Moments....
“Happiness is the longing for repetition” – Milan Kundera
Today is my birthday. I suppose I could write something that sounds really wise and mature about Time, Immortality or anything similar that dwells in that vicinity of concepts, captured so easily by words and outworn by millions of attempts to phrase. Instead, I just remembered a message that I sent to my friends on New Year’s Eve 2007, suggesting that there are certain moments in Life that escape the powerful grip of time and outlast eternity, perhaps phrasing them is much harder but looking back at the year that passed they seem much more relevant, and of course much more important than the Ideas they shaped.
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Sitting in that comfortable chair in Anita’s house, listening to Fairouz’ voice as it approaches from a distance and “saturates” what remains of my over numbed senses. My ever full - thanks Moe- plastic cup of wine in my hand as I stare at the street lamp in the corner through the gigantic window, and wonder helplessly if its light was God’s graceful face or just another full Moon fading slowly into the night. And knowing for certain that I could happily stay in that chair for all the years to come.
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Walking through the old streets of Damascus and watching the incredibly beautiful girls of (Bab Tuma) as I listen to Macy Grey’s “Slowly”. Unable to comprehend how this city continues to defy the passage of time, and wishing I could become part of its eternal walls in order to possess such a power.
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Having lunch in Madaba, with Fairouz’ words pouring in from every corner. Both of us listening carefully as he described how they met, how they fell in Love and how he knew that she was the one. And believing for a moment that everything is possible, even the silly romances the songs were telling.
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My father’s sedated and tired eyes, expressionless as his suffering draws to an end. Then suddenly they are awakened and become responsive to my words. And for just a second, he gives me this reassuring look that tells me it was worth it, and that despite everything, it is still worth it. And me, wanting to carve that look in the back of my skull to give me the strength when I feel like giving up.
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She, with her eyes closed and her long hair thrown back, relaxing on that swing and smiling peacefully. Nothing but silence stirring in the morning air, with me beside her, watching over her tranquility, and thinking I wouldn’t mind sitting there forever, just staring at her amazing, almost lifeless beauty.
Today is my birthday. I suppose I could write something that sounds really wise and mature about Time, Immortality or anything similar that dwells in that vicinity of concepts, captured so easily by words and outworn by millions of attempts to phrase. Instead, I just remembered a message that I sent to my friends on New Year’s Eve 2007, suggesting that there are certain moments in Life that escape the powerful grip of time and outlast eternity, perhaps phrasing them is much harder but looking back at the year that passed they seem much more relevant, and of course much more important than the Ideas they shaped.
-----
Sitting in that comfortable chair in Anita’s house, listening to Fairouz’ voice as it approaches from a distance and “saturates” what remains of my over numbed senses. My ever full - thanks Moe- plastic cup of wine in my hand as I stare at the street lamp in the corner through the gigantic window, and wonder helplessly if its light was God’s graceful face or just another full Moon fading slowly into the night. And knowing for certain that I could happily stay in that chair for all the years to come.
-----
Walking through the old streets of Damascus and watching the incredibly beautiful girls of (Bab Tuma) as I listen to Macy Grey’s “Slowly”. Unable to comprehend how this city continues to defy the passage of time, and wishing I could become part of its eternal walls in order to possess such a power.
-----
Having lunch in Madaba, with Fairouz’ words pouring in from every corner. Both of us listening carefully as he described how they met, how they fell in Love and how he knew that she was the one. And believing for a moment that everything is possible, even the silly romances the songs were telling.
-----
My father’s sedated and tired eyes, expressionless as his suffering draws to an end. Then suddenly they are awakened and become responsive to my words. And for just a second, he gives me this reassuring look that tells me it was worth it, and that despite everything, it is still worth it. And me, wanting to carve that look in the back of my skull to give me the strength when I feel like giving up.
-----
She, with her eyes closed and her long hair thrown back, relaxing on that swing and smiling peacefully. Nothing but silence stirring in the morning air, with me beside her, watching over her tranquility, and thinking I wouldn’t mind sitting there forever, just staring at her amazing, almost lifeless beauty.
posted by Without a Cause at 3:15 PM
3 Comments:
I'm sorry... I don't wish to divert my attention from the words to their speaker, but it's just hard not to fall in love with you.
Happy Birthday. And don't ever stop writing.
everything is possible
walak sometimes i wonder if u mean what u write or if that is u. alcohol cannot take care of ur inhibitions but here u r opening up on the internet. weird,,,
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