put a spell on you

“We must do everything to insure they never return. The...

Thu, 16 May 2013 02:28:12 +0100

“We must do everything to insure they never return. The old will die and the young will forget” –David Ben-Gurion, first Prime Minister of Israel, 1949.”

The Nakba (meaning ‘Catastrophe’), marked the birth of the state of Israel in 1948. The Palestinian refugee crisis was born out of this catastrophe and to this day, the majority of Palestinians remain refugees. Following the Nakba, 78% of historic Palestinian land was seized for the establishment of the state of Israel.

During the Nakba, 530 Palestinian villages were ethnically cleansed, thousands were killed, and 75% of the Palestinian population fled. Many massacres were committed by the Zionist forces, including the massacre at Deir Yassin where approximately 250 women, children and men were killed in what began as a dawn raid and lasted two days.

Let it be know that our cause will never die, that it can never be imprisoned, expelled, tortured or humiliated. 65 years since the Nakba, a catastrophe that we did not forget, that we still have not forgotten and that we shall never forget. We shall return.

"Write down: I am Arab my I.D. number, 50,000 my children, eight and the ninth due next summer —Does..."

Thu, 16 May 2013 02:16:42 +0100

“

Write down:
I am Arab
my I.D. number, 50,000
my children, eight
and the ninth due next summer
—Does that anger you?

Write down:
Arab.
I work with my struggling friends in a quarry
and my children are eight.
I chip a loaf of bread for them,
clothes and notebooks
from the rocks.
I will not beg for a handout at your door
nor humble myself
on your threshold
—Does that anger you?

Write down:
Arab,
a name with no friendly shortcut.
A patient man, in a country
brimming with anger.
My roots have gripped this soil
since time began,
before the opening of ages
before the cypress and the olive,
before the grasses flourishes.
My father came from a line of plowmen,
and my grandfather was a peasant
who taught me about the sun’s glory
before teaching me to read.
My home is a watchman’s shack
made of reeds and sticks
—Does my condition anger you?

There is no gentle name,
write down: Arab.
The colour of my hair, jet black—
eyes, brown—
trademarks,
a headband over a keffiyeh
and a hand whose touch grates
rough as rock.
My address is an unarmed village
with nameless streets.
All its men are in the field and quarry
—Does that anger you?

Write down:
Arab.
You have stolen my ancestors vineyards
and the land I once ploughed
with my children,
leaving my grandchildren
nothing but rocks.
Will your government take
those too, as the rumour goes?

Write down, then
at the top of Page One:
I do not hate
and do not steal
but starve me, and I will eat
my assailant’s flesh.
Beware of my hunger
and of my anger.

”

- Identity Card, Mahmoud Darwish (1964)

Written when the poet was 22 years old.

(John Asfour translation)
One of my favourite poems

If you’re following me on here expecting me to make anti-shiaa posts and sending me messages...

Thu, 16 May 2013 01:58:03 +0100

If you’re following me on here expecting me to make anti-shiaa posts and sending me messages ridiculing and insulting ahlul-bayt (you know who you are) then please do me and yourself a favour and click that unfollow button now. I am not going to post your disgusting messages, that’s no way to speak about your fellow Muslims. So listen up close, I am going to say this once and once only, if you don’t stop sending me those messages then I promise you that everyone will find out about your blog. Please don’t make me do this.

يا ليل ما اطولك.

Mon, 13 May 2013 22:56:33 +0100

يا ليل ما اطولك.

A few weeks back, I started something called the Gratitude...

Mon, 13 May 2013 01:45:00 +0100

A few weeks back, I started something called the Gratitude Box with one of the classes I teach. I was having a lot of difficulties with this particular class because the kids in it really didn’t get along with each other. I decided to conduct a little experiment. Here’s how it works: every week, I ask the kids to write down, on a piece of paper, the name of another person in the class who they would like to thank or whose actions they’re grateful for and why they picked that person. At the end, we put them all in a box and I read them out each week to the class. Here’s a small selection of their truly heartwarming responses.

