Journeys of a Bethought Towel-Head.

They say a long walk home can change a heart. I am not really sure thats entirely true. It is without doubt that a journey to under the equator will have its differences. Besides the fact that toilet water flushes the other way around here, the week i'v been here has been very different. Im without doubt as far away from home is possieble. Culture lifestyle and people could not be more of a fire to the ice i had lived in for the past two semesters.

The 4 hour flight from Dubai to Istanbul was one to forget. Cramped spaces, quiet, dull people and a bull-load of annoying constipated faced waitresses made for one awful ride. The silver lining if one existed in this case was the epic food. Marinated smoked turkey with a spread of awesome goat cheese, made me recall my thoughts of busting open the latched cabin door.

Istanbul's airport drenched of boredom. Uncommunicative employees that required a crow bar to break theres mouths open for some pleasent conversation scattered like locust. It was as a drank a cup of pure sugarless coffee, something i'v grown found of lately, that i decided to start writing about my days experience. And to some surprise a coffee drinking neighbor began to write as well. Anxious for a conversation i asked what she usually wrote about. Turns out the neighbor is a political news journalist for a left-wing Norwegian online newspaper, success! The three hours that followed consisted of nothing but hardcore political expression. We ran through every topic that might flow through a analysis's head. I barley felt time pass by, the most mind-stimulating conversation in months. Saying our good byes and exchanging URLs, i parted.

What followed was the longest flight i have ever gone lived through. Fourteen hours of non-stop flight, splitting the Mediterranean in two and crossing the divider that once separated the old world from the new. As i strapped in a familiar lyric rang in my ears. "Sheklu hatha Arabie". I struck right to find tanned Arab faces looking back at me. A father and son who have lived in Brazil most of their lives and are of Lebanese origins took their seats next to me with experience . Seeking help in learning Portuguese, i found them to be very good teachers. They taught me how to say "hello" and "how do you do", phrases i learned from my 10 minute "Learn Portuguese" Youtube lesson, which for some uncanny reason i had forgotten.

It was long, tight and occasionally smelled. The food rocked again and was the headline of the trip. Music was fine and i managed to listen to the always awesome "Mumford and Sons" off of the planes database.

The flight ended and we left for passport control. The bus that took us from the plane to the terminal drove quietly while the people chatted. Some happy to be home others excited about an exotic trip. The air smelled fresh and lacked the anvil of humidity i had gotten used to in Dubai. The airport looked old and a bit run down. A yellow flush painted the hallways and walls a witness to the years of duty this building has served.

Stepping out into where people were supposed to wait for other people, i noticed "Hijabs". Yes the first image i saw of a person in Brazil was that of a Muslim woman and her daughter. A guy came up to me asking if i was "Talao". Considering that it resonated, i said yes. He introduced himself as Rikardo, my host in Sao Paulo, who i had been in contact with before arriving and planned to stay with for the night.

I bid farewell to Bhaa' and Walaa' and hoped to stay in contact if anything happened here in Brazil. We had some traveling in front of us. Rik's house was not close and required almost and hour to get there. Interesting enough we talked about a lot of very cool things. Politics and a lot of music.

I thought i would start writing about my experience in Brazil due to my belief that it will have a huge impact on my life. I hope to keep updating this blog as a sort of Travelers log or diary so that i have it documented for latter times.

21st Century Revolutionaries.

And in the void of darkness there shines a light,

A streak of hope, an end of the plight

In the horizon green fields have overgrown

But the lands that lay before it are chasamed, thorned

Tremble not for your goal is near,

And the martyrs of the twenty-fifth shall never live in fear

And hope for a fate so mellow and calm

That tranquility in it, shall forever live on

But believe not what the tyrant has to say

He does not speak to you with kindness

But reaks of obnoxiousness, observe his sway

West, where the atlas dies and the mountains fade into blue

The sun has shone once again, the people are cleansed, dewed

And a future of better days grows high and low

Far and wide they ride the tides in blissful dhows

To some a black swan that spread it's wings high

Elevating, soaring, gathering colors it flies

The fountain of youth was finally found there,

There, where else but "Liberation Square"

