Thursday, November 30, 2006

Filim: part two

I got off the airplane and ran to the closest toilet, which I progressed to furnish with my breakfast from this morning. This was probably the most turbuent flight I've ever been on, and it wasn't bad weather either.

Walking out of the toilet I still felt shaky and sick, which was obvious because I could hear the chuckles of the other passengers around me in this broken down building I could only guess is the airport lounge. The green (maybe 20 years ago they were green)plastic seats were moldy and broken, the walls were splattered with bulet holes and oddly enough what looked like coffee stains.

"the pilot flies like this to avoid the rebel zones". I turn around following the deep cracked accented voice, an over tanned middle-aged over-weight man sits with hands clasped behind his head. 
His classic monsterous mustache tells me he's a local, his taxi driver clothes eminate stench and dust, probably from hours of driving back and fro to the airport.

"Well why doesn't he fly high ?"

"The Americans will think he's flying a syrian plane and shoot him down". I have to get used to this accent if I'm going to stay in Iraq for the next few months, So they pronouce it Amreecan, Soorian etc... well at least i can make out the words.

"They don't use radio ?"
"The Amreecans are too excited shooters, they don't use radio alot", he probably meant trigger happy, so I'll have to stick with the western clothing to stay safe.

"I'm trying to go to baghdad, will you take me ?" He looks me up and down for maybe the forth time, "baghdad is far away, it will cost you hundred amreecan doollars", Whoa ! that's expensive, I try to keep a straight face while counting my money in my head, I thought it was gonna be cheap living here, I spent half the money on the trip down here and the camera.

Mr Taxi driver laughs and calls me over "I'm joaking ya silly english, 20 amreecan dollars is enough", he laughs more when he sees the look of relief on my face. He holds his hands out to me "My name is AbdulGabbar"

I shake his dry sandpapered hand "My name is Sam, I'm Australian, I'm making a film here"

" A filim ? You will find lots of action here ya Sam, Welcome to Iraq"

To be continued

Monday, October 09, 2006

RE: The gift

I hope you're not expecting a fully insightful look into this story, remember that I'm just starting and testing out different things, some things may just be there for no good reason, things like the ending or the underlying message might not be very developed, but hey, it's free fiction. stop complainig.

Here are the names of the differnet gangsters and what they mean.

Our hero, or anti hero: Ammo Sami, or Abu Sami. translated to english it's "uncle sam", and we all know who that is.

Abu Hizb "the oldest most respected gangster in Baghdad": Hizb means party (political), this dude represented the old regime, the Baath Socialist Party, basically Saddam Hussien

Abu Naji Is the odl british colonial, Abu Naji is what the iraqis used to call the British representative, because his son was caled Nigel, arabised into Naji, so he's Abu Naji, or Nigel's Dad.

"Ibn Abeeh" literally means 'son of his father' denoting his lineage- he's a bastard half bred criminal, this guy represents all the seedy elements in iraq that have begun operating in the city after the fall of the old regime and the installation of the new bullshit regime.

Finally, the dreamers, are ofcourse the muslims, I called them that so the reader wouldn't know who I was talking about, and also to explain everyone's opinion of the muslim, as having a romantic notion that God is on his side, while taking all the insults and baring it.

The name Tahir means purity or cleanliness, my sister helped me to choose it coz I didn't know what name would best fit the character.

Other than that meaning it has no other cultural or historical connotations.

I dont' know what else to explain. I hope the meanings of the names make it easier to understand, any questions ?

Sunday, October 08, 2006

The gift VI (Final)

The hot sun burns everything in its path, asphalt melts, mothers call their children inside, fans and air conditioners blare along the houses, I drive my car at top speed across the city.

And the dreamers walk to their mosques. The only thing moving was those fools in their white robes in silence, oblivious to the hot sun, moving like a flight of doves, or hawks. . .

As I drive past them I floor the accelerator, willing the car to move faster away from them, my hands strain against the sweaty grip of the steering wheel, I eye them in the mirror wearily. Yesterday I could have laughed if someone told me these were to be my executioners, today ? I don't know what to think today. I drive on.

I reach the mosque of Um Altubool, The preacher is half way through his sermon of the original sin and how we should never be arrogant. I park my car in the shade and wait , it's too hot to walk out, and I can never see myself actually going in, religion wasn't made for the likes of me, I am my own god.

I tried to remember the man who appeared to me out of nowhere 24 hours ago, his face, I couldn't remember his face, except for the feeling it gave me, that of helplessness. Not out of fear, for his face was not aggressive, nor was it passive however. it was the look of a man that scared you because he didn't fear anything, a man taken with zeal.
How could I see it was a dreamer ? the thawb, the looks, the wording he used, to meet my master ?
I strained to remember a time when these people were violent, or had structure, or did anything other than pray and be thankful for the hell they live everyday.

Alsalamu alaikum

I must have slept or I wouldn't have overlooked him standing so close to me, kneeling so as to be on the same level as me and speaking to me through the car window. I jumped back and reached for my gun, I couldn't find it and panicked – he might have taken it while I slept ? frantically my hands jerked around the seat and finally found the calming heavy grip of the gun which I pointed directly at him.

He just stood there, smiling, unwavering. for now I had the gun and could shoot this would be assassin, but we both knew it was stalemate.