The cutest, little mittens 😸

Sun, 12 May 2013 09:05:49 +0100

The cutest, little mittens 😸

Unpopular Opinion #1

Sun, 12 May 2013 04:00:00 +0100

The Great Gatsby is seriously overrated.

ur lame.

Sun, 12 May 2013 03:20:00 +0100

This world is already filled with too much hate so here, have some free love on me anon. :)

Hope you’re doing well!

ziadhomsi: الثورة ليست حوضاً من الزهور “A revolution is not a...

Fri, 10 May 2013 22:52:03 +0100

ziadhomsi:

الثورة ليست حوضاً من الزهور

“A revolution is not a bed of roses.”
- Fidel Castro
الثورة ليست حوضاً من الزهور
فيدل كاسترو

ziadhomsi: ثورةٌ بالوان قوس قزح

Fri, 10 May 2013 22:51:41 +0100

ziadhomsi:

ثورةٌ بالوان قوس قزح

"There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that..."

Fri, 10 May 2013 00:41:27 +0100

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.”

- Laurell K. Hamilton

Rawan appreciation post

Thu, 09 May 2013 00:12:55 +0100

Because she’s so damn awesome <3

"Every time I look back to this photo, I feel uncomfortable — it haunts me. It’s as if they are..."

Wed, 08 May 2013 18:22:54 +0100

“

Every time I look back to this photo, I feel uncomfortable — it haunts me. It’s as if they are saying to me, we are not a number — not only cheap labor and cheap lives. We are human beings like you. Our life is precious like yours, and our dreams are precious too.

They are witnesses in this cruel history of workers being killed. The death toll is now more than 750. What a harsh situation we are in, where human beings are treated only as numbers.

This photo is haunting me all the time. If the people responsible don’t receive the highest level of punishment, we will see this type of tragedy again. There will be no relief from these horrific feelings. I’ve felt a tremendous pressure and pain over the past two weeks surrounded by dead bodies. As a witness to this cruelty, I feel the urge to share this pain with everyone. That’s why I want this photo to be seen.

”

- Photographer Taslima Akhter on her haunting photograph of two victims amid the rubble of a garment factory building collapse in Savar, near Dhaka, Bangladesh.

(via timelightbox)

Best video I’ve seen yet on sexual harassment in Egypt....

Wed, 08 May 2013 16:05:51 +0100

Best video I’ve seen yet on sexual harassment in Egypt. The reactions of the harassers are priceless!

Hold your head up high and be proud of yourself, your gender and your right to walk freely in our male-dominated society. Don’t let the shame kill your voice, it is the harassers who should ashamed, it is they who should put their heads down. It may be YOU that allows the next sexual harasser to think twice before they lift a finger, throw a nasty comment or stare at you inappropriately. YOU may be the girl to change this. SPEAK UP!

Trying to practice piping roses. These didn’t turn out so...

Wed, 08 May 2013 05:38:39 +0100

Trying to practice piping roses. These didn’t turn out so well. Gotta keep trying!

This song was featured in the second episode of a five-part BBC...

Tue, 07 May 2013 19:44:08 +0100

This song was featured in the second episode of a five-part BBC series entitled ‘Syrian School’ which documented a year in the life of four schools in Damascus before the revolution. It’s a traditional, Syrian song sung by kids from one of the schools featured in the programme. The composer, Colin Winston-Fletcher, decided to give this song a modern twist to represent the vibrancy and liveliness of the kids he worked with. He was kind enough to send me a full copy of the song as long as he was credited so I would really appreciate it if none of the credits were removed.

تَوَكُل (Tawakkul) - Reliance

Tue, 07 May 2013 18:22:02 +0100

Today at Fajr, I was clearing up in the kitchen with my dad and I found a bag of rice under the sink. I picked it up so I could put it away in one of the cupboards but my dad stopped me and told me to leave it where it was.

“Why?” I asked. “There’s plenty of space in the cupboard.”

He smiled and said “It’s not for us, it’s for the birds.”

I had no idea what he was talking about. He smiled again, grabbed the bag of rice and motioned for me to follow him to the garden door. There, perched on the garden fence outside, waiting patiently for him were five little birds. He unlocked the door, grabbed a handful of rice and scattered it on the ground. The birds swooped down on the grains. More birds came to join them, chirping happily at their good fortune.

