Showing posts with label Memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Memories. Show all posts

Saturday, January 21, 2012

The Top Songs on the day of my Birth

The top song on the UK chart was:



While on the US charts, weirdly enough, was:




While its English version was song by Dean Martin:



More will come once I find them out!



Friday, December 9, 2011

Memory: Standing in line

Today, I had to stand in line for 34 minutes. I haven't done this in many, many years. I had good reflections. I will jot down my ideas before they perish.

The line was in Canada Post. I had to mail a letter to a Canadian Service agency. I had to spend 34 minutes just to put a stamp. In 34 minutes, I would have replied to 5 emails, checked my FaceBook, read my Google Reader (that gets me news from 1000 news agencies), checked my PhD discussion forum. All, within the 34 minutes. While I had to stand in line doing nothing, except thinking, for 34 minutes. I tried to talk to the people in front of me. They just smiled politely as if telling me to shut up. This is the smooth polite Canadian way of being being rude, I looked around and started reading labels of items for sale. It was a total waste of time.

I do not understand why Canadian Service agencies do not use electronic systems. Why I had to mail the paper. They made me fill the form online, but at the end they said: print then mail. Why not Submit? Is this the government way to make people busy? I am wondering.

When I was driving home, I gave it more thought. One reason I left Lebanon for ever is the waiting I was expected to accept. I remember between 1975 and 1977 the waiting I had to do on the neighborhood bakery. I had to wait hours just to get a bag of [peta] bread. Bread is essential food item in Lebanon. If I do not wait all the way, my family will go hungry. Not because we are poor, nor because we had another alternative. But it was the war. Many times the bakery closed before my turn reached. Many times the zo3ran (what Canadian politely call the bullies) would cut the line and take all the bread. This used to hurt me. Deeply. Because I refuse to fight or to be a bully, my family has to spend a day witout bread. It frustrated me. This was one reason I hated queues. It was forcing me to be a bad person, otherwise my family will suffer. How can you make peace with this idea? I could not. That is why I hate standing in line. That is why I left Lebanon.

[imagery: just to describe how the line used to be, here is a brief description. Check this link to have a Google Maps idea: http://g.co/maps/p7pr9. A snapshot is on the right. Due to the war, the bakeries, which we call Forun, used to receive subsidized flour from the government to bake bread which is the basic food in Lebanon. The baker was supposed to sell the bread at a certain price, otherwise, the government will not give him flour. The baker would take quarter of the subsidized flour and bake them into bread to sell them at government price. While he uses the reaming three quarters to bake other stuff like banquettes, cake, cookies and what we call "petite feure" at more than 10 times its government set price. Thus he makes tonnes of money. A sort of legal stealing scheme in Lebanon. The government would send the flour late at night and the baker would start backing at early hours of the day. My mom would wake me up at 5 am to go and stand in line waiting for my turn. Usually the line extends from the bakery shop all the way to our house. That is around 3 blocks in New York block size. I would wait hours before the line start moving. I am leaning on walls of buildings. Many times under rain. Few times during shelling. It was the civil war, you know. I really believe these long waits made me a thinker. I had nothing I could do except wait and think. By the way, I was 17 years old, and we did not have smart phones nor iPads back then. The only available reading for me was a 37 pages Superman comics].

Another experiential queue I remember was when I wanted to apply for a US Visa in Dubai. That is around 30 years later. I had two experiences. One experience was nerve wrecking while the other one was enlightening.

The first one was in 2000. It was after a long period of time where I got used to "buy my queue". I had people who would go and wait in line in my place. I forgot the agony and anger the queues give me. But in 2000, I had to stand in line. The US embassy in Dubai want you to apply in person. Whoever you are, you have to be there. Their system necessitates that you stand in multiple sequential queues. The first one before even you get to their building (which was in the Dubai Trades Centre). At this stage, they just check the purpose of your visit. The second set of queues are inside the building before you get to the lifts. In this phase, you have to surrender everything you have except your pants and shirt. You may keep your passport. The third queue is in a corridor waiting for your turn to take the lift. The fourth queue is after you leave the lift, but before you are admitted into the offices. Here, they re-Xray you and ensure you are not hiding anything in your body. The fifth waiting place is inside the embassy, in a big hall where you are seated before your name was called. This was longest wait.