"You don't need that, I came to speak to you, brother to brother"

This was my chance to look at him more closely, same white thawb, how did he managed to approach me so quietly like this ? everything about him implied serenity, then what is it that's putting me on edge ? why is this man alarming me so much ?

"Don't call me that" I spat menacingly, I got out of the car, my gun still drawn but not pointed, I was taller and a good deal heavier than him. I still stayed clear of his aura.

"Come, let's walk while we speak", he turned around and walked away slowly. I wasn't used to being told what to do, but at that point I was so much in shock, I just followed.

I walked alongside him "Who are you?"

"My name is Tahir, I'm an engineering student at the university of Baghdad, I.." interrupting I said "I mean why are you after me ? who sent you?"

he laughed "I'm not part of any gang, I'm a Muslim son of Baghdad, there are many like me all over the city, we all saw the corruption and the crime, we all grew up in this city, we've seen what a utopia it can be, the people here are good and honorable, there is much culture and beauty here only if we can bring it back. The people and the earth are ripe for goodness- if only they can swim out of the sea of blood and grime they're sunk in."

His voice quivered with every thought he spoke "This is the city of peace, the gift of God, on its knees waiting for the right person to pull it up to its past glory, it calls for us, every explosion, every death, every bullet, every injustice calls for us to help, to take this dear city by the arm and pull it back up, with the help of Allah, we think it's possible"

He stopped and turned to me, the mosque car park now empty except for us, the mosque itself looms over me, a serious look replaces Tahir's smile "We are approaching all the sons of Baghdad to help us"
He's looking at me "Will you help us? "

I stare at him with surprise "YOU want ME to help you clean up Baghdad?" he nods and keeps his eyes towards mine, waiting for my answer.

I laugh, loud and hard, I laugh at the naivety of these dreamers with their hopes and their dreams, I laugh at their blindness, asking me, the thug of Baghdad, and master of Baghdad, to clean up my city of Baghdad ? I laugh at myself for having feared such a flock of sheep when this sea of blood and death IS my utopia. I laugh until my sides hurt and my eyes water.

Tahir stands still. his face unchanged, waiting for my answer.

"let me tell you something Mr. dreamer" I compose myself and look him dead in the eye "if you think your Baghdad needs to be cleaned up, then you don't understand Baghdad"

He questions with his eyes.

"Understand this, THIS is Baghdad as it is, any cleanliness is a facade, any honor is a joke played amongst the likes of me, for every bullet and death and rape, Baghdad cries for more"

While I talk and yell I feel him hurting like my words are bullets, I see disappointment in his face.

"This is the real Baghdad, this the Baghdad I know" I step up to him, my face few inches from his "I AM Baghdad"

He turns his face, and although this should have satisfied me, it doesn't, because he turns away out disinterest rather than fear. "It's unfortunate that you think this way"

He turns around again "You realize this means we shall have to clean you out too"

My heart turns cold, those words pierce my heart like a bold of lightening, I remember my gun in my hand still, I pick up the dead metal weight and aim it close to him face, though I don't dare touch him with it.

"You ? kill me ? Don't make me laugh !" though I wasn't in a laughing mood. All I wanted to do with pull the trigger and end this travesty.

Tahir smiles, a sweet surrendering smile. "Not me"

"The sniper"

In an instant I understand, insight so clear is shocks my whole system,

Meeting at the mosque area, HIS area !

"let's walk" he's said, and I followed

Into a clear space that's an empty car park !

Deep down I hated myself for being led so neatly to a trap, like a lamb.

A moment for insight, no time to prepare for the loud CRACK in the air, as suddenly my gun was no longer in my hand, and instead is a explosion of blood where my fingers used to be.
I grab my wrist and scream so loud that I choke.
On my own vomit, my eyes are watering, I'm on my knees, I look up at Tahir. his face sad and serious, He looks at me, but through me, and says "I stretched out my hand to my brother and spoke of peace, and my brother spat hate at my face and stretched his hand to me to slay me, and my brother was not my brother"

My tears were of pain and fear. "but my enemy"

these were the last seconds of my life. I am the lamb sacrificed for the feast of the new Baghdad.

the second bullet dives into my neck, I am thrown by the force of the impact, but die before I reach the ground.

The End

Monday, September 25, 2006

Ramadan 06

Alsalamu alaikum

I can remember the first time I fasted in outside of Iraq, I remember it well because in Iraq we used to break fast at 5:30 pm or so, but in New Zealand we break break fast at 8:30pm, we all freaked out in the begining because it seemed crazy ! but eventually we got used to it.

I also remember a few months ago I was having a problem with something, which was really worrying me and taking its toll on me, I was sitting with my brother in law and he asked how I was doing, so I gave a "I could be better" face, and said "alhumdulilah", and that's when he asked me the question:

"When is Ramadan coming?"

Alhumduillah that I was able to grasp what he was trying to tell me, in the time of the prophet pbuh, the sahabah used to look forward to every Ramadan, so that thier lives revolved around it. The month of Fasting and prayer, when the devil is locked up in chains and the muslims are left to do Good, to help thier brothers and read Quran and feel for the hunger of the world, and to purify thier hearts and thier tongues.

My brother in law was telling me that I have my prioroties jumbled.