And with burning emotion we purify our streets

Hopeful of tomorrows vibrant beat

Shrug not and scrub hard

For the filth has rooted itself in deep

And for a moment of dispora all thought was due

To let our revolution take the flag,

He sat, he sent his evil swag

Cavalry of barbarians with mighty beasts

Poltroons, chicken livers, spread like weeds

"Baltajeyeh", "Harameyeh", chaos they feed

Down they fell to the Revolutions feet

Trampled beaten on, for their deceit

Revolutionizing the Revolutionary is what we witnessed today

Beatened, bloody and bashed....... they live with no dismay

Some lines to those of the revolution of the twenty fifth of January,

Corruption, degradation, Housni.................. this is your Obituary.

Cerialac, Menthol and a bottle of Sprite.

Through the blunder of our days. The rush of life, sprint of time, hustle of the universe. We ache for a minute of rest. A moment of despora, a breath of thought. As i write this i carry feelings of being cornered. Pickets of confusion, anger, unwillingness are raised. Flags of honor run into battle, crying epic battle cries. Windows of past, present lives shower solutions that make no sense at all. Others soothe our remorse with blurred out images of what shall be. The poetry of sound in the background, the taste of bitterness on your tongue. A breath of smoke blurs your eyesight. The redundancy of failure, little success. The unerring of who you are, what you stand for. The epitome of greatness lingers on your fingertips. Too lazy to get hold of it, it slips away. Rock bottom again. Emotions build, you're there again. You reach out for it and the wind blows it away.   

(Logic)^-1

Growth, development, cultivation. Concepts that sound pretty straight forward to anyone. The idea of people becoming better and learning from there mistakes has always been present to the human mind. From a stand point of science and education that has been the case for a long time now. Not here!

As the overextended holidays came to an end, sparks began to fly. Hopes of a new campus that would no longer require us to travel through the desert was at hand. Aspirations of a newly built library came to thought. No more need for those prolonged creative seasons whose outputs usually were excuses to enter our over-protected, over-rated college of medicine for some study/lunch time. Dreams of finally having restaurants that didn't cause constipation every time they were visited. Oh, the disappointment.

It was if we had left a week ago. Sand was still were it was. Buildings a bit higher, nowhere near finished. Wrapped palm trees stood proud like soldiers on a desert field waiting the command to attack. Unknown faces stood lingering and lost, searching for a clue to what the next move was, as if prey, Freshmen. Old ones greeted each other awkwardly, not really sure how to greet old friends. Maybe he's a 1-1-1, or a 1-3, or just a basic "5ashim", was usually the meditation thoughts before a greet. Some were satisfied with a firm hand shake, recalling old laughs and sinical jokes. Fresh were the people with their smiles. I liked it that way. Trying to milk it for all it was worth. I knew in a months time, sad ghosts would drift the hallways, carrying frowns the size of canoes. A bad first mid-term,  an accident on the way to college, or a delightful dancing professor. It was all to come.

But what bugged me the most was something simple, and very metaphoric. The all new "Saeco" vending machines. Most would wonder how a vending machine could effect anybody. It drew a picture, where man and women, made carts with square wheels. Or when man and women, returned to using tree leafs to clean their behinds. I know the canvas i am drawing is a bit extreme, but truth be told that's what i felt. The "Saeco" machines had no bill slot devices. Which obviously means the damned bloke that wanted something to eat or drink, would need a pocket of coins. Very Genius. Disregarding the fact that the old machines needed to be pounded a couple of times to get what was needed, the new ones required one to go around begging for loose change, giving way to the pounding act, furthering ones place on the "Idiot Spectrum". As an institution that promotes science, growth and education, it is illogical that we go from bad to worse.

Not to be endlessly gloomy and forlorn, there was positive change. We now have two or three new restaurants to try how immune to poison we all are. One, "Bar Wel Baher" was actually very good. They surprisingly served warm "Biryani" with "Bachamel Macaroni" and some barley salted "Butter Chicken". Tasty. Despite the fact the guy serving it had the IQ of a comb, i was very satisfied. Reviews of the others will come. *Evil Laugh fills room of Reader*.

