Bibliophile

 

"My name is whatever you decide and I'm just gonna call you mine:YOU WILL BE MINE. YOU WILL BE MINE. YOU WILL BE MINE ALL MINE" 

That right there is a Swift/Rolling Stones mash-up...

I digress... What's on my mind?

Fret

I fret. 

How do I organize my bounty?  

What happens when your book collection is disorganized?

What I mean to say, I mean... I'm not trying to anthropomorphize books, but I'm inclined to anthropomorphize books. 

After all, there's a lot to consider: personalities, genres, tone...

Would it be considered offensive for Camões' The Lusiads to be placed next to Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter?

What does Paul Bowles (The Spider's House) have to do with Hermann Hesse (Narcissus and Goldmund)? 

What will Gavin Maxwell's (Lords of the Atlas) neighbor, Amin Maalouf (Ports of Call), think? 

I could be wrong, but my instinct tells me that Carleton S. Coon (The Riffian) might consider it a travesty to be placed next to Tim Mackintosh-Smith (Travels with a Tangerine).

I am a peace keeper. Thus, Mohamed Mrabet's (Stories of Tangier) will referee between the two. 

Who will fall from grace?   Will I have to build a wall? The wall?

Perhaps 'they' will just all have to duke it out together and let the cards fall where they may. There is great potential for this to be the most organic solution amongst these strong personalities.  

 A heap. The motherlode.  I hit the deep vein in Rabat. Dragging JC & J-Bird across town to Mohammed Belhaj's English BookShop, I indulged in my indulgence... Don't blame me. Books make me crazy. If they don't you ain't doing it right. This drug I'll be perusing all my life (yes, it's a strange nod to T.Swift...). 

So yea, there you have it. I've admitted my weakness. Intervention. Nah. I cross the line, everytime.

It was a delightful find, Mr. Belhaj's English BookShop. He's famous, you know. He has this saying: 

                If you don’t have wrinkles on your forehead, says Mohammed Belhaj, 

                the books you’re reading aren’t making you think enough.

Because we were on a mission, I allotted only 30 minutes max to my endeavor. In the end, I lugged around 8 books as we made our way to Hassan Tower, the unfinished 12th Century mosque/miniaret. 

The End.

 

 

Hmmm just found this in the drafts folder... Let's just publish it. I wonder what it is. Oh well... going down the rabbit hole, I'm sure

With intensity increasing, I press on forward. The steps are solid. It feels good to firmly place one foot after the other. I feel whole. On track in my trajectory. 

Stroke the stoke: winning. 

Various avenues of my life are in sync: work, friends, family, looking to the future, learning lessons from the past, keeping up with the present, reading, writing, studying continental Portuguese, working out, running, etc. 

Matriarch. This word keeps coming up with my family talk sessions. There is such beauty in coveting tradition. Each generation must take action to continue to keep the torch lit as older generations pass. 

Legacy. As an anthropologist, I'm obsessed with legacy. This past summer was eye-opening. I learned a lot about myself, my family connections, circle of friends, and where I'm headed. I feel honored to have such abundance in my realm. 

It's the little things.  Texting back and forth with one of my brothers, for example. Our exchanges are so interesting. We randomly get a hold of each other to bring attention to such mundane things. Most always, a long conversation ensues that involves so many life dimensions; memories of when young, political pundits and podcasts we're currently listening to, recipes, links to old movies to watch, etc. 

Writing Exercises. One of my cousins is involved in a writing group, along with one of our neighbors back at the family compound. They've been at it for many years.  Another friend, a writer experiencing incremental successes in the publishing world, as well as rejections, also inspires me. As a result, I've finally did it.  I've put together a budding writers group. My hope is it will blossom into something consistent. We are researching weekly topics and how to run a writers group. It's fascinating: brain porn in fact. 

 Another fancy of mine is to learn how to write book reviews. I've spent the past 15 years delving into various literary genres. My love for book possession borders on obsession. Again, brain porn. I'm addicted.  Reading is SO sexy. Reading is SO stimulating. My next goal is literary debate. Another friend has been doing their MA in creative writing, so I hound him each semester to give me the pdf of the class book list. 

 I might be sequestered away in a unique part of the world

 

6 May, 2024 Communique from The Cradle of Civilization

 Bewitching Hour Communique

6 May, 2024

Sulimani, Iraqi Kurdistan

my lanai

These coordinates have been a big chapter in my life, I ponder. Tiny white lights glimmer in the dark crispness of early early morning. The Bewitching Hour moving picture show fading into the coming day. The cacophony of neighborhood street dogs. Their solitary barks morph into a synchronous chorus. A motorcycle joins in the music-scape.