And now Alhumduillah Ramadan is here, my new year's resolution is to read the Quran and inshallah I'll do that.

Tonight i want to the mosque close to my house (Quite fortunate coz I live in a non muslim country), and prayer Isha and Taraweeh there, it was a very nice feeling, and I'm so happy I didn't eat alot or otherwise my stomach would have groaned.

After the taraweeh finished, a reciter came and was introduced as the official Quran reciter for one of Egypt's radio stations. Maaaan ! it's one thing thing to listen to Tarteel on mp3 or tape, and it's a whole other jar of cookies to listen to the dude when he's 2 meters infront of you, it was a humbling experience to hear the words of God pronounced so clearly and beautifuly right in front of me.

Inshallah I'll be able to read the whole Quran, it's not that hard, but it's not that easy either, I just have to keep my eye on the ball.

anyways, off to uni.

Ramadan Kareem



Friday, September 08, 2006

Filim: part one

"Sami ? are you really going to Iraq ?"

I struggled to open my eyes, the bright light of the morning sun overwhelming my senses, for a brief second I hate my little brother for opening the door and letting all this light in. "leave me alooooone ! ! !"

Which somehow Alan understood as "come jump on my bed", which he proceeded to do with vigour, knowing him, I knew he was not going to give me my saturday morning sleep, no mater what.

"Ok ok I'll tell you if you stop killing my bed" This thankfully got him to stop and stare at me like an attentive ferret.
"I am going, but don't tell Mum and Dad yet, they won't let me go if they find out"
"So what ? you just gonna go without telling them?"

The thought had crossed my mind "Well I'll just tell them I'm going on an extracurricular assignment" they'll believe me hopefully, I've been trust worthy so far, and this is something I think warrants such a white lie.

I first decided to visit Iraq back 6 months ago, when I watched a doco about it, a guy went there with a camera and an interpreter and made an award winning 40 minute show, I saw the show and I knew I could do better.

Ok, so I don't have directing experience, and I'm only 17, and I have no knowledge of travelling to the Middle East, and I don't even have a professional camera !

I do however have arabic ancestry -my parents left Iraq 25 years ago-, and I do look a bit arabic, maybe not tan enough, but my parents say I do look arab enough.

Are the iraqi chicks hot ? maybe I'll hookup with a girl while I'm there, hopefully they're not taliban style, well I could always hookup with a US girl solider, I like the way they talk, hopefully they'll understand my ozzie twang.

Everytime I think about it I get so excited, I can't believe I'm actualy doing it, going back home.

So I'm going to buy a ticket, grab my handycam, and try to document life in the new Iraq, from the news it seems to be getting better. . .

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Warning, Hard Core content, proceed no further if are easily shocked

Assalamu alaikum

I want to write a story. This story would reflect a current situation, having a very violent chaotic environment would also mean this story would be very violent and chaotic. It will be set in Iraq.

There would be plenty of violence, there will be rape, there will be something even worse than that; humiliation.

There will also be retrebution, not in the way you're thinking, this might be a violent story, but I'm writing it,my hero does, or tries to do the right thing, can he do it ? You can find out by reading the story.

Let me reiterate, this story is not for the faint hearted. If you see the warning HARD CORE. think twice before attempting to read.

Having said that. don't expect it to be a good story. I am a sub-amature.



Sunday, June 11, 2006

Exam procrastination

Alsalamu alaikum

What does a person do when studying for exams ? (not study). That's right ! he/she procrastinate.

The Nasser's International Dictionary defines the word procrastinate as "wasting time like by sitting on your ass and doing nothing, when you have an important deadline and/or test

So I'm "taking a break" now, I'm playing online chess and updating my blog, and listening to live recordings of the taraweeh in Mecca.

So what do I wanna talk about ?

Israel wants to pull Hamas into all out war again, Israel wants to justify assasinating Hamas officials again, under the not-so-watchful eye of the UN.

So they kill 7 people, fire a rocket at the only place they know does not have "terrorists" in it -a family beach- and kill and maime many civilians.

World: What did you do this Israel ?

Israel: Oh sorry, it was a mistake, we'll investigate and come back to you.

World: Well if it was a mistake, never mind then. we all make mistakes,right ?

And so it goes, when Hamas continues into the offensive, it looks to be the agressor because Israel killed people unprovoked only by mistake.

Sad wallah, and the cycle of violence continues

Sunday, May 21, 2006

God's Love

Alsalamu alaikum

I wrote the title but I didn't write anything. This is an idea in progress, so I'll write something here now, but I'll be editing as more ideas become clear in my head.

Once, a girl asked me a question, "Does your God love you?" I said yes, but in the back of my mind I knew what she was trying to do, there was no verse in the Quran that states "Allah loves man kind", or at least to my knowledge. While in Christian literature there are many such quotes of love.

Usually when I encounter conundrums like this, I don't seek out the answer, I just sort of wait for Allah swt to show me the way.

So far (it's been 4 years so far) This is what I've come up with (with a little help from Jamal Badawi, JazakAllah Mr J)

LOVE: is an emotional feeling, we hear it a lot in music, in books and movies and everyday life about loving and falling in love and and even making love (heheh(

Most of the meanings of these terms are to do with such feelings as attraction, physical pleasure, obsession, possessiveness etc...