Over-all, i am optimistic. I just dread the possibility that i might have to spend the two years i have left, in the shadow of this reform. I do feel that the university is heading for the better, just not as fast as i hoped it to be. Breaking barriers and transparency are very important. Hopefully, the people on top will read this, giving them a piece of our minds.

This posts song is "Sleeping Sickness" by City and Colour. Thanks to Mishal for this epic trance.

Ramadan; A Chronical of Events

Nothing comes close to the immense feeling of stupidity that follows a perilous dive into the unsure. Truly is the Joy of it compared to that of pooping for the first time, or taking a long awaited bath after a week of exercise and work-outs *Funky*, either of which i unfortunately have no memory of.

But a while back, near the end of yet another holy day of Ramadan, i decided to go running. It had been a long time since i had done anything worth burning calories. From the late night Magluba fetishes, to the fat-filled, soft centered, oh-so-sweet "Date Qatayef", moms Ramadan Trademark (co-patented with my dad), i was getting fatter by the day. All the reason to push me into this long-awaited sprint. As i put on my clothes, a black "Dubai Cares" shirt that brought back memories, but was usually worn because it made me look thinner, which by dear god was dearly needed at that moment. And my florescent red "Miami Heats" shorts. Yes, Miami will win the playoffs this year. Calls of warning and dismay followed me as i exited my home. "Lets run at night called out my little sister". "Don't be stupid, its almost "Iftar" time", howled both my parents. Like a man tenacious of his faith, i left the house. Fumes of different colorful foods painted a mindful canvas as i exited the elevator door. Rainbows of different spices, soups and edible animal parts began to take over my incoherent brain. Their fusions almost caused me to retreat, ALMOST. Resisting the urge to go back up and suffer the humiliation of not being able to complete my ambition, i left the building as fast as i could.

Finally, fresh air. The wind blew softly, and the sky shown with a sanguine orange. The almost empty streets a testament to this holy months daily ritual. And there was even some stragglers committing the my bludgeoned crime. Looking west i witnessed the yellow one melting into the dead horizon, tired after a long days work. Stretching my immobile limbs, i felt alive!

Picking up pace, the wind blew faster. I felt the blood rushing to compensate the lack of oxygen. My lungs were rusty, and out of shape. My heart pounding, overclocked and amazed at the fact it had more to do then pump fat all over the place. As i drew a zig-zaged path behind me, one even "Solid Snake" himself would find hard to track. I noticed a different pallet up ahead. One of rust and poop. Contrasting with the boring grey street, i noticed it from far away. As my nervous system bombarded my brain with signals of "Yes" and "No", my malnourished brain responded with a cynical "Ha Ha, your the man, YOUR EPIC, YOUR FASTING, god is with you!". Forgetful of the fact i was usually either wrong or spitefully over-confident when fasting, i leaped.

And it was in the air that floating scenes of a lot of the very stupid things i had done, flashed before my eyes. Jumping off a high wall, chasing my sister on very unstable steps, and trying to get a rebound off a very tall guy were all dopey causes of some type of injury in the past.

Like a patient coming out of his coma trying to process what had happened just before he slept i looked around. Standing up breathing hard and feeling dim, i tried to recap. And it all came back, the mud, the jump and the memories. The adhesive substance had sent me flying, head forward. My hand began to sting and i noticed i had scraped my right thumb. Blood and mud mixed, it hurt but not as much as my pride. As i observed the scene of the incident, i noticed people staring. Shaking heads flew by with grins perpetuating humiliation. The walk home felt longer for some reason. Ignoring the questionable stares with a head held high and smudged brown, i headed to where i could hide.

Laughter was present that night. Not of this months fails in televised comedy, but of the fact i had gone out for what turned out to be around 7 minutes of exercise and came back with a face full of mud. Turns out getting drenched in mud makes up for some good comic relief in the family. That friends is why you should never not listen to parents, in Ramadan of course. Its like the only time they ever make sense, some sense at least.

This posts' song you have to listen to is the soothing and astronomical "Life On Earth" by Band Of Horses.