One of this life’s joys ..

.. is reading a good book for a second time.

I don’t do good with addiction btw – saving money now became a fantasy,

Call Center Galore

“Oh wow, unbelievable!” was the first thing my mind said after I sat up eagerly to watch … okay stop!

Stop!!

This is ridiculous, I’m not even sure why I’m blogging about this, but what the hell, it’s been longer than usual that I haven’t posted something here, due to the fact that I developed a new (relatively nice) habit of devouring books, but anyways, here goes.

Here at work, we were surprised one day by a huge load of newly purchased computers in their prestigious boxes, dragged laboriously at the back of our floor, selfishly taking space from our developed small praying area back behind the cubicles. This just in: a call center team will arrive shortly, and that’s their cavalry.

In this floor, which is the ground floor of the second building (you see how ironic that is, right?), stay two of the most important teams on staff. Actually, both our large projects were signed off so recently that we’re making a celebration tomorrow. This is our place, our land! We sprawl around in whatever setting we command. It’s calm and not crowded, and just freaking great!

But, the first move was to herd us and throng us in smaller space to give the IT guys a chance to setup the newly found call center in the same floor! Yes, a call center! This means I’m sitting in my partition, enjoying my Nescafe, updating my facebook pretending I’m working on something important, when all of a sudden a PHONE will ring, and someone will pick it up and speak in French, Spanish, or God knows what other tongues there are out there. This is not good. This is supposed to be a calm place for us to concentrate (because facebook needs concentration! oh, and twitter!).

Because I happen to take the very deepest cubicle inside the partition exactly in the middle, the movement revolved around me. The guys in the front, were all cleared up and moved to my back. So when I set up now, I could see three empty rows across the left and right partition spaces (me being in the right from that angle), and in the far far horizon (don’t beat yourself up, it’s just 20 meters or something), I could see the DOOR. The door that witnessed the invasion today, but I’m getting to that later. I’m not even started.

Okay.

So the setup started, making a loud buzzing sound all the time, dragging the machines on wheels from the back to the front. Whirring computer fans, plaster crackles, ticks of network cables in and out, Windows DONG!! and BLING!! notifications during software setup, and the guy was hating us enough to circle the whole center to test the phones, so yes, I actually heard Tren Tren Tren 4o times in a row. Headphones would’ve helped hadn’t I been so conscious about the fuss.

We take it humorously, but this is really serious though. Bye bye silence. We started hearing stories about hazardous clamors in near call centers that concerned us about this impending doom, there won’t be no freaking productivity when you put a development team a partition away from a CALL CENTER! … @#$&*#$*&#!!

—

One day later. The guy sitting in the next cubicle nudges me and says: “go say welcome to the new arrivals”. And ..

“Oh wow, unbelievable!” was the first thing my mind said after I sat up eagerly to watch … I should’ve known this coming, why am I so surprised and taken off guard? Wait a minute. I actually have NOT considered this. This is a HUGE perk!

Okay, I can hear you snorting in anger: “What the hell are you talking about, ibhog?” .. well .. the CHICKS! SO GOD DAMN BEAUTIFUL!

I pulped right back in my posh 3 grands 6 positions chair after I grasped the situation with my jaw below my knees, and told myself: “I guess a twenty something of miss universe fresh copies entered the room – crisis!”. I quickly retraced my perverted thoughts and hit my head sharply with my palm to remind myself that it’s a .. umm .. FLOOR .. not room – you freaking idiot.

I quickly shoved my headphones away to watch the most hilarious scene ever, I was in the middle, and I saw some of the teams behind me bulging out from behind the cubicles to watch the new comers, except it was really weird, they weren’t welcome eyes to me! They were gawking at the scene, lol. I don’t know about them, but I forgot the fact that I won’t be able to concentrate because of noise. This is a different kind of noise. This is noisy in the bad way guys … it’s so very noisy! Crap!

The three seconds I could catch from the show when I sat up to innocently welcome the new team, I saw a bevy of multi-lingual guys and girls (not that I really saw any of the guys), but the two gals I saw were a knockout. They were just some seconds and I didn’t want no faux pas so I sat the hell down before making a scene with my opened mouth.

So, it’s come to this. Those people have no mercy. I mean she can chime in the air with a dozen of languages, chatter with her colleagues, stroll around with her inviting (and yes I said inviting!) attire and her fragrance. A7medak Ya Rab!

“Ana 7ases enn ana hamsek el keyboard we abta7 7ad feehom beeha” says one of my colleagues.

