Originally posted to my now defunct FB page, a long fucking time ago. Specifically, Thursday, 16 September 2010 at 23:26 UTC+04
I don’t smoke. I light a cigarette at around 2.30 in the morning; or night. However you might want to refer to such an hour. Why I light a cigarette, even I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of smoking, but sometimes you need it to have the illusion that you’re in deep thought. I didn’t begin writing this note with cigarettes in mind. And the topic of cigarettes will end now, just after I introduce the brand of cigarettes I am smoking – Viceroy. This brand has a history which is why I’m referring to them. I’m right now in an old worn out building, at least around 70 years old. I’m in Sofia, the capital of Bulgaria. Once it was a state within the USSR or at least followed a similar communist regime. Now of course, Bulgaria is taking steps in its ‘development’ by entering the European Union and soon (1st January 2011) will be apart of the elite Shengen group of countries. I’m a Palestinian. My mother and my father are both Palestinians. Their parents were (are) Palestinians as well. Which is to say, I’m a purely bred Palestinian. I’m stressing on being Palestinian, because I feel this note might end up being about Palestine. But I still don’t know why I’m writing this, or what this is all about: I just felt the need to want to write since I hadn’t exercised this right of mine for a long time. And being Palestinian, you don’t get many rights to exercise. But I’m a different kind of Palestinian; sort of blessed. I have all my rights. Thank God (Al Hamd Lil Lah) for that. Oh, and before I continue there are 2 important things to keep in mind (this is for my own personal reference – you don’t need to care about them) are as follows: 1. I’m typing on OpenOffice Writer, and I’m trying to keep full compatibility with it’s grammar engine 2. For the first time in my life of me writing or doing something, I’m constantly keeping a tab on what I’ve written, and going back to revise and correct and fix mistakes 3. I’m listening to some old classic rock music in the process (Led Zeppelin – Fool in the Rain as of now) I just realized that if I continue this way, I might make this note lengthy and boring in the process; maybe it might be fun for me to write since I just want to write, but then one writes to have others read. Yes, not entirely, sometimes you just want to write and let the writing flow, but I have a sense of wanting this to be read. Maybe in a while, once I edit the note, I’ll delete this paragraph; or maybe not. Life can move in two different ways. One is if you have full control over the playlist. You can jump to any track you like, skip it when you get bored, play a song over and over again. Listen to parts of songs you like; sing along to songs you already know and so on… you get the picture. The other is like being on a road trip and not having any controllable playlist at your disposal. You only have a worn out radio and you listen to whatever beams through the frequencies of the radio stations along the way. And there is only one station. You only listen to one station. They play songs, but you can’t control the music they play. You only listen to them and ride along – get me? On a side note, I think all smokers have been duped. Cigarettes burn out real quick; and I think the tobacco companies designed them this way so you end up buying lots. I’m sure you could’ve reaped more ‘benefits’ from the tobacco and it last longer if it were to be left to a much better cigarette design. God knows. This topic could be a thesis on its own. Status quo of things in this world that are the way they are because of some real stupid ass reason some ‘motherfucker’ took to make a few extra bucks. “yes we speak of things that matter, of words that must be said. Can analysis be worthwhile? Is the theater really dead? And how the room has softly faded, and I only kiss your shadow – I cannot feel your hand. You’re a stranger now on to me, lost in a dangling conversation…” Simon & Garfunkel – the dangling conversation There have been poems, songs, books written to try and make sense of life. Sense of the reason for existence. Everyone comes with an idea, with a notion. Many make sense. But then, all make sense. Which one is the “this is it” of all, life makes sense analysis. None. Or all. Or, we can never fully appreciate it. This won’t be one of those analysis of life. Don’t worry:) Being concise about feelings is an art I don’t seem to possess. This will be a very long note. Maybe something that I can’t end in this sitting. Therefore, I’m going to let lose for a while and just type things that I’m feeling as I smoke. I want the smoke to irritate my eyes and my lungs. Well, fuck all this feelings shit and me trying to analyze life and be sort of philosophical. I’ll tell you about this funny roller-coaster ride I’ve had so far in this little vacation I had perfectly planned. My plan was simple: fly to Damascus, Syria to meet my parents. Settle them and tuck them in. Then fly to Sofia, Bulgaria and renew my passport and road trip all over Bulgaria just to have some “fun”. It got fucked up completely. I didn’t get my visa to Syria. Fuck that. All my ticket bookings are now useless. I had to fly to Sofia directly. The only way to do this was to go to Vienna, Austria. Huh!? But I went there. And it was an awesome 3 days in Vienna. I almost felt lucky I didn’t get to Damascus directly. From Vienna, I flew to Sofia. Oh, the reason why I didn’t get my visa to Syria was because I was purely bred Palestinian. In Vienna, I had a great time for many reasons – one of them being I …. I don’t know.. fuck that again. It was just quite a lot of fun. I walked all over that beautiful city, met great people, lived in a hostel where customer service exceeded 7 star hotels. In Sofia, I’m living with my aunt. She’s my mom’s, get this, step sister. But I’m having awesome fun with her. And, there is this other guy, who’s helping me get my documents in place. Complete stranger (Sort of) who is helping me. Hopefully, tomorrow I’ll get my visa to Syria, as a complete Bulgarian. Not a Palestinian. Oh, I have a Bulgarian Passport – which is where the pack of Viceroy cigarettes have their historic roots. My mom and dad were married in Yemen, conceived me in Tunisia and delivered me in Sofia – during the communist regime. Huh!? Haha, well they served in the PLO – the Palestinian Liberation Organization. They needed to escape from Lebanon to Yemen. Which they did on a boat, where they eventually got married. Long story short, I was born in Bulgaria, so I have a Bulgarian citizenship. In Bulgaria, the best and cheapest cigarettes were Viceroy’s. My mom and dad smoked shit loads of those and I still remember this because I bought them a lot of packets from the “Magazin” (Bulgarian for Grocery store) I lived in India for 20 years. That’s because my mom thought India is colorful as she’s seen in the movies and when they got the offer to move there, they pounced on it. Thinking they’ll stay for 3 years, it stretched for 20. I speak fluent Hindi. I speak fluent Arabic. I speak fluent English. I feel Palestinian. I’ve never lived in Palestine. I want to be there soon. This isn’t my resume! On that note, I work in Dubai, UAE. Fuck that. Why am I telling you that? That’s because I told you I’m letting lose. Fuck all this. If you’ve read so far, you really liked my style of writing. To sum up, I had so much to write and now I decided I can’t write it in one note because I don’t possess that art. But I’ve realized it’s good to write. I used to write a lot. I’ll start maintaining a blog. I’ve said that many times. Many of you have said that many times. We never get around to doing it; because we always have our fingers on the “skip” this song button. I’ve begun living my life on Radio Mode. Just, make sure you keep one thing in mind – keep your morals and ethics in tact. Let the roller-coaster then take you anyway it likes. Enjoy the fucking ride. Keep your morals and ethics in tact though!!! Don’t fuck up and enjoy the ride. Fuck you all. I love the word Fuck. I don’t know why there’s such a taboo over it. It’s a good word. People make it sound bad. This isn’t about the word Fuck either. Hopefully one of my blog posts might be about it, when I’ve had more time to think about it. Have you read till here. I’m done now. Good Night. Fuck you.