“You see these birds habibty? Allah provides for them and many others like them. Allah provides for every creature on this earth through his sources. Why can’t we be one of those sources that Allah provides for his creatures through? Why can’t we be givers, not takers?”

“Allah provides for us too, but we don’t rely on him in the same way as these birds do, unwaveringly, unquestionably.”

He took my hand in his and placed some rice in it. He then looked me in the eye and said:

The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) told us “If you relied on Allah with a true reliance, He would provide for you the same as He provides birds: they set off in the early morning with empty stomachs and return back at the end of the day with full stomachs.”

“I want you to be like these birds habibty. Depend on no one but Allah, rely on no one but him. Never doubt his ability to provide or his power to bless even the smallest or the most unfortunate of his creatures. Never forget that habibty”

This is why my dad is the most special man on earth <3

Where do you get your news about Syria from?

Tue, 07 May 2013 05:52:35 +0100

Hello there!

I get it from a number of different sources simply because a lot of information being reported about Syria from certain sources can sometimes be inaccurate or simply not true so I like to follow different media outlets and activists to get the most accurate picture. I recommend that you do the same.

That said, the most reliable source that I’ve come across and which I regularly check for updates is Rose Alhomsi’s twitter feed and blog. She has many contacts on the ground and she has been working tirelessly since the very beginning of the revolution to document and report what’s happening on the ground in Syria so you should definitely go and check her out!

Thanks for stopping by, hope you have a lovely day!

Compassion

Tue, 07 May 2013 04:14:32 +0100

I used to be part of a group of young Syrian activists who translated videos that came out of Syria for human rights organisations and the media to use. We would get raw footage of massacres, shelling, people being tortured and killed and we’d translate them as soon as the people on the ground in Syria could send them to us. I saw things which would have me up all night, unable to get any sleep and questioning everything I had been taught about humanity. Some images still haunt me till this day: a decapitated head, a grieving mother, a child screaming for help. Despite all that, I forced myself to watch those videos, to translate them as quickly as I could so we could share them out to a world which, I soon learnt, couldn’t care less about what was happening in Syria. I couldn’t stop though. I felt guilty every time I thought about quitting, I felt accountable. My feelings were nothing compared to the people who had no choice but to live this grim reality, every single day. The least I could do was to share their losses and grievances so they wouldn’t have to suffer in silence.

Day after day, video after horrific video, I would translate it all. It became an inseparable part of my daily routine and that’s precisely the moment when I realised that I had become completely de-sensitised to the images I was seeing. The dead bodies that used to haunt my nightmares, the sounds of shelling that used to trigger so much anxiety within me were now nothing more than pieces of cold flesh and loud bangs.

I hated myself so much at that moment.

How could I allow myself to become so detached? How on earth did I convince my mind that such images could ever be considered normal? And when was this ever about me? That day, I locked myself up in my room and I cried such angry tears. I cried because I had allowed myself to reduce the suffering of another human being, to de-humanise them so that I didn’t have to feel anything towards them, so that I could selfishly protect myself from all the suffering and torment that they were going through. I knew I had to leave the group for a while. They were really supportive but I still felt so guilty because I had let them down.

I don’t think that I am ready to return to the group just yet but I am looking for other ways in which I can help. I don’t regret ever joining the group, or doing the work I did. On the contrary, this experience has taught me a very important lesson: every single one of us is capable of belittling the suffering of a fellow human being. If we can’t empathise then it becomes too easy for us to ignore the atrocities and pain that many around us are forced to experience. Once you lose your compassion, you lose everything. I learnt that the hard way but it’s a lesson that I’ll never forget.

omg, do you speak ancient egyptian? Can you write my name in...

Tue, 07 May 2013 02:02:51 +0100

omg, do you speak ancient egyptian? Can you write my name in hieorga…umm, I am not sure how to say it, lol but it’s that ancient language with pictures, it’s sooo cool.

omg, do you ride camels?

omg, what do you mean you have cars, like you guys have heard of cars?

omg, what do you mean Egypt is in Africa? But you guys aren’t black!