Nicole Kidman is going down the stairs; she looks puzzled with the fake nose she is wearing, her co-star in the Hours asks her about her sleep. She pauses then replies “uneventful”.

Such a small and unexpected word, but tells the deep frustration that Virginia Wolf was feeling; a writer and creative woman stuck in a house where she believes the maids are out to get her and her husband is guarding her. Blocked from every simple experience in life in a way that is meant to calm her illness but rather agitated it. Feeling imprisoned in her own clothes and caring only for finding a breather out of her golden cage.

She ended up killing herself by drowning herself in a river with heavy stones in her pockets.

I know I’m sort of obsessed with The Hours lately; I quoted it in an earlier post and watched it again not a week ago. I remember seeing it over eight years ago in a local screening of it. It was censored and in bad quality yet it felt so endearing to see these stories of these three women as they each face her own version of the life of Mrs. Dalloway. I watched again with an ex of mine who was obsessed with Wolf’s book: he had email address with Mr. Dalloway as a nickname and the likes. I guess that my relationship with Mr. Dalloway was the closest I came to a real relationship in my life. Alas, like all good things in life; it’s over: and this post is not about it today.

However, I’m positively sure that Mr. Dalloway would roll his eyes when he reads this post: if ever.

I remember walking up in Cairo with a new project each week: I joined a choir once, I acted in an independent movie, I DJed in some parties and even throw couple of my own. I wrote couple of books and became a published author. I befriended half of the foreign scene in Cairo and was heard about by the other half.
I wrote article after article about things that I found interesting; published them on websites and on newspapers. I was well-paid, despite believing otherwise back then, and I enjoyed multiple trips around the country and the region. I went on a wondering trips to Aswan and Istanbul and a relaxing trips on the Red Sea and as far as Malaysia (with the help of Mr. Dalloway, who I’ll be thankful for until the end of my days).

Egypt is the land where I matured; where I allowed my talents to evolve into actual work. I become a person there; I became a human being that is worthy of the gift of living.

For the last fourteen months, I lost my life-drive and I have been looking for in vain.
Since I returned to Syria; I discovered that what life offers in Egypt is nowhere to be found in Syria. What used to be a fulfilling, youth driven, cultural movement is taking over by old minds and old heart professors who discuss the work of each other in traditional Arabic while speaking in a pseudo-cultural way and only accepts people who looks cultural in their circles. By looking cultural, you have to be wearing shirts (no funky t-shirts), wear glasses, smoke cheap cigarettes and speak about the deep horizontal feeling in the dramatically enhanced pro-modernist work of God-knows-who. Basically, you have to look like a paedophile (or a serial killer) and speak gibberish.
The local screening of interesting documentaries is replaced with screenings of government-approved Syrian melodramas that might cause you unexplained symptoms such as sudden snoozing and uncontrollable yawning. Fitness centres are filled with muscle hungry boys and make-up showcasing ladies. Yoga and aerobic classes are learned from methods created back in the late eighties. Late night bar hopping ends around 11.30PM when everyone just go to sleep. Also, the situation in Syria killed the very few interesting events replacing them with “spontaneous” youth movements that works under slogans supporting the regime.
I’m bored to tears here; if I didn’t die of a stray bullet or unexpected explosion, I believe that I’ll die of boredom.
My life here is so uneventful and after getting used to the news, to hearing of the deaths of friends and the arrest of relatives and the maze political struggles, the only thing I don’t think I can ever get used to is how uneventful life is.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: