, she looked worried, about me ? I was mixedly happy and confused.
"why not ? it's the oppoprtunity of a lifetime, it'd never come again !"
"it's an illegal invasion, people die all the time, and the news makes them look happy, you'd just have to stay with the propaganda" she looked down and said softly "and it's dangerous there"

As she spoke I was getting indignant, and quite angry, how dare she accuse me of propagating and lying for anything ? then my heart went soft again, I was more and more aware of that little lump of flesh these days.

" As for the propaganda, you know me Nadia, I wouldn't do anything like that, these people really are animals, and as fo.. "DON'T CALL THEM THAT "

I was taken aback, she'd never yelled at me before, but I could see she was very angry. I hated to see that anger on her face, and hated myself for bringing it there.

"I'm sorry, but I meant to say I wouldn't lie for anyone like that, money is not everything, and Ill be safe, I'll be travelling embedded with american military"

Just as quickly as she she looked at me with those sad eyes again, there was no anger left in them "that's what I'm afraid of"

. . .

For the next month I saw alot less of her, I didn't know her number so I was just left with no way of contacting her, I was feeling very guilty for getting her so angry, and didn't know how to make it up to her coz I dind't know where she was. All I could do was just say her name again and again, which made me feel better




In my last day at university, a couple of days till I leave the country, I went to the library to return some books, and I saw her again. I ran to her but she knew I was coming, and smiled at me. ThankGod I thought, at least we won't part of bad feelings.

"so when are you leaving ? "
"Friday, where have you been ?"
"nowhere, just thinking, I have something for you"
"yeah ? for me ?" I felt like a little kid, stop it ! I told myself.
" what is it ?"

she took something out of her bag, it was a talisman of some sort, which looked like a book.
what is this ? a charm ? "this is a book called 'muqaddimat ibnu khaldun', it shall keep you safe"

I was so touched and dissapointed, does she still believe in such hocus pocus supersitions ? I didn't want to say anything to sour the situation so I thanked her.

"I'll remember you by it" she held up her hand and I took it, and held her hand.

This was the first time we had touched, and I felt that same electrifying feeling again, I could tell she felt it too, but she pulled her hand away and looked down, then she looked up at me, she had tears in her eyes that were harder on me than a ton of bricks, I wanted to held her and wipe away her tears, but I knew we were so different, and that talisman proved it.

"I will pray for you" and she walked away, for the last time. She stopped and turned around "remember, dont' take it off" I looked at her walking away, and cried inside.

Story: Nadia II

It's been 3 month since I started the year, the whole world is talking about the war, even though it ended a good couple of months ago, it still grabs media headlines, death counts, new facts and new players rising everyday.

This is all felt so parallel to my life, all I thought of these days was my final semester of studies, what jobs to find after I finish, and ofcourse, Nadia.

By all logic I shouldn't be so taken with her, she doesn't smile at me, at least not that sort of smile, she doesn't wear anything that would catch my attention, not that her clothing doesn't look damn stylish, and even her hijab (that's how you pronounce it), looks nice now, is it me ? am I changing ? why am I so like this ? and what do I call this feeling ?

I don't go out anymore, I have my friends and go to pubs and clubs every once in a while, but it's not the same, I don't feel right, and every time I go out I tell her about it the next time I see her, like I'm going to confession, why do I need her forgiveness ? my heart doesn't answer, it's become a quiet spectator these days, my heart.

we talk alot now, while the cambodians are giggling amongst themselves, she tells me of her family, of her relegion, I tried to subtly explain to her that she doens't have to be told what to wear in Australia, but she seems to genuinely want to wear it. And like i said, it's starting to grow on me.

She has alot of culture, even though she doesn't feel like a fob, she radiates richness of spirit and of culture. which is good in a way and bad in another.

I tried to ask her out once, she was shocked, she didn't expect it at all, I don't know why I said it, it just came out I still don't know what motivated me to say it then.

she said no, politely

We have about one month to the end of the year, and as much as I'm excited about Time Australia inviting me to talk about a job offer, I can't help this pang in the pit of my stomach, would I see Nadia again ?

Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Story: Nadia

THE TIME I met Nadia was when I had my first international studies turtorial at the university, she was the first palestinian I met, the first muslim woman that I met, and ofcourse the first heejab donning woman I met.

I must admit, the years of watching news and docos about oppression of women in islamic countries all jumped into my head when I saw her, I kept stealing looks at her while the lecturer rambled on about the east timor Oil crisis, how could she allow people to oppress her in Australia ?

So as luck would have it (or now I wonder if it was more than luck), we were teamed together for the first group assignment, it was me, her, and two Cambodian girls who seemed to know each other and were content with just that, after they spoke and giggled away at thier names (call me nicky, heheh ! call me Christy, hehehe !). It seemed that we both had waited for this part of the introductions.