In my opinion, we have been lately flooded with the term "love" in the current media, left right and center, I guess coz it sells, but I digress.

Ruling out the physical and sexual elements, we concentrate on the rest, the emotional elements, is that the love of God expressed in the Christian theology ? Allahu A3lam, I don't know I've never gone in that stuff.

So what about Islam ? doesn't God love us ? if I was to read some of the current islamophobic crap out there, I'd come to believe that Allah is cruel, narrow minded, unjust and unyielding (Astaghfiruallah, may Allah forgive me).

In the 99 names of Allah (120something names according to some), is there a name such as "The lover" Almuhib ? no there isn't ...


There is the term, Alwadood الودود, The loving.

The interesting thing about this word is that it doesn't just mean Love, it also comes to mean intimacy.

This word can also describe the relationship between a mother and her child, or that of a an old married couple towards each other.

It's not just emotional love, that you love someone or something without logic, but to know why you love, to appreciate them, to want to be close to them.

A mother would love her child even though the first feelings that child gave her were morning sickness, 9 months of pain, and a horrendous 15 hours delivery.

And she would take care of him, and love him, and protect him with her life.

And the child would grow, so accustomed to his mother's love that he no longer feels it.

and he hurts him mother, and forgets her, and he finds a job and buys a house, and moves on with his life.

Later in his life he would remember his mother, in the bitter reality of life he finds nothing but pain and intolerance and selfishness, he remembers the one person who loved him no matter what, and returns to her, his head cast down in disgrace, his face wet with tears of shame.

And she would take him in her arms, and kiss him and forgive him and give him that unconditional love, that motherly intimacy that he found in no one.

The love of Allah swt is like the love of that mother towards her son. Allah doesn't need us, and if we forget Him, it's only us that get hurt.

But if we remember him, he'll take us in his arms, if we walk towards him he'll run towards us. He is patient with us, he forgives us no matter what we did, if you ask.

He sent us the greatest and kindest man in creation, the prophet pbuh to show us the mercy of Islam on our lives.

So, in Islam there is no explicit "God loves you" verse anywhere, but more than any other religion, Allah loves us.

That's all I can think of writing for now, I should probably add some ayat or ahadeeth, oh well, all in good time inshallah.



Friday, April 28, 2006

I'm stuck

The last person I wanna kill off in "the gift" story, he owns a large building that has a business of some kind, I don't know what though.

I'd make it a slaughter house, but it doesn't seem right.

I'd make it a whorehouse, but then I'd have to describe the whores etc... I don't wanna do that.

A school ? No. Real estate ? No, A car dealerhip maybe ? hhmmmmm....

I don't know, what do you think ?



Tuesday, April 11, 2006

The gift V

It's 10 in the morning, the massive jungle city of Baghdad comes to life, slowly. Herds of poeple get ready to start another day; doctors, fishermen, teachers, suicide bombers, policemen.

I'm awake, waiting, thinking, stalking my prey.

I park my car next to the large red edifice that is the old Baghdad brothel, throughout the decades, with the new and old regimes and the bloody invasions and revolutions and coups, this whorehouse stood strong and proud, a testament of the state of affairs in this whore city of the world.

The man I'm looking for is Ibn Abeeh, the man in charge, the pimp, one of the most powerful men in Baghdad, and because sooner or later all men must frequent the whorehouse, he knows all the goings on in this cursed city.

Entry was not problemetic as this place was made for men to enter in secret, the dirty corridor is lined with dark hallways going left and right, if one were to stand still and listen out, one would certainly hear the muffled screams of the rape of Baghdad, This place has never been so popular, poverty and corrpution have created a vaccuum in which men satisfy thier hunger, and women... well, women can put food in thier children's mouths.

But today I have no interest in hungry mothers, I walk up the stairs where the only room is his office, usually crowded by gurads with M16s (only Ibn Abeeh can afford M16s). Luckily for me I have surprise on my side, and all I wanted to get was information, I take out my gun as I approach the door, and I kick my way in...

Even though I'm carrying my guns in each hand, I have to be very still. any sudden moves can pronounce me dead from any one of the four gunmen pointing thier very real M16s at my head, so he knew I was coming.

"I'm not here to kill you"

Ibn Abeeh smiles at me from behind his office. "It certainly looks that way from where I'm standing". He had a face you indicriminantly disliked, features that were not iraqi, an accent that hurt your head, and crooked teeth betraying his years or smoking, drugs and alcohol.

"Tell me something Amu Sami, What does a man want from me ? if he kicks down my door armed with smiles and guns ?"

"I didn't come to kill you" he knew I was telling the truth, he wanted to to toy with me first, I will give him that.

"So then these must be flowers and not guns ?"

"I'm here to ask you questions, tell me what I need to know, and I'l leave"

"OK let's see what you are here for", he motioned for one of his guards to grab my guns, the one behind me, I heard him put down his gun and

in the next ten seconds, I made time travel faster. in the split second the guard behind me was grabbing my left gun I could see the others relaxing and pointing thier own guns away, I turned around the guard behind me using my gun as a pivot, all of a sudden I was choking him from behind with my left arm, my right hand did the rest
By then the guards hadn't yet grasped what happened, the first shot from my gun sprayed blood all over the wall and the other two, in pure natural reaction one guard used his M16 to shield himself from me like a child fearing a slap from his father, the other pointed at me in a broad sweep of his barrel and pulled his trigger
the whole east side of the room became instantly hole filled, I feel the blood of the guard I was holding gushing in my face, I smelled his blood and like a shark it made me a thousand times more alert, I shot the panicky guard in the face and he fell alongside his gun.
I dropped the guard I was choking, he fell to his knees, like a worshipper thinking of what else to pray for, and finished the falling trip to the floor.