I've been pretty content in this cell-block; a willing detainee indeed! I've evolved as does this chapter. I'll migrate into my next chapter. I sense exhiliration. I feel elation. It's not a stretch to express a sense of funky delerium-ness in this moment. Destination Known, yet Destination Unknown, and this is my dance. Imma just Boogie on Down, on Down... As Earth, Wind & Fire sang:

Just move yourself and glide like a 747
And lose yourself in the sky
Among the clouds in the heavens cause

 

So, yea. I'm obviously hijacking the song's meaning to one of Boogieing down the runway in my 747 cruising through the sky passing clouds in the heavens cause... I'm moving on to the next chapter!

Dawn nears. The early birds have since stirred and composing birdsongs. Neighborhood lights are twinkling as a car engine starts up. Another type of early bird stirs; perhaps holding their to-go cuppa joe as they head out to bring home the bacon.

 

Joining the birdsong in this moment is early morning call to prayer. I wonder how it will sound during the Bewitching Hour at my next Destination Known. 

...aaaaaand the universe suddenly throws a (not-so-random-for-this-time-of-year) crack of lightning and thunderbolt into the mix.  I DIG THIS DJ TONIGHT!

A light breeze wafts through my moving picture show. Call to prayer turning up a few decibels. Everything feels ecstatic. 

And now, quietly creeping through the early morning hours of The Cradle of Civilization- stillness.

Back in the Cradle (of Civilization) again

Once Upon a Time in Mesopotamia was Gaziantep.

Second time is a charm: Sulaymaniyah

A thin veil of fog descending from the heavens begins to cloak the twinkling city lights. Will it fall to this Earth that I’ve been walking for some years? Probably not, but it’s just enough to close off this Bewitching Hour episode.

-peace

Smells like Jasmine

 

 

 

Each new year since 2010 (yes, this is still 'THE new year) my instinctual internal alarm clock sounds off. There's no way to snooze this alarm.  It is part of me. It IS me. It is a rite of passage marking my transformation into... I don't exactly know. What I do know is that I somehow treat it as a privilege; something I am honored to have been privy to. Some sort of secret society that myself and a few others were inducted into. 

I've written about the events of the Arab Spring throughout the years. I found this text in my files that I am apt to so cleverly code-name as a rule. So clever that I can't find them anymore. As well, I need to fire up the old much-neglected Mac Book Air to conduct my investigations. Most the evidence I uncover has nothing to do with my intentions; food scraps in between the keyboard, old post-its still adhered to with my most important passwords of yore, old photos that I never see since the mysterious 'Cloud' has stopped uploading photos to currently running devices...

This text is from years back; a submission to the Hawaii chapter of the Teaching English as a Second Language (HI TESOL) organization.  I need it to submit a writing sample for another organization, so I figured it's a fitting time to repost it anyway since 'we' (those of us in this secret society) just rang in our 13th anniversary... Enjoy

Is That Jasmine I Smell in My Revolution: Thoughts on Teaching in Tunisia during the Arab Spring

 

Setting the Scene

 

The following is a commentary about my experiences teaching English at Amideast during the events of the ‘Jasmine Revolution’ as it has been coined. Tunisia is a small unassuming country bordered by Algeria to the west and Libya to the east in a region called the Maghreb. The Sahara Desert is south and the Mediterranean Sea greets its northern border. Tunisia’s history extends back in time encompassing many waves of inhabitants dating back to the original desert Berber populations to the seafaring Phoenicians ruling the coastal regions over 3000 years ago. Also passing through for a minute were Romans, Ottomans, and, until more recently, French colonial rule.

 

It was December, 2009 and I was fresh from graduate school and eager to start teaching English abroad. My previous, and quite successful, career had been as an archaeologist and cultural anthropologist here in the Hawaiian Islands for the past fifteen years. I felt that these two disciplines would complement each other and give me a well-rounded career bath where my background would give me a slight edge concerning my deficiency in actual teaching experience. Before I started the master’s program at The New School in New York City, I had never been inside an ESL classroom before.

 

Fast forward to Tunis. Arriving mid-summer in 2010 during Ramadan, the Islamic month of fasting, the die was cast: A new chapter of my life was starting with, “Once upon a time in a far-away land…” I had already experienced Ramadan observances while temporarily living in Istanbul a few years earlier, so I knew to be respectful and refrain from drinking and eating in public and at school in front of my students. It’s the “when in Rome” concept that has everything to do with cultural sensitivity.

 

 

I had been teaching in Tunis for four months before this complete upheaval, that would eventually become permanently tattooed in my memory that I continue to wear as a badge of honor of sorts, unfolded. I had just begun to get into a steady rhythm of life in this north African city: my students were enthusiastic learners, I met friends, I learned basic Arabic words to get by, etc. During this time, I also discovered a new passion: I roamed the backstreets of the neighborhoods each weekend before meandering through the narrow passages of the souk and getting lost.

