Zainab Al-Ghazali's Memoir in Nasir's Prison

When I attended a talk by Wael Ghoneim at the London School of Economics in January I was quite surprised when he briefly referred himself to the crowd as not a fan of the late President Jamal Abd al-Nasir. I asked my father why... and I learnt he had imprisoned quite a considerable number of Ikhwan Al-Muslimun (Muslim Brotherhood) members. So the dude made some mistakes.. I had not been aware of how grievous these mistakes were until I read Zainab Al-Ghazali Al-Jubaili's memoir of her time in Prison under Nasir's reign.

Al-Ghazali was an active president of the Muslim Ladies' Group in the early sixties. And had given her life to the cause of Islam at the tender age of 18. She swore allegiance to the founder and leader of the Muslim Brother hood, Hassan Al-Banna, only shortly before he was assassinated by Nasir's secret police. Under Nasir's rule the brotherhood was supposedly disbanded but Al-Ghazali and two other men helped in restoring it. Ironically, nasir was one a member of the brotherhood too. I doubt he started off bad, but he probably ended up evil... which seems to be the trend among Egyptian presidents.

Al-Ghazali describes in her book, her distaste of the Egyptian society's lacking moral conduct (having been influenced by the British) and it's rulers who seemed content at it's lack of Islamic practise. She and a few others then created a plan to educate the youth in the matters of Islam in order to endorse a practising society and eventually establish an Islamic state.

In the 60's Nasir had experienced a failed assassination by the Ikhwan al-Muslimun, this resulted in thousands upon thousands of members being imprisoned under the emergency law (which still presides in Egypt to this day thanks to Sadat and Mubarek), where men and women were snatched from their homes and thrown into military prison with no warrant, allegation or even suspicion. The accused were then tortured to provide names and information about the assassination and attempts at future assassinations... not knowing they had given the group further motive for assassination.

Al-Ghazali's tale was just one of many who remain unnamed and unacknowledged, but her tale took such a wide public notice when she was released from prison in 1971 because she was a woman, and no one had any idea a woman could have been treated so brutally by the state. She resided in military prison for approximately 2 years, where she was starved, whipped, beaten, crucified, set at by mice, snakes and starved dogs. She was made to sit in a room of filthy water and beaten if she moved or slept. She was suspended in the air, hanging upside and given 500 lashes (five times the amount of the Islamic punishment for fornication), then put back in the cell of water or thrown to dogs. She was dragged from prayer, given nothing to drink, humiliated and forbidden from the toilet for days on end. The cycle would repeat itself until she wrote down a false confession or gave names of relevance, which she simply didn't do, she just became so close to death that she had to be hospitalised several times.

Naturally, one cannot easily understand her experience, perhaps only those who have experienced the same pain and torture can truly empathise with her. But her faith (Iman) in Allah was truly inspiring as she described how she would recite chapters of the Quran, or repeat the 99 names of Allah while being tortured to get her through it. Growing thicker skin in the process was probably inevitable and so some of her words I found too strong, she had undoubtedly developed a passion against the government and believed the Nair regime to be acting so wholly ungodly. I'll admit that I did not agree to every word she said, but what was undeniable was her strength of character, her gutsy bravery and her true adoration for her religion and the one God. She and the brotherhood suffered what no humans could possibly endure yet she bore it all with the strength of Allah and that in itself is evidence to His presence.

She was very delicate when writing about the attempted rapes against her, she described a few encounters, one where the soldier wished to do her no harm and was subsequently beaten and shot for acting against orders. The other encounter was where the soldier begged her to confess to something or say any names, she naturally refused as she had been doing all along, and when he approached her she bit down on his neck, the next thing she knew... a body was lying in front of her (her captors were obviously shocked, she says it was Allah who gave her strength to protect her self). The third attempt was where her torturer said he ordered a group of men to be intoxicated by alcohol and hashish before she was to be thrown at them, but in fact they had become so intoxicated that they had to be hospitalised. These events show she had been protected, but if she had been really raped, which seems inevitable for a woman in a military prison for two years, then I doubt she would have written about it, it probably being too disturbing for her to repeat.

Despite the pain she went through, the saddest thing about the book I found was the role of doctors, they would check on the inmates only to keep them alive for further torturing; bringing them back to conscious with smelling salts when they had passed out from too much torture.