The last guard was cringing in the corner of the room, I could see Ibn Abeeh looking between me and his guard, unbelieving, all blood drained from his face, in this ten seconds the tables had turned.

"I'll give you anything you want, i have money, I had women, I have weapons, I'll give you anything you want"

"I only want information, someone is trying to kill me

"It's not me I swear I know you I have nothing against you

I picked up my gun and shot the fourth guard in the stomach, this last shot was alot slower and louder, especially with the piercing screams of the guard, I find such screams to be very helpful when scaring people to talk, I shot the guard again, in the head this time, silence filled the room.

I turn around to the pimp. whose face was now painted with horror.

"Answer my question, who is trying to kill me?"

"I don't know I swear to you, no one's come with news like that, just that the big guns in Badghdad are going off one by one, no one knows who's doing it, we though it was you, but then word came that you're in the list as well"

"what list what are you talking about"

"Someone's cleaning the city, someone CLEAN is cleaning up the city"

I was getting very nervous by this time, I didn't know what he was talking about, but I had an idea, in a burst of emotions I slapped him with my gun, I dind't want to kill him I sensed he knew more "WHO IS IT ?"

I had knocked some teeth loose in his mouth, his accent had gotten worse by now
"I'm not sure I swear to you, all the info I'm getting isn't making any sense"

"What information, tell me what do you mean? "

"Well, there is only one reason why I havn't gotten any details about who's doing it, it's because the ones doing it don't come to my brothel,

and there is only one group who don't come here..."

What I understood didn't make sense to me, I got it, but I didn't udnestand it
"The dreamers ?"

"I have no other explanations, and the news from the weapons people is that they've been buying alot of stuff, thier mosques are very well guarded now"

At that exact second, the phone rang, it had a shrill tone and in the deafening silence of the room it made both of us jump, the pimp looked at me, and since I really didn't want to kill him, I let him pick it up.


"what do you want? What ? ?" he looked at me, confusion on his faced meant only one thing, this call was for me.

I took the phone, who would know I'd be here ? and in the office ?

"Hello ? "

a voice answere "Alsalamu alaikum"

It was the voice ! the same voice of the man who threatened me earlier yesterday! I knew the voice and it sent a chill down my back, "WHO ARE YOU ?"

"If you want to meet me, I'll be in front of the Um Altubool Mosque at 2 today, meet me there.


"I'll meet you then, alsalamu alaikum" he hung up.

my hand was aching from holdin the phone so hard, my stomach hurt, my face was all of a sudden sweaty. I looked at my watch, it was 12, I had two hours.

Sunday, April 09, 2006

Regarding the Kid

Alsalamu alaikum

Some of those who read my story "the Kid", or "kid", I don't remember.

Anyways, some of those who read that story, didn't like it, they thought it wasn't realistic enough, and that it didn't have an underlying theme, and for that I apologise, I dind't want anything serious with this story, just something light hearted and humourous, whic just happened to take place in iraq.

I am however attempting to finish "the gift" story soon, and I promise you'll like the ending, and here is a hint about the ending.

NO HINT ! ! ! HAHAHAHAHAH ! ! ! you just gonna have to wait like everyone else.


The gift IV

I'm driving at night, very late night or very early morning, the streets are empty and quiet, except for me, making my next move, stalking my next kill, I park my car and fall asleep -I havn't slept for 18 hours-, and find no trouble falling asleep, even an hour can recharge my rampage, the only thing keeping me moving now is hate for my enemies, and rage.

I don't sleep long though, my slumber is interrupted by the long wail of the dreamers, those fools who think that the God above looks at them, or that he controls anything, I see them walking towards thier wailing source like sheep, thier white tunics and sleepy eyes giving them a more sheepish look.

All hope of sleep gone, I start my car and roar off to my next kill.

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

burn outs

Alsalamu Alaikum

Burnout: an emotional state in which a person is faced with so many stressful situations that he/she run out of will power.

or as likes to put it "haustion of physical or emotional strength usually as a result of prolonged stress or frustration b : a person affected with burnout"

My dad always tells me that there is no such thing as burn out, and for most of the time I agreed with him, but you know how you think differently before burning out and while you're burnt out ? Well now I'm thinking again, I do think there is such a thing as burn out.

So this post isn't about anything specific, I don't even want to whine about anything, I just wanna write to feel better. thus spending my frustrations in non violent ways, no yelling at people, no throwing shoes etc...

earlier I had wanted to start an experiment with my writings, I would write little snippets of a story, not to tell the story, but to draw an emotion form the reader.

For example I would want the reader to feel fear, or a thrill, so I would try and describe the situation so well, the reader would feel like he/she is actually living it.

Or I would try and the reader feel saddness.
Or love.

or happiness, which at the present time I'd only be able to link to love.

I'm still thinking of this experiment, so keep an eye out for it.