My name is Peter, I'm studying journalism, media and politics, I want to be a foriegn correspondent, I'm 23 years old... and I'm christian.
I don't know why I added that last bit in, it's like I needed to assert my relegious identity to her, even though the last time I went to church was in perth with the grandparents. I hope she woudln't notice or be on edge, I held my breath. .

-My name is Nadia

I was expecting anything in the world except that Toorak accent, even the way she said her name was ozzie, what ?
The fact was that I was electrified by her voice, so ... smooth, so careful, so... feminine. . .

-I'm studying arts translation studies and media, I also hope to work in journalism, I'm ...

what's she gonna say ? she's muslim ? I know that !

-From Palestine, but I came here when I was young.

I smiled politely and tried to hide the bigger smile in my mind, Palestinian aye ? no doubt she supports the suicide bombers, she probably doensn't thougth she doesn't seem the type. My thoughts about her shifited momentarily while we stood looking at each other.

She looked away and picked up her notes, "should we get started ?"

For the next hour after that, we planned our thoughts, strategies, topics etc... I worked formally enough, but in the back of my mind I couldn't help wondering about her, what does she think about me ? why do I care ? I wonder if her brother or dad force her to wear that head thing, should I ask her ? nah, not a good time.

Before we knew it, the hour was over, and planned for a further sitting in a few days. Even though it was to work, strangely I coudn't wait.

Sunday, June 12, 2005

entry number 00004

Alsalamu Alaikum.

I don't know what to write about. Either tehr is nothing happening, or there is too much happening to write about, or I'm tired and I need ome tea to work, maybe the coffee shop is open ?

no it's 11 pm,

well maybe I'll go check, I'll be back in less than 5 (maybe)

well the shop was closed (duh!), but I did manage to get some capacino. which is not tea, but it'll have to do for now.

Well. I have 4 exams in a few days. so I'm not the happiest chap in the world.

but let's get serious for a second here, let's put things into prospective... I'm not hungry, my sisters and -proverbial- wife are not dead or raped or kidnapped. There are no bullets flying past my head, and I'm not being oppressed on the basis of my color, race, relegion or the way I dress.

I am happy, alhumdulillah.

That's the best I can come up with now,.

take care

PEACE ! ! !


Wednesday, June 08, 2005

Aslalamu alaikum.

Let's talk about Uzbekistan.

In 2001 Bush called the uzbek government "friends of freedom", for being able to use an airbase there for thier attacks on afghanistan, and gave karimov the best complements he could muster.

friends of freedome, who even back in 2001. had one of the highest rates of media suppression, with tens of thousands of of reporters in jails. and with many muslims arrested, beaten, tortured and killed. illegaly, with no charge,. in 2001.

friend of freedom

then they do thing last month when they kill up to a thousand civilians calling for ... what ? jobs, juutice, the things that you would youself ask for if you were in their shoes, basic human needs.

1000 people, civilans.

the world is condemning and condeming. coz it's bad you know ! kiling people for no reason, they were unarmed you see.

so what does bush say to the 1000 civilian deaths ? state sponosred terrorism ? in the words of the bbc, muted response.

MUTED ! ! !

that from the crusaders of freedom,

think about that.

PEACE ! ! !


Tuesday, June 07, 2005

entry number 00002

Aslalamu alaikum.

I was really excited about getting my very own blog, so I set it up and posted in a long message and was happy with that, and then I left it for a month.

now, seeing that I'd left it this long, I want to write again, about anything, just like I appreciate food and dont' throw it away because MILLIONS of people around the world are dying of hunger. I should appreciate absolute, almost unrestrained and unlmited freedome of speech, because millions of people around the world can't make the simplest complaint like or criticism, I mean, in iraq in the old times (when I was there), people coudn't say "I hate that things are expensive" coz that would insinuate his readiness for rebelion, OFF WITH HIS HEAD ! the elite would say.

in Egypt, a political party can't write its slogan or show it "Islam is the solution" , they also can't write "it is the solution" because of the implication, they can't write "it" because "it" is Islam.

so I'm gonna write, every day if I can, even If I have nothing to say, I will say FREE PALESTINE ! FREE IRAQ ! KASHMIR FOR THE KASHMIRIS ! CHECHNYA IS DYING AND RUSSIA IS THE CRIMINAL ! AMERICAN POLICIES SUPPORT ZIONISM etc... I mean, I can can't I ! it's a free world, isn't it ? I'll get back to you.

so now, before sitting for revision of my exams which are inevitably coming like the end of the time, like the hour, like gravity, like the inevitability of life. With awesome techno pumping my head blocking out all distractions (thanks Abu). I will start revision, or rather continue.

That is all.

PEACE ! ! !