I cannot portray how much this book affected me. In some ways I feel ashamed, in other ways I feel betrayed. But the most certain effect on me has been the reaffirmation of my faith, that despite living a cyclic routine in a busy modern city, Allah is always there, affecting everything I do. I hope Zainab Al-Ghazali's books and biography continue to inspire future generations to come.

Why working with doctors can induce hypertension.

Whenever my Manager at work asks me to go to the ward to set up a patient with overnight ventilation treatment, I internally groan. This reluctance is the direct result of a combination of three things:

1. The patient is too ill to comprehend, hear or understand what I'm saying. In a role where communication is key, having difficulty channelling information seriously sets me back, normally on time (and sometimes on patience). I don't have anything against ill patients, most of them are lovely people, but when you've already been rushing around all morning and stressed all afternoon; facing challenging patients is the last thing you want.
2. The doctor is annoying. This has been the case usually. I have worked with only a small range of doctors, but in each one I found something to get annoyed at. If it wasn't egotism, or mismanagement, or even ignorance, then it was definitely the doctor's negligence towards the patient's mere presence, if not mine. I remember one actually talked about how I was going to do my job without even introducing me to the patient or the patient's translator. Actually there was one that I found tolerable, and that was because he didn't say much but actually asked questions as opposed to acting like he knew it all. 
3. The patient has run away smoking and no one in the entire hospital can track him down, even after several hours of absence. 

My ward work this week had to spread over 3 days. The first day I was told by my Manager that a patient at a different hospital needed an emergency sleep study done. Normally we don't do such things as the studys need to be booked in advance as the sleep centre only have a limited number of ambulatory recording devices used to study the patient while asleep. However the patient was moved to our hospital and I was sent to wire him up. A consultant had demanded it be done, so it was done, and done it was. So I went, and did it, but I felt sorry for the patient because he had to be wired up 6 hours before he actually went to sleep. The patient, thankfully, did not complain.

The next morning I removed the wires and immediately analysed the data. What I saw was one of the most severest forms of obstrucive sleep apnoea I had ever found, it was right up there in the top 3 most severe OSA cases I had ever analysed (Oxygen saturation level would drop into the 50% range occasionally). Poor man, I couldn't even imagine how he lived! I talked it over with the consultant a few hours later during which he spoke to the registrar on the ward, five minutes later a request form was placed into my hands to set the patient up on treatment. I told the doctor in the same instant that I would be at the ward before four pm. This was at 14.30.

I get to the ward in a rush because I had so little time and so much to do, but I reached the ward at 3.35. I went to the patient' bed to find... a bed. No patient either ontop, beside or under it. I searched the room thoroughly.

I ask the doctor 'Where is the patient?'
She replies, very nonchalantly 'Oh he's at the eye clinic' and proceeds to call the eye clinic immediately. 'How long can you stay?'
'5 minutes.' I say, not being annoyed yet as I'm thinking of getting home in time for my driving lesson (which got cancelled due to drained petrol stations).
'The patient's on his way up.' said the doctor when she finished talking to whoever was on the line.

So I wait for the patient, 5 minutes later and I remember that I told the very same doctor that I would be down before four... so why did she send him away???? 10 minutes into the waiting game and I tell another doctor (the registrar) that I am  leaving and that I had warned the doctor previously of when I would be arriving. I don't normally like the registrar (he explained a patient was dying to me right in hearing range of the same patient) but he was sympathetic and asked if there was anything he could do.. maybe he could set up the patient on a ward CPAP? I declined politely as I honestly did appreciate his sentiment; saying the patient wasn't going to die without one night of treatment.

Guess what the registrar did?

The next day I called the ward in the morning, saying to God knows whoever I was talking to, that I wouldn't be able to come in the morning as I working two people's shifts (understaffed should sooo be the NHS middle name), I would be there in the afternoon.

I manage to get there in the afternoon. I knock on the patient's room door, to get no reply, I knock a little louder calling out a subtle 'Hello?'. Getting nothing, I walk in warily to find the patient snoring, fast asleep; a clear sign of symptomatic OSA. When I woke him up, the first this I hear is a complaint about the ward CPAP, how it was uncomfortable and how it was at such a high pressure he felt like he was choking. I restrain myself from shaking my head. There is no point saying 'No' to a doctor.