AC, free time, headphones, music, and flambouyant scenes. The whole package baby, the whole freaking package.

God, keep me sane.

Ugh!

Waking Up

Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls, but pass it does. Even for me.

Stephenie Mayer – Twilight, New Moon

Even for all of us,

A Wild Dream

What if Abo Trieka scored a goal tomorrow and revealed a top that tells people about something, the way he sent a message earlier this year about Gaza? without having to score the goal even.

Anything to deter people from this public and disgusting frenzy.

What do you think he would write? if you were in his place, and if you had just the liberty to write a short sentence on an undergarment, what would you choose to tell the applauding crowds? (Actually it’s kinda awing, such short statement through such medium, rippling that way)

I believe it might relieve the pressure between the two parties really, and he has the necessary charisma to win hearts – I guess.

Abo Trieka, if you hear me, would you indulge?

God please make this pass peacefully, we’re in no need for more boisterous behaviors.

I still can’t figure out what I would write, it’s a tough call actually.

What would be your call?

What would be our call?

Ha?

Oh, tell me about it!

http://www.businesspundit.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/illusion.PNG

Right?

Arguments

Those happened when people stopped gathering information.

I assure you, your tendency to argue back will cease to last the moment you witness how information cast new perspectives before your eyes. The best you could do is to present your knowledge without being biased or judgmental, and most important of all, you must be ready to receive knowledge.

Arguments are different from discussions – the earlier fairly lacking exchange of useful knowledge.

This is a lesson I’m still learning myself – and I’m enjoying it.

I hope I can fix my mistakes from the past or at least .. don’t repeat them,

‘Ya Rab’ same7na 3al safah da.

I don’t think you’d hear any reasonable answers if you ask this:

Why do we applaud for Egypt, really?

It’s just all pure emotions.

Useless  emotions that will cease to last for some days.

No, no .. you don’t love your country. You’re a doll swayed inside the rhythmic theatrical pieces of corporate Egypt, you’re nothing more than that, and sure as hell nothing less. There’s nothing less that that.

If we win this game, you won’t deserve rapture. If we lose, you’re not up to mourn it either. You’re just a face in the crowd, stained with red and black, drenched with fake hope, and .. just pathetic.

So go to the stadium, start your all wished for honks and horns and noise in the streets you piece of shit. You make me sick.

I hope you suffocate and die. Because one thing I’m sure of, Egypt is better off with your Oxygen spare.

And don’t say ‘Ya Rab’ following that sad excuse of a campaign please, it’s a direct offense to God.

If I were a God and people turned to me for a match, I’d take offense. Don’t like my simile? okay. If I was a father, and my son coaxed me for a football game when I waited for his ass to thank me for my efforts, or to at least pay me respect, I will whip the crap out of him. And teach him that hypocrisy is the mother of all sins. So, don’t you ever say ‘Ya Rab’ in those 5 minutes, you’re not a match for his Almighty’s rage.

Or, if you think you are, well, good luck!

Go Egypt .. fe dahya!

Around the world in one post!

I need new. I need thrill. I need change. I need light.

I want to change scenes. I want to sit by the sea. I want to smell the breeze. I want to stroke the white sand. I need to feel the warm water on my cold skin. I want to lay back and watch the stars. I need to see their twinkle. I need to watch the stardust I saw in Peter Pan and Neverland. I want to regard the moon in full whiteness. I want it to shine my complete utter darkness. I want to see the sea waters glistening under its spears of white. I need the brisk wind to go through my soul and heart. I need it to purge me from my earthly stains. I need to hear the ripples of the calm waves. I need to listen to the water splashing against stone and pebbles. I need to get lost in the roar of the big blue. I want to surmount the fear and lay in utter comfort. For I know that while encrusted in fury and anger, the sea has a merciful heart, a gentle touch and a warm lap. I want to sleep on that. I want to wake up to that.

I want to sprawl on a cushion of fallen leaves in a prodigious tropical forest under a massive tree with dark brown curled branches. I want to see how the shadows only made space for tiny white spots of sunlight on the ground. I want to feel the cold of the green lush I’m hugging. I want to walk towards one of the sparkling spots. I want to touch it with my bare toes and feel the warmth of the sun. I want to be dressed in tatters. I want my hair to be disheveled. I want to feel rebellious. I want to stride under the treas and listen to the birds. I want to reach a cliff. I want to stop and hug the prospect of the immaculate landscape before me. A new earth under of me. A wild stampede running on the horizon. I don’t want to be afraid of the quakes. I need the thrill. But in the safety of my aloft position. I can only enjoy myself. Knowing the that green is behind me. I could return and lay down in the cushion of leaves anytime.