I remember the first time I applied, I left after the 4th wait. I was angry and frustrated. I felt humiliated. I swore I will never go again.

How can I live without visiting the US. So, I tried again the second time in 2002. After 9-11. You can imagine the strictness of the visit. So, before I go, I meditated, prayed, did partial hypnosis to tolerate the experience. I prepared myself mentally, physically and spiritually. I was frustrated at the second phase. I took a deep breath. Recited few relaxing phrases. Did a standing yoga to give myself a boast to survive it. Then an epiphany happened. I though to myself, why am I projecting negativity around myself. Why not mine for positivity and absorb it. This was a changing decision. That is when I decided to "waste the day no matter how long it takes". My mood changed. Suddenly, I recognized there are people around. I am not alone in this queue. I looked at their faces. I tried to think about them. What are their agonies. What make them happy. How can I make them happy. How can I project positivity unto them. Suddenly I became joyful. Then I decided to look at every individual based on who he is... and not how I want to make him to be... it was a value changing experience. Ever sine then, I started believing in individuality. But I still hated queues.

Today, I had to stand in line again. Those 34 minutes made me reflect on my previous experiences. Above all, made me recognize one anger I bottled up all these years. I am wondering, should I stand in queues more often? Is this why the Canadian government wanted me to mail the letter rather than email it?

Another queue, another experience and another day.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

Memories: Lists of Houses I lived in

Here is the list of houses that I called home, since my birth. These are places I lived for more than 1 year in. I skipped those I lived briefly.
  1. My father house in Medhat Street, Jamal Building, Al Zarif. From 1958 - 1979.
  2. My grandmother house in Matni Street, Souad Mohamed Building. 1958 - 1975, when my grandma moved to a new house. I used to spend a lot of time in that place.
  3. My grandfather house in Baalcmeh, where I was born. I lived there most of the summers from 1958 til 1982. Then it was owned by my aunt, Mona.
  4. AUB Dorms, Newmen's 613, from 1979-1981 then 1983 till 1985.
  5. Mitsubishi Compund, 1981 till 1983.
  6. ACS Building. From 1985 till 1988.
  7. Ibn Kaldoon residence Building, Zinj Area, Bahrain. From 1988 till 1989.
  8. Silver Sands, Dubai. Apparment 313. A corner triangular apartment. From 1989 till 1993.
  9. Alhamriyah vills, Dubai. With the private swiming pool. From 1993 till 1995.
  10. Mirdiff Villa, next to the best neighbours ever. From 1995 till 1997.
  11. Alsatwa Villas. From 1997 till 1999.
  12. Jumeira Villa. From 1999 till 2004.
  13. Wolverine Villa, 2005 till 2006.
  14. Windsor Drive, 2006 till 2008.
  15. Woodward Lane, 2008 till today.

Other places I stayed in: Grandma house in Reifoun and Soik Elghareb, Summer houses in Abadieh, Sawfar and Ain Eljdeedeh. Houses in Ottawa, Montreal, Toronto, London Ontario, Kitchner, Kingston, and few other locations.

Memories: My father's building, 1960-1974

The memory posts I did made me try to re-imagine how my father's building looked like back when I was a toddler. I redrew it. I did one picture that shows how it looked like before my dad did the expansion, around 1960. The other one after the renovation and expansion. Sometime around 1970. This 4+1 story building was demolished in 1991 and a new 11 story structure was erected in its place.
My impressions of the building circa 1960...

... and how it became around 1970
Few things to notice:
  • the car in the first picture, this was my father Peugeot 403, model 1958, that he had. It survived the years till around 1974!
  • The three trees: The Akadinia on the left. The one that saved my life. The palm tree that never bore dates and the pine tree that was cut in 1977 to build a protected garage.
  • The bird cage on the roof of the 1970 picture.
  • The stairs that appear from the stairwell window.
  • The drabzeen, i.e. the railings, around the building and in the stairwell.
  • The pigeons in the second picture.
All of them will be the topics of future posts.





Detect language » Arabic

Friday, July 1, 2011

Memories: Our Old House

House Plan as I remember itMy youthful house was on the third floor of my grandfather's house. I talked about it roof pool in a previous post. Now, I like to talk about as I remember it until I was 3 years old. That is barely before my brother was born.