I set the patient up on long term CPAP and I quickly understand the patient has not been given any details about his sleep study results. So I give him a brief overview; warning him that he might not want to hear the figures. But bless, he was as excited as a golden retriever and even fetched a pen and paper; enabling him to write down what I said. I spent nearly an hour with him, he told me of what appeared to be the doctors emotionally blackmailing him into using CPAP and about how he was at risk of stroke... bla bla bla.

You must understand that the main complaint of this patient was severe headaches... Considering that a sign of OSA is headaches, even when the O2 saturation level only drops by 7%, that a pretty bad headache might appear when the sats drop by 20% for most of the night and 40% for the rest. But no, further investigations were carried out during the course of the day and the patient had to have three (possibly unneccessary) lumbar punctures to analyse CSF. Oh how I felt for this poor man.

He was to be moved back to the former hospital by the neurologist's command for extra tests. Maybe I'm being too blase, maybe this man has an intracranial tumour, I don't know and neither do the doctors. But shouldn't a painless investigation be considered and done before more invasive ones like lumbar punctures If the evidence suggest so? I don't mean to sound arrogant, but I'm pretty certain his severe OSA is what is causing his headaches, so shouldn't the patient be left to try out the treatment in peace????

Arrrgh... the pain... the wasted money... the politics of it all. So silly.

The Woman in Black

On sunday I watched the Woman in Black with a friend when we had arrived too late at the cinema to watch The Artist.
'You do know it's a Horror' warned my friend.
'Bah, It's Daniel Radcliff, I'll laugh throughout it' said I, waving her off while paying for the tickets.

I did not laugh, nor did I scream, I just simultaneously gasped and stopped breathing. That was when I was actually watching, which was 70% of the time, the remainder of which I sat as far down in my seat clutching my friend's hand and cover my eyes with the other. She wasn't much help when I would ask what was happenning as she was covering her eyes too. 20 minutes into the film, I was dying for it to finish, literally dying, if my tachycardia and stalled breathing had anything to do with it. I tried to calm myself by thinking of Radcliffs wooden laughable acting in the first Harry Potter film, I guess he can actually act now.

Hence, I cannot say I enjoyed the film, or the notion of a Horror movie. Why any sane person would voluntarily pay hard earned (or government protracted) money to be scared so far out of their seats that their heart stops, is beyond me. I theorise it is why we enjoy Rollercoasters and being chased by raging bulls: the need for adrenaline. The need for it to interrupt our normal boring modern lives. Is has once been said that due to adrenaline playing such a deep role during the time of hunter gathering, being pumped with adrenaline is a requirement linked to our evolutionary ways. I personally can do quite well without horror films, rollercoasters, or bulls. So I stubbornly hold the opinion that the world is actually upside down because there is still a market for horror films.

Perhaps I am not being fair to the film... No I am not. I thought it would be a beneficial experience despite the horror as it was based on a famous novel and set in the turn of the century. The film was based on the typical horror plot: psychotic woman wanting revenge for her dead son, bla bla bla. I honestly think society needs to rethink its stigmitism with 'The Mad Woman' I mean.. there's never a 'Mad man' its usually a 'Drunk Man' but lately there have been more 'Drunk Women' too.

Lets consider the literature that deals with mad women: The Street Car Named Desire, Jane Eyre, The Woman in White and Madam Bovary.

It's safe to say that it's usually woman that get mad in literaure, and perhaps their use by horror films is a tad insulting to mad woman, they are poeple, perhaps not with sound judgmental capabilities, but still with the capacity to feel offended. Madness comes in many shapes and sizes, it is very rare that a mentally unsound person is barking raving lunatic that thinks of she jumps high enough she will reach the moon. Mad people can be quiet, and they are usually the ones you should keep your eye on.

So, The Woman in Black's Mad woman is not your usual mad woman, she screams constantly, and it can get annoying after a while. People in unrest don't scream like they're being electricuted, they shift their eyes and breath heavily. Urgh.. I'm ranting.

At the end of the day, I did not gain or learn anything from watching The Woman in Black except that the Victorian notion of a Mad Woman still maintains its strong grip in our social psyche today.  Good points are that it was well directed a it did propell my heart into my throat. So as a horror film it did what it had to do and did it well. I just think that it was all pointless and belittling to those with mental illness. And come to think of it, it's an insult to mothers! Mothers who have felt what no parent should; of having to bury their own child would never wish the same pain on other parents! Let alone making other children kill themselves! Gah! The whole thing is messed up!The Woman in Black is a film that screams to me that modern society have an undeniably incorrect idea of what mental illness is.