I need to get free of the grip of my own car seat. I want to run. Towards the door of that skyscraper penetrating that formidable formation of clouds. I want to fly in the stairwell and reach the summit. I want to balance myself on a metal crest on the very top. And I want to see the world! When the dark strikes its pall on the city. I want to see the red flickers of the car lights from a far. I want to see the shimmers of the neon on buildings and on boards from above. I want to listen to the sounds of the city but somehow feel the silence of the sky intertwined with it. And I want to jump. Or .. to fly!

I want to wake up on the creaks of a Japanese house wooden door when it slides. I want to put on a bright Kimono and favorite oil fragrances after taking a bath in the warm pond. I want to eat rice with sticks on breakfast and drink green tea and enjoy some artistic penmanship. I want to squat serenely in Yoga and master the art of breathing. I want to learn about aura and energy. I want to roll my sleeves and dive barefoot in rice farms. I want to arrange the seeds delicately with the peasants. I want to have stains on my face like they do. I want to look at the sky and exhale when it rains like they do. I want to dress in red and yellow. And I want ribbons. Lots and lots of ribbons. I want to visit one of the great temples and feel awed at the mosaic floors and the historical gadgetry. And I want a place in the house, with a candelabrum. A pencil. Paper. And I want to write my diary from the orient at every sunset.

I want to admire a portrait of a house on a hill. Attached to a barn. I want to see cattle. I want to see a girl wearing a brown bodice. A green skirt. A yellow cap. Guiding the gambols on the most beautiful of greenery. I want to live inside that vivid image. I want to be this girl. And feel the sun on my face. And see the swaying trees and flying pigeons. I want to get busy with the chores. I want to milk the cows. Make the cheese. Cook with tallow. Bake. I want to make stew in the hearth on burning tinder. I want to brush the black stallion in the small stable. I want to chop wood and water the flowers. I want to see the wells and drink their water after my hard day. I want to clean. Put on a white night gown, release my rich hair on my shoulders. And dive in bed. And sleep gracefully. And dream of heaven.

I want to embroider myself in white spotless veil and see the great chalked exterior of one of those magnificent mosques on a Friday morning. I want to see the crowds praying. I need to feel the spiritual lift. The relief. The salvation of man before God. I need to see lines and rows of men and women dressed in white. I need to hear the din. The devout sounds and chants. The smiling complacent faces of every man, of every woman and of every living thing. I want to see the uprising of the formations. The commotion to form lines. Then .. I want to feel the silence during the prayer, with intense tones coming out from microphones instilling peace and grace in the existence. I want to see kids playing. I want to see those people dismantle after they finish their duties to their creator and go on to their lives. I want to feel this every week, every Friday morning. And I wish I could paint it with brush and ink. I wish I could perpetuate this heavenly image of those gray havens.

I want to wake up when the sun hits my face through beige curtains in a spacious room. I want to yawn and feel the softness of the velvet under me. I want to drag myself lazily out of bed. Look in the mirror. Smile. Breath. I want to have a hot shower. I want to have fine pastries and black coffee for breakfast. I need to feel the energy to start a spring morning and head to my shop around the corner. I want to reach there after smiling in people faces in the streets. I want to pick up some daisies on my way. I want to reach there. Open the door. I want to listen to the chimes as the door hits the colorful metal stripes. I want to see the tinsels I hanged the day before around the corners of the place. I want to see kids waiting eagerly for my especially prepared story about Mr. Duck. I want to tell them how he loved his partners in the lake and how they used to quack every morning. And after I hear their angelic giggles. I kiss them in the air and promise them with an exciting story next week. I want to walk among the book shelves. Clean the dust myself. Gingerly pick a novel. Read a page. And .. smile. Put it against my chest as if I’m hugging the papers. And put it back where it belongs. Keep patting its cover after I placed it as if I’m bidding my farewells.

I want to smile more. I want tears of laughter. I need peace. I need happiness. I want to run and jump. I want to sing and dance. I want music and rhythm. I want to sway with tangled hair. I want idyllic prospects. I want waterfalls and rain. I want roller coasters and wild adventures and safaris. I want to dive in oceans and climb mountains. I need to have brunch in the States and dinner in Paris. I want violins colored scarlet. Pipes striped in black and white. And I want to blow my feelings out in musical notes. I want to watch them flailing around teasing the ears of all man. Enchanting the lovers of art. And the appreciators of sounds. Drawing smiles and releasing frowns. Telling the world how green it is. How love is there. How the sky is blue. How much I am happy.