 

 

Talk Story; in What Language?

 

Tunisians are natural language learners. They are both diglossic and bilingual language speakers. The Tunisian Arabic dialect has no written system, yet they have a standardized written language. As a former French protectorate, education was heavily influenced by the French educational system, and Tunisians learn French early on in their schooling. French is the ‘official’ language of Tunisia, resulting in code-switching in contextual usage. Add another language, like English, and rise to the super-status of polyglot-ism. (Is that even a word?)

 

Inside the Classroom

 

I recall my academic director explaining to me that Tunisian students expected their instructors to know all the answers to their questions, so if a student were to ask me a question, and I couldn’t answer it, instead of saying, “Okay, let me get back to you on that after break,” I was supposed to run out of the class and race to the teacher’s room and ask around in there for the answer or go online to get the answer and then return to class… As a new instructor, this made me quite nervous. But again, when in Rome…

 

And So the Revolution Begins

 

At the start, that first day, the air inside the classroom was suddenly different. I would look up at my students before class while I was writing on the whiteboard and they would be talking, as usual, but more uncomfortably. They were shifting their eyes, quietly, and whispering in Arabic- not English or French. The next day, I directed my attention to them and said, “I know what you are talking about, but I don’t know what you are saying.” Because of the advanced stage of protesting going on, there was no way to avoid the topic, so I decided to tackle it directly. This was in my Level Four class where students were younger, and Ben Ali, the country’s president, had been in power longer than they had been alive.  

 

In the ensuing days, class dynamics changed. What was most interesting to me was observing my students becoming their most fluent selves when discussing their opinions on what we were experiencing in daily life now. They excitedly debated with each other over their opinions, possibilities of freedom, new daily events, etc.

 

“Teacher, we have been silent for so long.”

Teacher, we have never been able to watch YouTube without using a proxy until now.”

 

Class Dismissed

 

Little did I know this class was to be my last class become Amideast closed down until further notice. The unrest and violence had finally arrived to Tunis from down in the south, in Sidi Bouzid, where it started. What was to follow was two of the most frightening days I have ever experienced.  Tunis was shut down to the point where the main event of the day could be waiting in a bread line in the morning for two hours and hurry back home before curfew started up again. Constant shouting, helicopters circling, and gunfire dominated the darkness along with the wafting smell of tear gas.

 

During these days, there wasn’t much for us teachers to do; we all kept in touch via social media and met up for coffee after the morning food runs and before curfew fell again. Many of my students were calling, checking up on me, and asking if I needed anything.

 

Wrapping up the Revolution

 

In the end, I had to make the decision to leave Tunisia as it had been almost a month since the school closed down and the dictator, Ben Ali, had fled the country, but the city was still a disaster and protesting continued.

 

I am now back on Maui working, but have accepted a position teaching English at a university in southeastern Turkey. I can be reached at hjform@gmail.com or you can follow my blog which relays my experiences living abroad and teaching.  In fact, you should follow my blog as I haven’t even delved into being out on the streets in Tunis that fateful day, January 10, 2011, when I was with my friend, another instructor at Amideast, and he got shot… And then the dash to the hospital… And then the ensuing days of intense action on the streets… And then…

2024.Dream.Cream.Steam.Machine.

 2024.Dream.Cream.Steam.Machine. 

In other words... Stroke the Stoke; A Continuation...

 

 

Up in the air @ 36,000 ft., many things orbit my consciousness. Such an orbit traversed yesterday. All day yesterday.  The penultimate sunset of 2023 started off getting off of a train. Well, first a bus. I navigated my way through typical Portuguese streets of Small-Town Portugal, in Ílhavo. I found my bus-stop, engaged in some local niceties with fellow bus-commuters, and made my way to the charming Aveiro Train Station. Yes, the old train station, decked out in classic white stucco with traditional Portuguese azul azulejos, is to basic, yet so incredible simultaneously, for my love affair with Portugal continues. Never has a country captivated me as much - only being eclipsed by Turkey. By captivating I mean ease. More specifically, feeling at ease engaging in all facets of life. Sure it's so different, challenging even, but that's what moves me- really moves me, you know?

As I often do, I digress. But, what the fuck; this is my blog, and I'm not necessarily going to be bullied into any dogmatic genre of writing, thinking, doing, etc. I mean, who the fuck ever came up with 'stream of consciousness' anyway? I don't know the answer (perhaps one of my readers will enlighten me), but I'm glad I understand the concept!  Shout out to Ulysses!