Driving Lesson 5

I can stop the CAR!!!! Isn't that wonderful! But I apparently accumulate more problems than what I solve. This involved 'shaving' the parked cars, a translation to the term 'shaving' is getting so close to the car you could hit their side mirrors if they were open. Which I very nearly did do. I also nearly hit/killed three teenage boys as they came out from school... that was because I had been driving too fast while steering left.

But I can stop the car! Of course it took me a while to do so without panicking. I only drive onto the curb and stalled once! Improvement eh? But I can stop the car!!! I hope by next lesson to get it all today togther. It seems that my brain, ability to co-ordinate and multi-tasking levels are what are stopping me from getting promoted onto the main roads and third gear. The idea of doing 70 miles an hour on the motor way seems such a far off dream... or nightmare, but I hope to get there sooner than later.

TEDxImperialCollege

As a fan of TED talks you can imagine my face of excitement when I heard an independent TED talk was organised at my former University for the 24th of March 2012. You can also imagine how I felt when I realised I was too late to register for it. But thanks to God and a truly amazing person I managed to buy his ticket off of him when he said he wouldn't be able to make it. So I was back to being euphoric.

The only down side was that I had to wear a different name tag, a boy's name tag too, but thankfully he has a unisex name so I managed to pull off the identity fraud. I jest. I did tell the registry station the truth, 'legit' is my middle name after all.

It was a truly wonderful day with a fine tuned mixutre of former TED talk videos and actual live TED talks, there was also a performance of 150 year old sounds; played from magnificent genuine Gramaphones that didn't make much sense in the beginning but then you could finally make out the sounds of a steam engine. Unfortunately once the realisation was made the novelty died off and I think the audience (myself included unfortunately) were not able of appreciating the effort to play the sounds or the value of their preciousness due to a dividing phenomenon called MP3.

All the talks were interesting, some were relevent and some were truely inspiring. The first talk by Manel Tores was about Spray on Fabric that I heard of in the news a few years ago, yes it was interesting, but I felt Dr Tores' passion for the new fabric's capacity in the fashion world overtook the perhaps more sort of 'sensible' capacities in healthcare etc. I felt that the audience didn't share his passion for skin tight spray on fabric either. Perhaps the audience didn't share his enthusiasm because most of them were men, I know it's sexist to say that men are not interested in fashion, but most of the audience were imperial guys, and from my 4 years experience in Imperial, I haven't met one that was interested in catwalks.

The second talk by the ever inspiring Nick Sireau spoke of a rare disease that affects his two sons and how he and his companions strove to bring to light the diease's very existence and the importance in funding research into it. He named his talk 'Fundamental Diseases'  as it was found that research in to rare diseases (which don't get much publicity, funding or notice) aids in discovering how more common diseases work, such as osteoarthritis. His story, starting from the birth of his son and ending in the national recognition of the disease, was truly inspiring. It made me realise that parental love is not simply a tear jerky moment in some sad film where a father carries his dying daughter in his arms (Anyone watch The Woman in Black?), it is a drive to protect one's child against all odds of success, and it can work if you are proactive about it.

The third talk was about music and the genome by a polymath, stand up comedian and anaethetist called Andrew Morley. Honestly, I really didn't understand it, I got the genetic side, just not the musical and I think that's due to my own severly limited musicality. Somewhere there was supposed to be a point that was meant to reach me, which didn't. However, I think it was that different topics and different subjects of study can overlap and collaborate. But I'm not sure if that was it.

We had a break (muffins and fruit) then back to the Great Hall (my last visit of this place was for the enviable task of performing an exam).

Fourth talk of the day was by an enthusiastic gentleman called Michael Korn who spoke of his pull out screen or wall divider. A product that originated as an undergraduate project and developed into a reality. His talk was mainly aimed at designers and engineers, which I am neither (I am an artist and scientist). I felt Korn's talk was vital, because at imperial the main career direction you get is to sell your soul to the Financial industry and work forever in the city's investment banks. The essence of Korn's talk was not about his pull out divider, but that there is actually another way to career development for Imperial Graduates other than The Banks. Imperial say their Careers Advice office is one of the best, but when I was an undergraduate I just remember being lost.

Fifth talk was by Alexander Schey who described his team's success in driving an electric racing car through both of the Americas. I knew of this from television when the treck was being televised. It was inspiring, but forgot to mention that electric cars are truly and undoubtedly expensive which is why they still haven't become the nation's favourite type of car despite many attempts to convert the people.

Sixth talk was by a truly wonderful woman called Sofie Scott, and coincidentally the only female talker of the day. Before I veer off into a feminist rant I'll explain what Professor Scott described in her talk. It was mainly about her work in laughter and how it is a globally recognised tool of communication despite language barriers. The talk was an opportunity to learn why we have laughter and how important it is. I'm not sure if it has a medical significance but I'd definitly like to learn more.

Before the break (a.k.a FOOD!) John Graham-Cumming gave the seventh talk, a highly enlightening mini lecture on the history of computing, or more specifically the work of Charles Babbage; a semi mad man who had a passion for numbers and half finshed projects. He designed the world's first computer or 'Analystical Machine' or simply, a calculator. It naturally never got built because the man's mind was too busy creating more ideas, but the London Science Museum (my second favourite place in the world) later created it in order to demonstrate Babbage's work (I keep thinking of cabbages everytime I type his name down), the Science museum must have liked him because they also hold possesion of his brain. Graham-Cumming also described the alliance of Babbage's ideas with Ada Lovelace, Lord Byron's daughter (the only legitimate one), who could be considered the world's first computer programmer (my feminist level soared with pride at this moment) because despite having Byron genes, she had a numerate brain and wrote a book on Babbage's work.

The food came and went.

The 8th talk for the day was by an undeniably inspiring man calle THE Professor of Public art, the number of men of his species needs to increase in order for competition to drive them and formulate even more great works of public art as his talk inspired. From the title I had not expected much, but I did not know what to expect at all. What was described was a wonderful world never previously thought of before; simply works of art held in public; which are mostly statues with complex latin inscriptions. What Prof Shoben described was that it didn't have to be complex and historical but simple and straight to the point, inciting feelings like happiness warmth and splendour in the viewer. I honestly enjoyed it, I think his talk and field (though very different from my own background) has the ability to change the most difficult thing: human thinking.

The penultimate talk was by a young undergraduate student called Joanis Holzigel, who spoke of how he and his team managed to install an electrilisation promgramme (not sure about spelling) in a town in Rawanda. The talk may not have been as... interactive as the others but it still highlighted the remarkable achievments of Imperial undergraduate students. Pat on the back to them!!

The final and perhaps most stunningly shocking talk of the day was by an ex offender and former prison inmate, probably the first one to step into Imperial's Great Hall. Mr Junior Smart is now a founder of the St. Giles Trust's Southwark Offenders Support Program. He pointed out the limitations of the British disciplinary systems and how there is a shockingly high percentage of re-offenders. He spotted out the flaws in the system, what it costs the government (three times my annual salary per inmate per year) and how to help resolve it. I thought it was a rightfully powerful talk to end the day and hope there are many more sucess stories like his to happen.

The talks closed and then I left with Miss. Short-Fuse into Queensway and ate more food before going home rather late.

Driving Lesson 4

So I had my fourth driving lesson today, it was by far more mad than the others. I first started with just learning how to steer, which was basically turning left endlessly and never getting it right. Eventually my steering was good enough to start learing gears, this is where the real frsutration started. On my first lesson with gears I could lift my foot off of the clutch fine and no engine on earth could have stalled. But then on my next lesson everything went pear shaped and I must have stalled 4 times in a row in front of the give way line before the raod. If I had the strength to bash up a car I would have done it.

At the start of my lesson today I was getting much better with the clutch because I had developed a unique foot tchnique that will only work with my tiny feet. The rule is to keep your heel on the floor, I can't do that, I simply don't have enough foot to do it. So I lift my foot off as much as possible and lift my leg the rest of the way. My left leg is now very tired.

My seething cumulative impatience with the repetition of the roads was palpable, so Ron (my absolutely great instructor) took me onto a main road (you know, with other cars, street lights and all that jazz) to show me why we needed to stay on the smaller quieter roads with the annoying infinite humps. I was SO excited! I even moved onto third gear! My heart was racing the whole time, but I truly enjoyed it and can't wait till I'm good enough to do it again. The lesson was learned, even though I managed fine with Ron on the main road, I wasn't ready to do it without his instructions so more practice was required.