As I understood later, my father built that apartment on the roof of his father building. I do not know for sure when. Was it before he got marries or in the period he got married and before I was born. I remember mom mentioning she had to live with her in-laws briefly. This is a period I need to check out.

The apartment was a single bedroom with a large living room and a dining area that overlooks the roof pool. The kitchen and bathroom were relatively small. The bedroom had a huge window that overlooks El Zeini building and a balcony that is squeezed behind the Shatila Building. The window is closed behind thick curtains in winter and is wide open in summer. This eliminates any privacy. We can hear the neighbors conversations as if they were in the next room and many times we enjoy the music of their radios.

The stairs that leads to the apartment is massive. It is made of 6 different stair sets. The first one had 13 steps, while all the other 5 had 11 steps. I used to count them every time I go up or down. We did not have an elevator, so counting them was a way to kill time. The stairway had huge open widows that would fill the stairway with water when it rains. I used to hop the stairs in both ways, up and down.

The bedroom was made up of two twin beds. One for my mom and another one for my dad. Their frame is made from strong cedar wood. Before my brother came, they put them next to each other so they make a huge king bed. I used to sleep with them. Now, I wonder if I witnessed the making of my son without me recognizing it. Another topic to check out!

The living room consisted of a large dining table with 6 chairs. They laid it to the west wall so that the can use the rest of the room space as a causal sitting area. The seats were made up of one sofabed and two armless chairs. I spend most of my time there. These chairs are still used by my parents till today, after renovating them couple of times. This is quality!

The living room had more seats. This was a forbidden area. I was rarely allowed to enter it. It is a middle eastern habit. The living room is for the guests only. It has to stay clean and neat. Its a kids-free zone. It had two doors: one that opens to the dining area and another one that opens to the main entrace, which was kept locked most of my toddler life. The living room had a wide window that goes from one side of the west wall to the end. The sunset view from that window is breathtaking. I do not understand why they did not enjoy it!

To walk from the dining room, i.e. my play area, to the bed room, I had to go through a corridor that leads to the Kitchen and the bedroom. I still remember every inch of this space. The revolving door that is always kept open. To me, it was a challenge. I never knew knew how to use the door stoppers. They were supposed to be high tech for those day... but never worked. Facing this door was a basin and a huge mirror. This mirror made me see myself grow. I still remember the first time I was able to see my face on the mirror without having to stand on the tip of my feet! It was a landmark that my mom talked about for many years later. Even when I became taller than her. Just next to the mirror, there was the kitchen door. Always open. Fridge on the left, and a stove in the front. A huge window kept the smell out in summer. In winter, my father installed a huge fan, he calls it "esperateur" that I was repeatedly told to switch if off before I go to bed. Its switch was high for a todler. Used the tips of my foot. I found it motivating to withness how tall I am getting by noting how high I had to push myself up.

Crossing two doors, I get to the living room. These two doors were the main air condition control of the house. My father used it to control the flow of the air across the house by opening and closing them. Closing the kitchen door while opening the door next to the bathroom ensured a smooth breeze from the balcony without getting the smell from my mom's cooking. Opening both doors and the pool door, ensure a windy passage of air that cooled the house even in the hot weather. My father called it "corrindor".

This whole house was my play gorund shared by no one, until my brother was born.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Memories: Our House on the Roof

My Roof

When I was a little kid, my parents had a house on the roof of my grandfather's building. It was made up of one bedroom, one living room, one dining/sitting room. And a large outer space which extends to the rest of the roof. It was separated by the living room with a wide glass facade. My parents converted this outer space into a garden and a swimming pool. Yes, a swimming pool on the roof of my grandfather's 4 story building.

The swimming pool side was very beautiful. When you are sitting in the dining room, facing the outside wall, you enjoy the sight and sound of a water fall. It was built by my father. You switch on the power, and water falls continuously. It was build with hollow volcanic rocks. The water falls from the top to a small pod surrounded with similar rocks that prevents the water from flooding to the swimming pool. On the other three sides of the swimming pool, a low flower basin carries different types of plants, shrubs and trees. I still remember my mother spreading few artificial, real looking birds, on the short trees. Before my brother was born, my dad used to fill the pool for me and I swam regularly in it. He used to fill it up to one foot deep only. He used to say that more water would make the building collapse. I believed him. I swan on it like a dead fish, facing down, my stomach would hit its bottom and my back was not even covered with water. My mom used tp like feeding us outside. I am fond of these days. Then my brother was born and my dad stopped filling the pool with water. We just enjoyed the water flowing from the waterfall. But the noise of the pump was bit annoying.