I need ..

“Noha … Noha!”

I hear his voice waking me up. Suddenly, all the musical notes vanish. All the warmth I was feeling goes away when I feel a cold wind blow from the window ibhog just opened. “It’s morning alright, wake up!”, he leans and kisses my forehead, “so .. tell me why are those beautiful eyes so dreamy today?” smiling at me.

“I had the best dream ever, Ibraheem!” and I let go of my quilt and hug him very deeply, “I wish you saw it.”

“Well ..” he giggled a bit, flicked my nose gently with his finger, “why don’t you tell me about it?”, and he kept caressing my cheeks and playing with ringlets in my hair.

And I told him fervently:

“I need new. I need thrill. I need change. I need light.”

And he listened.

And I was happy,

Flu sticking like a glue!

Blog on hold due to sluggishness and lethargy associated with what appears to be a avian-swine-seasonal-another-bunch-of-stuff flu.

And because I have bad lungs, the latest weather twist really got to me.

Pray that I don’t see the white light or something.

Until I get better isA.

Don’t worry though, this is me every winter.

Cold limbs, fever and lots of sneezing.

And lots of sleeping!

Farewell, see you in the great havens!!!

Secrets – Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2

From inside a circle of people, he stood up. But to me, he rather stood out. I leaned my head slightly to the right, playfully put my hands around my waist, and followed by compassionate looks, I emitted a sincere smile. Ibhog fumbled his hands in his pockets, shrugged his shoulders joyfully, and grinned. Then sighed. Then drew me loving eyes. Hopeful eyes. Then sad again!

I’ve always believed that healing my deep insecurities would only come by revealing them to a different heart than mine. That my fears would tumble down if my army had more than one soldier. That my life will be easier if I had someone else’s arms to pull back into whenever hits get stronger than me. That being alone in this world, fearing alone, doubting alone, crying alone and even laughing alone, would be condemned, had life itself been symbolized in a person – to judge – of some measure.

That is why, secrets, and though were at times on the verge of breaking me and ibhog completely apart, made us who we are now. When we look into each others’ eyes, we see transparent figures, we see hues of angelic colors, we see no faces or masks, we see no walls or bricks, but, we see souls, we see souls with all the peace, the composure and the utter silence they shine.

When you’re holding on to a secret, it holds you down. You feel crippled and cringed. You do not feel free. There’s always a bar. There’s always a line. There’s always a hand clamping down on your fountain. It suffocates you. It makes you think more and speak less than your companions. And it intimidates you out of opening up to anybody. You look at the world from a small narrow window.

Until at one day. One cloudy day. One fateful hour. You find yourself standing under the shadows of an old tree. Stranded in a park with dying leaves falling all over around you. And with each gust of air. With each whimper of pain. With each tear twinkling on your face. You feel utterly bewildered and vulnerable. But mostly, you crave redemption from that bar. From that line. You convince yourself in a whim, that it’s about time you cross over. It’s about time you .. tell.

Ibraheem was there for me when I wanted out under my tree. He was my salvation. I spent two years crushing down my fears with the axe of his love, understanding and compassion. He was the stranger fellow we all wish we had on a plane up in the sky. Eternal conversations. Heavenly feelings between the clouds. With the safety that it all goes away once we land down. When we land, all takes place and form again. Fear returns. Doubt reigns. Reality creeps.

Me and ibhog. We never landed. We are up there in the clouds. All the time.

And that was why he smiled when he could see me. I picked him up from the earth. And we flew all over atop of the world again. He sighed of relief. He hoped we’d stay in our white cloud. But just when he was about to speak with me. He remembered.

Reality. He was in the room. He was at work. He could still hear shrieks of people all around. He could feel the earth below his own feet. So, he wearily looked at me with sad eyes that are tired of life and cooed: “Please be real soon, Noha”. His watered eyes filled mine with tears when he writhed inside before uttering again: ” .. please.”

I walked across the room, reached very close to him. My small figure against his masculine form. I tip-toed. Put my hand on his cheek. Smiled with my sagged eyes. Kissed his face. And said: “I will be ya Ibraheem”.

“Very soon”

“Very very soon”