My main driving problems are remembering to steer while changing gears and stopping before the give way line. God help me I just can't do it. I have no idea when or how to push down on the brakes and I still panic everytime there is a car behind me.

God willing, I hope I learn it in the end!

Wild Swans, By Jung Chang

Part of my new and spontaneous interest in Chinese history was reading Wild Swans by Jung Chang. I guess I'm kind of late reviewing this considering it was originally buplished in 1992, but it was such a lip biting, zone out for 7 hours, earth shattering piece of biographical history... that I couldn't pass up a chance to write about what I thought of it.

The Book encospasses a historical account of the political and social climate of China from the early 1900s to the late 1970s all through the eyes of three woman; the author's grandmother who was made a concubine to a Warlord General, the author's mother who was a member of the newly formed Communist Party and the author herself and how she was swept into the brainwashing effects of Chairman Mao and his government.

The book hence went through the varying lives of three different generations that was tumbled, twisted and turned within a matter of 20 years between them. From the Famine of the Great Leap Forward to the atrocities of the Cultural Revolution. What I found most shocking was how Chang's grandmother had bound feet, a painful experience of breaking the toes of a young girl's foot to bend over the sole of her foot, a process that had to be repeated during the course of development to prevent them from healing. All because the sight of a hobbling woman had an erotic effect on men; supposedly inticing a protective instinct in them. A woman without bound feet was doomed to a life of spinsterhood and blamed her mother for not binding her feet when young.

I could go on an on about this wonderfully researched and compelling book that you can honestly trust coming from the prespective of a woman who had been in thick of the Moa mania of 1960s China. What I simply couldn't understand was how a nation could get swept away into treating Mao as a Deity, some revered sacred man who's word was gospel. Coming from an Islamic background myself, I was taught not to even bow my head to another being other than the One God. So how an entire nation with it's many millions of millions of people could be so tightly held in Mao's grip is very difficult for me to comprehend; I belive it was the reason for the misfortunes of the Cultural Revolution, with their book burning, teacher disrespecting and knowledge truncating beliefs. It was backward, an awaful time, at time which the Chinese still today accept was a horrible murdering cruel dark era of their history, but the same people still hold Mao in high esteem even though it was crystal clear that he only wanted to acquire personal power, that power like most powers corrupted him, and corrupted him absolutely.

Still, I think I have to grudgingly accept that Mao did raise China out of the Kuomintang's corrupt ways and help to get rid of Japan's infiltration. And perhaps his tight grip of the nation's politics allowed China to progress to what it is today; the world's second largest economy. But like all powerful leaders, I believe the power he held turned him a little crazy, just like Muammar Ghaddafi, Assad and Bush. I think Mubarek was a little more saner than the rest of them, but definitly as power hungry. I theorise that this type of madness could be called 'Presidential Power Syndrome', a state of mind that rejects logic in order to find foundations for one's own decisions, and rejects basic humane qualities like reason, emapthy and guilt. Thankfully I think the British political leaders are a bit distant from attaining this syndrome, but they may be just a little silly in their own way, which is probably, simply, an unavoidable a feature of British politics.

Lesson for the day: don't think you're God.

A year of Me

Wow... it's been a while huh. Well, I have a lot to say... I had better get on with it then:

1. I have a JOB! I know... the impossible happened, I was so happy when I got the call... a year ago.. But I was very happy, and reading over how I used to stress so much about job hunting makes my current employment all the more special. I work in a Sleep centre and help diagnose people with sleep disorders. It's fun stuff, most of the time. Unfortunately I'm chained to colleagues I would do extra night shifts just to avoid. Yes I do night shifts and have experienced how it feels to attempt cognitive functioning with just 10 hours of sleep over one week. I have even experienced my very own parasomnias because of it. (Parasomnias = sleep disturbances or sleep disorders, it can be experienced by severe sleep deprivation in any healthy person).

2. I have severely truncated the amount of Manga I read, however I have been determined not to abandon it altogether and so I read the first 3 volumes of 'Vagabond' By Takehiko Inoue at the same time that I re-read 'Fruits Basket'.... two very different genres but both read with much enthusiasm! I still need to get up to date with the usual Naruto, Bleach and One Piece which I abandoned in the past 18 months as well.

