ihath

Acrylic on Canvas
16x20 inches

I am like a Christmas tree right now. All my emotions are blinking on and off like Christmas tree lights. I feel everything. I feel sad, angry, bitter, happy, relieved, free. Emotions come over me like waves and then go away only to be struck by the next one. One minute I am crying, next I feel happy and optimistic. “What doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger” goes the saying. I don’t want to get stronger, I am strong already. Only one light is acting unusually. A little yellow light, right under the bottom left corner of my heart, it is always on and doesn’t show any interest in blinking. Even the pixels on my laptop’s screen are acting funny. It has a few dots that blink red when they are supposed to be black. In sympathy with my Christmas tree state, my laptop has decided to follow.

I am not worried about getting through this, I know I will. I don’t care if I get stronger or not, it is all the same to me. I am worried about the type of person I will emerge as. I catch myself being not myself. “This is so not me, this is so so not me” I find myself thinking. Just last week I caught myself watching the movie Sleepless in Seattle. I never watch those pathetic Hollywood romantic comedies. They are stupid and saccharine pieces of puff pastry stuffed with sentimentality. These movies are fluff with no substance. I like serious movies, intelligent movies, hard hitting movies. I enjoy French cinema, world cinema, movies that maintain artistic integrity and I follow directors that practice their trade with the assumption that audience has brains. But for some reason I found myself yearning for corniness of the happy ending and indulging in the banality of not considering the ever after. “This is so not me, this is so so not me”, I kept telling myself. I am really worried about myself, what is next? I will start reading a harlequin novel? ..... Aaaaaah! No! ...... I hope I never catch myself in that stale pit of triteness. My current state of degradation is bad enough. Thank god I don’t own a T.V. set or otherwise I would start following soap operas ... I can’t decide which would be worse.

I am worried about the state of my heart at the end of this. Just last year I was sitting in coffee shop in Jerusalem with my daughter on a touristic visit, we were eating breakfast. A middle aged man sat across from us and without taking a breather began to flatter me with all sorts words of flowery compliments. He even asked me, pointing at my daughter “Is this your sister?” ... Ah! ... whatever. “I wonder what this guy is selling?” I found myself thinking cynically. Well sure enough, 15 minutes later it emerges that the man is a tourist guide and he was offering us his services to take us on tour of the city, for reasonable fee. I thanked him for the offer but assured him that I know my way around the city. As we were leaving my daughter commented “Wow! Mom that man is in love with you”. I was so touched by her naiveté. I tried to explain to her how people use flattery to sell things or services. How flattery is an effective tool with dim-witted people to get what you want out of them. But my daughter, only 13 at the time, insisted that the man was taken by me. Although I am certain that my version of events is the correct one, I felt envy at the fantastic world she lives in, where everybody says only what they truly mean. O I lived in that world for a long long time. Too long really. But the wild tiger of reality came along and prayed on the slow deer of my innocence. I explained my point of view to my daughter but not too forcefully. Later on that same day we went to the old city of Jerusalem with is busy markets and hustle and bustle locals shopping for daily needs. As we walked by, a merchant yelled at me “ I love your scarf!”. I said thank you politely and moved on quickly trying hard not to engage in any further discussion. My daughter looked adoringly at the colourful scarf wrapped around my neck and commented “Wow! Mom that scarf is really beautiful” as if noticing it for the first time, even though she saw me wearing it many times before. Again, I tried to explain to her that the merchants in the old city of Jerusalem are supper aggressive. If they even smell a faint hint of a tourist, they will do anything to engage you in a discussion, after which they muscle you into their store and then try to pressure you to buy silly trinkets for exuberate prices. That the comment on my scarf is nothing but the start of an elaborate sales pitch. “No mom, I think the man really liked your scarf”, was my daughter’s determined response. O ! to be that innocent again. I took off the scarf and unwrapped it from around my neck. I am not in any hurry to wisen her to the ways of this world . “Let her enjoy being foolish for a little longer” I thought to myself as I wrapped it around her neck.

Only a child protected by a loving family can maintain a high state of naiveté, but I am worried that I am going too far in the other direction. Is it possible to have all the knowledge that I have and all the experiences that I had, yet not become a cynic? I used to think that the answer was a resounding yes. But now in my blinking state, I am seriously worried. This is so not me. This is so so not me. Will I still recognize myself at the end of this?

I hope my private Christmas season will not last as long as it does in a north American mall. Rudolf the red rose reindeer, Meg Ryan in yet another tooth aching happy ending, I will go eat a puff pastry and hope the closings credits rolls soon.

Next time do the Iraqi thing and throw your shoe at the president. Given the state of the country it is clear that the Iraqi way is not always the best, but it is always more entertaining.

I read in the news that Muntadhar al-Zaidi, the Iraqi journalist who threw his shoe at the then US President George Bush, is being released from prison this week. Perhaps Rep. Joe Wilson can hire him as a consultant to teach him proper Iraqi shoe throwing technique. President Obama would do well to take lessons from former US president on Iraqi shoe ducking. It doesn't matter what you think of the former president, George Bush, you have to acknowledge that his ducking instincts where sharp in the face of the Iraqi shoe.

I feel that I am wading through sludge.

Every day is a fun trip to the sludge entertainment park. I ride the sludge roller coaster, go to sludge splash down park to prepare myself for the heavy duty amusement to follow. Then I take a mat and head to sludge super slide, where I experience a gut-twisting gliding motion right before I drop into a big barrel of sludge. Thanks to modern technology, I get the opportunity to experience vertical circular movements while swinging around the same trajectory. O the thrills of looping around 360 degrees while getting sprayed with sludge fountains that are synchronized to music. After a day full of fun hair-raising rides I suddenly find myself dropped in an endless pool of sludge, which I spend the rest of the day wading through.




Sometimes the sludge changes color which keeps my daily adventures interesting. There has been green sludge, purple sludge both have offered an uplifting change from the standard brown sludge. The best has been the sludge that seemed to be peppered with golden fairy dust. It sparkled all over and made me remember lights at the end of tunnels. But, golden fairy dust sludge is rare. Most of the time I get to wade through industry standard dark brown sludge. Don’t worry! .... the smell is not so bad. In fact, it only bothered me the first couple of days, I am so used to it now, I hardly notice it. To cheer myself up, I wear fancy wading pants. I might as well look good if I am going to be wading through sludge. My favourite are the red wading pants with big white polka dots. Although once I am all covered by sludge nobody can see that I am wearing my fancy red wading pants with white polka dots, wearing them gives me an instant confidence boost, which I am sure improves my attitude about the whole thing. I also like wearing my Body Shapers wading pants. They provide smooth and slick look to my body line, eliminating bulging on the thighs and the tummy control panel provides a firm look. I look like I have lost 10lbs when I put my Body Shaper wading pants in the morning. Too bad that once I am all covered in sludge nobody can tell my body shape any way. But I figure that if I ever manage to wade my way out of the sludge, I want to look slick. My favourite however are the designer wading pants that come with eyelash lace trim and refined butterfly stencil. This delicate yet sturdy creation makes me feel like a princess or a goddess of the olden enchanted days. Back when a damsel in distress could always count on a knight in shining armour to rescue her. But, just in case you live in the post hero modern days, these wading pants are chest height making it hard to wade in too deep. Also they come with an electronic cooling and heating device which I set on auto-regulation setting to guarantee optimum temperature throughout my wading experience. They also have extra seems which allow for more freedom of movement. Although I love my designer wading pants, I have only worn them twice. I find that dry cleaning with the lace trim too high. The dry cleaner mentioned that he never had to clean sludge out of lace and rebuked me for misusing such a delicate creation in a harsh activity. “Hey! They are wading pants. What do you expect me to do in them? Dance the Macarena?” I replied.

I don’t like anything about this sludgorama world. I don’t even like myself in it. Well! At least I haven’t lost my sense of humour. So I guess there one thing I do like. Hopefully I won’t lose it in this sludge bath.

Patience.

I am told I need to learn patience. For there are no short cuts and no efficient ways to get through this.

I have many great qualities and patience is not one of them. I face life’s challenges head on and straight ahead. No nonsense approach is my favourite approach. Just get on with it. I have no time for wallowing in self pity. No patience for bemoaning the unfairness of this world. “Who care? It is what it is and you just need to deal with it. Get on with it. Snap out of it. Do what needs to get done.” I usually tell myself. But standing here, in this endless pool of sludge with no solid shore in sight, none of my usual vices seems to be working. The harder I work the more sludge is generated. My friend tells me that I need to read “The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle”. I tell her my power of now is “I want it now, right away, all at once”. She laughs at my foolishness and tells me “that is exactly why you need to read the Power of Now”. I am still traumatized after listening to friend’s recommendations to read “The Secret”. I felt my IQ was assaulted exponentially as I read it. I actually feel embarrassed by the fact that I read it. O the stupid things we do when we are desperate. I don’t need to read a book, I just need to use my common sense.

I refuse to learn patience. It is just not me. Patience is not my personality. I hate waiting for stuff, even the bus, even waiting in line at the supermarket. I am determined that this experience will not ruin my essence and teach me patience. I guess I am stubborn that way. Patience is for people who have nothing better to do that wait for stuff. Why wait for stuff when you can just run out and grab it? Yalla, yalla, andele, andele, come on and hurry up and get on with it. I want to snap my fingers to hurry things up. I am standing and fidgeting. Shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I am looking at my watch. I am biting my lower lip. Pulling at my hair. Tapping one foot, the other foot, then tapping my fingers. Are there any other impatient gestures that I can make? I am doing all the impatient stuff that I know how to do. Perhaps I should jump up and down? Maybe I should kick some object? Perhaps there is some secret impatient gesture that I don’t know about.I might try dancing the macarena in my designer wading pants after all.

I feel that I have been wading through this sludge for weeks. But at least I am not drowning in it. I will not learn patience.