Double Digress

• What's happening in Suli?
• What's happening in Iraq w/the Iraqi Dinar?
• How's the progress going in Portugal?
• Will I make it back in time for class on Tuesday, or will I miss my flight to Suli (late start in Madrid)?
• Why didn't I buy those Prada sunglasses at Francisco Sá Carneiro Airport (Porto) Duty Free?
• Why did this time leaving Portugal feel so different?
• What's happening next summer?
• Why didn't I give that dude my # (he can find me on social media, I suppose, or... chalk it up simply to 2 ships passing by in the night along those exotic shipping lanes)?
• Did I bring back enough Portuguese sausage? 

3.2.1 GO

Off and running, I was.  Trying to escape Iraq is complicated. I mean to say that flight options are limited up here in Kurdistan. And expensive. So, I paid dearly to fly through King Hamad Airport (Qatar), and I better had enjoyed it. I think it did; I made my flight! Qatar Airways has been pretty good to me overall though. I mean, I'm not in the habit with getting bumped up to business class very often, but if so, it's been with Qatar. 

So does anyone remember that commercial in the 70s (or YouTube) of Joe Namath running through the airport? That's how I felt. Okay, I just fact-checked myself; the Joe Namath commercial was of him wearing pantyhose (yes, you should remember THAT one-back when shit wasn't politicized), and the airport commercial was with O.J. Simpson for Hertz Rental Cars... That fact just defeated my point, if there was one. I made my flight after flying through Terminal A to Terminal S, and so did my luggage (with said Portuguese sausage & village-crafted cheese(s). 

2024, so far

Flying at night has always captivated me. Observing the landscape illuminated by dots that make-up our existence just makes me feel so... wondrous. How did we all get to this point? What the fuck IS it about colonialism (my mind wanders- perhaps something to do with the whiskey/cokes on the Madrid flight). 

Suddenly I see colored lights down below- somewhere over Saudi Arabia. I know as I was completely consumed watching Bahrain come in/out of my moving picture show minutes earlier. There was the Causeway, linking up Saudi Arabia to Bahrain- in more ways than one, I can say, from living in Bahrain and understanding the complexity of the situation on the weekends! 

Fireworks exploding beneath the airplane! What a non-stop show I had following the coastline up to Kuwait. The bursts of color distracting me, soon enough we were touching down onto Sulimaniyah landscape. It was an interesting route, though Iraq, the airplane took. I suppose due to flight restrictions and politics dictated our route. We flew right over Nasirayah & Baghdad, keeping to the west instead of staying east (mountains/Iranian side), which is the usual route I am familiar with. 

We followed the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. For a moment I let my thoughts wander. Soon enough I was staring down at the lands of the Marshes- a fascinating region of Iraq that I will visit later this year. It's been on my list for so long. It was a hypnopompic experience, which I have familiarity with. 

Training one's mind- think Jedi Mind Tricks here.  I would say, if I had to try to box 'myself', that I come from a background of stoicism. My world was pretty ordered, as far as what I noticed, growing up. As I went out 'on the road' after high school, I came into so much unfamiliar stimuli, or stimuli that I educated myself on, yet never experienced. I've run with 'it' ever since- never looking backwards with regrets. Higher consciousness turns on all my buttons.

Back on the airplane... I was reflecting on conversations with friends and family over the past few days.  One friend in particular was describing about setting their intentions for 2024. I've never really been this 'type' of person, or so I thought.  Pondering this, I decided that I do in fact set intentions, but I see it more as a casual type of thing; something that I would do on any given day. I guess I can sum it all up as:

 

Dream.Cream.Steam.Machine. 

What it all means to me I cannot easily write out. I know it, though. My quest is to know it intimately. To be it endlessly. If you're following this trajectory you know I know I know it. You know that you know it as well. Last, you know I know that you know it. Reality or Absurdastan you might wonder. It's okay. I know.

Although I consciously set no goals/intentions, they are underlying. I guess I call it 'maintenance'. I thirst to create for myself: suppleness, fierceness, inquisitiveness, reading lists continually being updated, writing rhythms; basically all that in a drama-free existence where I can 'maintain' a balance with home, work, friends, family, money, life. This is dedication to my inner-voice. This means developing intuitiveness, being receptive, strengthening my resolve all to continue to learn to trust my instincts. Keep toxicity at bay. Keep my energy force strong, active, receptive to love. Learn to let go of toxins that try to penetrate my shield. I try. The goal on this highway is peace.

Last, a mention about 'filth'. It's such an abused word. I kinda like it. Sometimes it's necessary to revel in it and don't wash it off until satiated. Yes, honor thyself. 

 

Stroke the Stoke: practice happiness. Cultivate it. Reap it. Share it. BOOM 2024