I'm bidding on an time on ebay. and I have 15 minutes and 30 seconds left, so I think I'll write till then.

13 minutes.

It's raining outside now, heavily, I like it when it rains this heavy, only I wish I was home, with my wife. eating popcorn.

My friend asked about the reason for racism against muslims in Australia. I said that it goes back to the way muslims preresnt thier wasys of life as Islam, many of them don't do such a good job, stealing, being abusive, dirty, lazy etc...

He asked again whether the racism isn't all a pretext the government uses to push its agenda's overseas such as iraq and afghanistan,

I mentioned that it wasn't very hard for them at all to find pretexts, the problem was still that muslims are basically just like any other thirdworld person. I mean if we can fix ourselves first then we can have more to say to government if they are using racism as a pretext. but Allahu a3lam

6 minutes 14 seconds.

I have nothing to say. I wish I could travel to Dubai, it's a nice place with time of year, lots of sun, surf and indians.

Ok there is not alot of surf, but there is a heck of alot of indians.

the rain stipped, now everything looks wet and nice and ... wait, it's still raining, only now there is no wind. so it looks calmer.

3 MINUTES TO GO ! ! ! the caps lock was on by mistake

I probably shouldn't ramble on in my blog like this, it brings down the level of readabilty. but since am burned out, I don't care.

I should write a finishing story for my "the gift" story of the iraqi gangster, but I really can't think of a good ending for it, it looks ok now, but what if I write a crappy ending ! then the whole story will suck and I'll be pelted with preverbial tomatoes !

1 minute to go

23 seconds

12 seconds

5 seconds

I won the item ! yay ! ! !

alhumdulillah, I feel better now, thank you for taking the time to read my ... stuff.



Saturday, April 01, 2006


I don't know what day it is, I haven't eaten for 3 days, and hands are starting to swell, I think it has something to do with all the stress I've experienced, and that fact that I haven't eaten for 3 days. The food is right there in front of me, I'm just too scared to reach for the food or else I might die. They might kill me, my fingers are cold from the stress I'm going through, and I just can't leave Zoodi (my nick for zayoodi) alone he still needs a lot of practice and backing, he already died 3 times so I know I can't trust him to be alone.

Somewhere inside I know I shouldn't be escaping from reality in a PS2 game, my life really is in danger, I actually could die of a bullet to the head if things go wrong with the ransom handover.
My new best friend is my kidnapper's son, and he can't speak my language, except
For shit which I keep muttering like a mantra when I'm playing a hard level.

It's funny how quickly you made friends with certain people given the right environment; close quarters, a common interest, and even though we couldn't communicate properly, and his dad kidnapped me at gun point, I still can't hold it against him, I mean it's not like he had a had in kidnapping me ! even though I still feel a bit eerie for him to still be tying the towel thingee around his head, but I guess his dad makes him wear so I wouldn’t recognize him later.

Then at one point where both me and Zoodi were deep into one of the final levels of the game, at that point we had entered a plane of reality where time and space lose all meaning, and the only dimension that mattered to us was the old television screen and the bad cowboys shooting at us and themselves getting shot into cyberspace hell, one disadvantage is that interrupting us while we're in this reality is like jumping off a very very speedy car.

So when zoodi's dad opened the door and came in while calling us all the way from the door to where we were sitting almost literally glued to the screen. All I saw and felt and sense was the bad guy, ducking his bullets, trying to headshot him with mine, zoodi similarly shooting at mr bad guy's little minion bad guys, I had to develop a successful pattern of ducking and shooting because my fatigue was catching up to him, this guy was very good, almost too good, already two of his bullets grazed me and I can feel the pain slowing me down, the ..

Mr kidnapper stood in front of the screen, suddenly and violently my reality exploded, my lightening fast lethal hands lost the comfortable feel of the sandalwood handles of my pistol, a pathetic dark plastic controller hung there limbless, lifeless. The shooting was still going on, the bullets were still whizzing past my head. I couldn't see past the thing (zoodi's dad), and for a second I just froze, I (or zoodi) let a sharp gasp escape.

One second was enough for us to draw enough breath to react, the next second was enough for both me and zood to scream with all our might, for both of us this was life-or-death, my stream of swearing English gibberish coupled with zoodi's high pitched gibbering screaming of his own


Mr Kidnapper hadn't expected this emotional outburst (sounding even more chaotic with the game in the background), so instead of pulling out his own (very real) gun on me, or slapping me and his son like runaway slaves, he did actually jump out of our way, and plastic turned to sandalwood again, my eyes became like hawks, my hands like a wizard's staff, Zoodi's backing never faltered. I could not have wished for a better partner.

When we finally nailed the bad guy, we were able to pause the game and our own hearts, reality set in and we realized what he did, I just yelled at my captor ! I didn't want to turn around coz I knew he was standing there, sharpening his knife for all I knew.

Zoodi steals a glance at me, gives me a look that says do what I do and he turns around.

Afoo baba

I do what he does, turn around slowly, Mr Kidnapper does look angry, but not as much as I thought, I repeat

Afoo baba

He looks at us, doesn't say anything, his eyes moving from me to his son and back to me, his silence scares me, and now that the game is paused, there are no sounds at all, if I was standing I'd be shuffling my feet.

Finally, he looks at me,

You caan goa

I look at him, bewildered, has it already been two weeks ? I had lost track of time here because there was no watch or clock or normal television programming, my dad must be so worried about me, my mum must miss me like crazy, I could go back to Melbourne and get back to school there ! I wouldn't have to stay in Baghdad anymore ! No more kidnapping and stress and fear.
I just looked at him wide-eyed and quiet, as his son asked him what he was saying.

Com with me, I will teak you hoam

Zoodi was looking at me now, the son of my enemy, and my comrade.

Com , staand ub

I didn't know what to say, I looked at Zoodi, his eyes sparkled, or was that just my imagination ? he would be sad to see me leave.

"I can't go "

Mr Kidnapper gives me a look like he dind't understand what I said

Whaaat ? what you mean you caant goa ? I tell you go now.

"I can't, I have to finish the game, we're at the final few levels, I have to finish it !"

Silence, he's looking at me, his son is looking at him, and I'm looking at the game.

The End

Monday, March 27, 2006

Kid II

Eating his timman (arabic dish made with rice), Chris was aware of his eyes aching badly, 'I cried alot last night' he thought consolingly, but he knew he was lying to himself, the real reason was the damn game, with nothing to do but play, he's played almost non stop for the past 3 days, stopping only to eat, sleep to go. He felt tired and useless, and depressed.

He should be missing his parents, he should be scared at least, instead he just wants to get past the monster in the second stage.

When he hears the crying again, he pauses and listens, a child, close to his age or younger-he thinks, crying and yelling continuosly, Chris can't understand arabic so he doesn't know what the child is crying about. 'maybe they're torturing him, maybe his daddy isn't paying the ransom', but it doens't sound like that sort of a cry, it's sad and desperate, that child wants something.

A woman tries to console him, Chris knows that because he can understand the tones she usee; begging, shouting, hitting, more begging, but he keeps crying, untill he eats or tires out and sleeps.

Ofcourse there is the kidnapper (or father?) who comes home and yells at the child, always the same "LAA" , or "WAKHAAR!" , the only two arabic words he picked up since his coming here, 'what do they mean?' he wonders.

Chris finishes his timman, pauses, this child isn't going to stop crying, no sleep then, he picks up the controller and contonues fighting the monster in the second level.

Day four, Chris is deeply involved in the game, so when he sees a mass of a person standing next to him out of nowhere, he jumps, hard, later on his solarplexus is sore.

The fright he got, and the implausibility of what he sees make him doubt his sanity for a moment, are my eyes playing tricks on me ?

Here standing before him was the kidnapper, but

not the kidnapper

A third of him ? a mini me of him ?

same clothin same headtowel wrapped around the face, but he's shrunk in size !

Chris closes his eyes, 'deep breath Chris, you're not nuts' He looks again.

Ok, the clothes aren't exactly the same, and he can see from the eyes that isn't the kidnapper because it's just a child's face peering at him from the impossible wrapping of the towel thing.

"Who are you? "

A childish voice speaks shyly


Chris is thinking, ok, it's a kid, what the hell is he doing here ?

for the first time Chris notices something in the kid's hand, a small napsack with
ninja turtles on the side.

"what's this?" Chris points at the sack, the kid understands and shows him, it's full of games, all ps2, all new, and a controller.

Chris is astounded, a small sigh escapes him, he's both esctatic about the prospect of all these new games and having a partener to play with, yet he knows this is going to be very bad for his eyes.

He looks at the kid, points to himself, "Chris", waits expectantly

The boy looks at him for a second, points at himself, "zayyoodi".

Knowing full well he will not be understood, Chris takes the kid's hand in a loose hand shake and says "OK Zayoodi, let's play some games".

Friday, March 17, 2006


Darkness, confusion, his nose is itchy, a dank smell. He sneezes and that puts his head into gear. He's in disarray, where is he ? why is it so dark ?

He tries to move, his hands are tied and there is a band covering his head. memories start coming in pieces, he was in the back seat of the car, skids gun shots -but no one dies- and he's taken, the driver (abu ali) trying explaining 'we don't have the ambassador !' a went pungent cloth over his mouth and nose; and now he's here.

Panic starts setting in, is he going to die ? are the kidnappers going to cut his head off ? flashbacks of his dad telling what to do if he's kidnapped, but this boat of logic won't float in the sea of panic washing over him. He starts whimpering quietly, the headband over his eyes is damp with his tears, he imagines his mum crying over his grave, wailing that he died before hitting 11th birthday.

A sound, a door opening, foot steps cause him to stiffen, tries to be quiet maybe they won't see him, he starts talking to himself, " I'm like a chair, he won't notice me, I am the chair, I am the bed, I am the room"

Of course the steps move towards him, he imagines a knife, a gun, will they torture me ? He imagines the kidnapper - a dark man with a large beard, he'd never seen any faces though- telling his accomplices that he couldn't use the knife 'coz the kid turned to wood'

a rough textured hand pulls the headband from over his eyes, he pulls back as best he could, now fear gripping his heart rendering him almost dead with terror.

Over him standing in a long white dress is a man, the man's face is covered by a black and white almost checkered scarf, he's big, but he has no knife or gun in hand, but a book, which eases the kid almost to a point of sanity.