Another thing I remember of this open space in the roof is the breathtaking views. Our building was the highest in the neighborhood before 1960. From the west, we would see the Mediterranean sea with its heavenly sunsets throughout the year. I still remember its orangy shadows hitting the east side of our walls reminding me that the time for sleep is soon. On the north side of the roof, you would see the mountains of Lebanon. Far away, always covered with the white top throughout the year.

Riz2allah!
Below I plotted its present location on Google Earth.



View Aboluay Memory Spots in a larger map





Detect language » Arabic

Saturday, June 11, 2011

Memories: My Parental Grandpa and his garden

I have decided today to move my personal memories from my blogger site to here. I do not know really why? I should one day.

Today, I want to talk about my parental grandpa. The last time I had a major interaction with him was when I was 10 years old. I did not have any major interaction with him until he passed away when I was 22 years. He was 85 or so.

My memory reminds me that everybody loved him. Everyone said he was funny and light hearted person. I did not feel that when I was young. He always ignored me. I felt he favored my other cousins, especially my aunts children. Most my direct interaction with him were negative. Either telling me I am not doing something right, ask me to do a tough chore, or criticizing something I am doing. The only positive memory is when I hard him telling my father that my white skin will make me a successful doctor. They kept talking about me for around 5 minutes and how I will heal people the moment they see. Then he called me and said: "When you grow up, you must become a doctor. You should start reading all medicine xxx". And he gave me a bunch of them. If I did not hear him complementing me, I would have thought he was punishing me by forcing me to read these xxx!

My indirect interaction with him were lighter. I still remember when we sit around the table with the large family and crack all these jokes. I did not understand them. But everyone was continuoulsy laughing around the table. This gave me a positive feeling. The only joke I still remember it is his saying: "Money is not yours, what is yours is what your mouth own. When you eat, praise the lord". It rhymed beautifully in his language. It was like a prayer before eating. It was fun.

The other found memory of him is seeing him working in his garden. Since I was living in the city, this memory is the only experience I have about nature. I admire him for giving me this chance. I remember him taking care of every single plant, flower, tree or pieace of grass. Once he allowed me to water a tree. I was around 7. For me, it was boring. So I played with the hose to make the water dance. Obviously he shouted at me forcing me to stop playing and focus on water the tree. I remember he had different set of roses. I loved their smell. I like to go there, pull down the stem to reach down my nose. Inhale strongly so the smell fells my lungs and give me refreshing strength. You guessed it. He will shout at me because I might break it.

Other fond memory about him was during the festivities. He would come to our house and give us money. the moment he walks in, the whole house will become filled with laughter and joy. He was a man who can set the mood. I still remember his bedroom which had a huge mirror attached to a beautiful antique dresser where many items were placed there. One of them contained caramel drops. I used to be thrilled when he gives me one piece. Although I did not know how to eat it until I was 7! I used to think it is a chewing gum and try hard to break it with my teeth instead of sucking it. I can blame my week teeth this incident.

Another memory about him when I was older... maybe aroung 16. When my family talked about his walks. He take 2 pounds of orange and walks all around the city eating these oranges. He ends the day on the beach where he watches the sunset. Then go back home.

I know about his death when I was reading the newspaper. I went directly to my grandma and spend few days with her. She was strong. She told many stories about him.

The last story I heard about him was 3 years ago, when my uncle told me what happened at his death bed. My uncle said that my grandfather held his hand and whispered: "Love Each Other!". Then he passed away. My uncle still writes this phrase at the end of every email he sends me.

Jido Abousohail, that was his name, had a lot of impact on my life. Ala yerhamou.

Jido Abo Souhail in His Garden
My grandpa, in his garden with my sister (in the middle) and my grandma (on the right)



لم تنظر لي الحفيد الخاصة. شعرت أنه كان لطيفا مع أكثر


Detect language » Arabic