The man ruffles through the book like he's looking for a passage, finds it, reads it out.

waat izz your neeeam ?

The kid has some hope, if they don't know him they might not need him ! "my name is Chris, Chris Ponde"

The man looks at the kid for a bit, he's thinking, Chris looks back, he must be wondering how he kidnapped me.

looking through the dictionary, he looks at him again and makes another effort to speak

yiour father, weear he woark ?

"At the embassy, the Australian embassy"

He looks again with wonder at this young kid with his messy blond hair and scared blue eyes.

You are hangery ?

"Yes, do you have anything to eat?"

He walks out, which gives the boy time to look around the room, it's an almost empty room, old, raggedy rug on dirty floor. No blood, he thinks with hope, maybe it's just a ransom that he wants.

There are noises from the other rooms, he feels like he's in a storage room of a house, he can hear a kid, a woman, a family maybe ? He remembers his mum, she must be so worried about him, he allows two tears for missing her, then he resumes looking and thinking.

Finally, the man comes again.

We kidnab you, yoar father bay maany for you, you steay here two weeks

"Then you'll let me go ?"


He's holding a tray with him, he sets it next to the boy and untangles his rope. The smell of the rice and the curious red soupish thing overpowers the more subtle smell of the rotting rug. immediately he starts eating.

The man seems satisfied, he walks out

"wait !"

The man turns around, he's surprised the boy has courage to talk to him like that, the boy himself is surprised, but the food and the prospect of surviving all pump more clout into him

"what will I do for two weeks?"

A simple question, but a very difficult one as well, the man looks to see if the boy is serious or not.

You steaa aliev

walks out, closes the door behind him.

Chris thinks about it, staying alive bored is better than getting his head chopped off. that'd be excitement he doesn't want.

Before his meal is over, the door opens again, this time the man has a television set with him, which he connects to an ancient power socket.

Wow, TV for me ? great !

The man walks out and comes back with a playstations2 console and plugs that to the television.

You liek this ?

"Yeah, yeah that's fine"

finally alone and full, Chris can't believe his luck as he grabs the console and starts playing the newest ps2 game around.

Tuesday, February 28, 2006


Alsalamu alaikum

I havn't been posting anything in my sad excuse for a blog for a while now, taht's because the two and a half months or so I was carried on a rambuctius awesome whirlwind that swept me across three continents, two marital status, three family ties and and some finger licking book shopping.

Ok, let's start chronologically.

I travelled to Dubai in the United arab Emirates, A beautifull country of mystique and finess, of poverty and lavishness, a country of extreme contradictions. It was quite an experience to live there and witness this thriving hub of culture, buesiness and politics.

Witnessing Dubai wasn' what I came here to do though, I was on a not-so-secret mission to meet my potential bride, I know putting it this way makes it sound so last century, but this was my primary motivation for coming down here, a girl (who for anonymity's sake I shall call "cousin") who I (my dad) has asked her (her dad) for her hand in God knows what, marriage idealy but since we still did not know each other, we didn't know how it work out.

The girl -I was told- was a nice girl, conservative, intelligent, relegiously inclined, studies medicine (LAK TABEEBA !) etc... etc... which was all well and good, but are we going to get along ? what if she likes onions ? what if I like tuna with eggs and milk and she loathes it ? what if she's shia and I'm sunni (small chance, and that whole sunna shia thing is another story).

Luckily and fortunately and Alhumdulillahly our collective parents saw it as a good idea to let us chat so that we may know each other. So when I had arrive to the sadny shores of Dubai I had my mind made up 99.99%.

Alhumdulillah, Alhumdulillah, Alhumdulillah, I feel very fortunate to have been blessed with such a family, The mum I absolutely love, such a sweet woman with such well versed knowledge of Islam, an absolute role model to the modern western muslim woman.

The dad is also a gem, an absolute gem, to have taken me in to the family like he has, and treat me like his son, and trust me to take care of his daughter, and to have done so many ofthe genuine nice things that he's done, have just left me flabbergasted, gasping for air, speechless ! Alhumdulillah. So many times I've tried to thank them, to convey my appreciation, and it just came out as "thank you, murmurmurmur, thanks, murmur", not very eloquent.

And the daughter, thier daughter, my wife now, my friend, my crush, my love, alhumdulillah a thousand million billion trillion kagillion times, I really cdont' want to say anymore coz I want to keep her a secret from everyone, why should you know about my wife ? and what the hell are you looking at ?

anyways, Once the family was satisfied that we (me and my wife) in our full mental capacity have decided to give our individual freedoms and get married, the maddness started; an apartment that housed 4 people usually now hosted 10 people ! the great Guardian mothers took us on little adventures to aquire exotic treasures from far away lands (Dowry, dress, suit, engagment invitations etc...). The Great King Dads went looking for the hall of halls (guess). And me and my bride to be running around, pawns for a bigger game, toys for an older crowd, butterflies of love that spread happiness to all touched by us. And we ate lots of KFC.

The Engagment came, and passed,alhumdulillah it was a sucess, alot of food was eaten, I got to play with a sword (I had to cut the cake). and no one died.

I'm too tired to write any more, so I'll just finish quickly here.

I've been home for about a week now, I miss my wife, I'm happy though that she's my wife, my uni stuff is all up to scratch, all I need to do is pray on time.