3. I have gone back to reading books. Yes... Books, those things with words in them that can now be read on a kindle the thickness of a pencil. But I am not tempted by pish posh technology, I behave like a true human and read books from actual books with pages that can't be accidentally deleted.

4. My general outlook on life is, if possible, even more negative than what it used to be. I know from my own religious points of view, that it shouldn't be and that I should be optimistic and see beauty in the world bla bla bla... but when you read books of reality, describing events that have actually happened, not just impassive lines you hear on the news... You end up struggling to see what good there is in the world, especially in mankind. Mankind was probably the worst thing that happened to this planet, their ability to do bad is shockingly high, especially when there is some unspoken code of morality shared between cultures and countries, the simplest being 'Thou shalt not kill' killing happens quite a lot... especially under the guise of legality, such as wars. Syria's government seem to think it a sport.

5. So yeah, I dunno If I ever mentioned it before, but I am Egyptian by nationality and British by birth, so I got the write to vote for the Egyptian election (however I am never allowed to become an Egyptian president's wife.... phew). It was rather exciting ticking a few boxes with actual hope (rather than know all the parties are the same brew of politician), but you  understood the sense of discord when I looked down the list of representative's for my family's Egyptian county district... there were 142 hopefuls, 142! For one district of one County! At least something is happening, it looks like Egypt will be in unrest for a long long time.

6. I turned 24. I know there are people drying up from cholera and baby girls being killed to make room for a first born son, and living baby girls being circumcised, and mosques being bombed in Syria, and children sold into slavery, and landslides destroying homes and Tsunamis wiping out cities. But I'm 24!!! In my own world this is horrendous news! It means I'm older than 23! which was quite a shock when I turned 23. Being 24 wouldn't mean much had I been married/engaged etc. And yes I know it sounds fickle... it bloody well is fickle, now that modern women are thinking about being married at 33 after they've become consultant/ top dogs in their career, but in my little world (which doesn't mean much in relation to the real world, I admit) It's serious because it means I'm just another year older and another year closer to the metaphorical sell-by-date... another year closer to being too old to have children (the physical expiry date). All very fickle because there's no guarantee that I'll have children once married... It just means that I have to be even more patient and play the growing child to my parents (yup, my mum is still surprised I can reach the tap on the kitchen sink). But... one thing I know, is that you can't mess with Naseeb (I'll explain that term some other time). If it's going to happen... it will, it just either me or the other party are not ready... gah!

7. I was on the brink of turning feminist. Crazy but I managed to pull myself back. Not that I think there is anything wrong with being a feminist, it's just that I think some of them want to prove themselves equal to men so much that they forgot that they already are. Like female weight lifters.... I don't get that, they ruin their natural femininity because of it, they end up looking rather grotesque. Yes some pay scales are different between men and women in the same job but there's normally reasons for that. No I do not think that a woman's time of the month will cause drastic changes in her attitude towards a groundbreaking decision, but yes I believe women can make decisions that are sometimes... erratic, especially when she's upset, and especially involving lovers/partners. It's happened and it still happens and it will always happens, it's a woman's nature. I might be a feminist had I lived in some gender unequal country, I definitely would. But in the UK, I trust in the system, its a good one, so I'm not going to go nit picking for gender inequalities that don't mean much. Not unless I don't get my state pension unless I'm married, then I'll make some noise.

Compassion: Innate or taught?

I feel terrible, I know I re-opened this blog on a positive note, but what happenned to me today has widned my eyes to how truly selfish I can be.

A woman on the train today collapsed from what looked like epilepsy, it could have been cataplexy but I doubt she was experiencing a strong enough emotion to have experienced it at the time. Anyway, her muscles froze (more technically, her muscle tone dropped) and her eyes were wide open, I don't think I'll ever forget her eyes, wide as though in shock and unmoving as though dead...

It was really quite horrific.

The gentleman around her tried to help her and then she fell to the floor, they then tried carrying her off the train... This is where my selfishness came in. I was directly behind the group of men and sick woman and the train had come to a stop at my destination and as you can imagine they were rather slow... so slow that I was woried the train doors would close before I could get off. So vast was my anxiety for myself that I deliberately brushed past the group.

When my feet were on unmoving ground I was thoroughly mortified in shame... did I have no human compassion? No instinct to help those in immediate danger? No recognition of an emergency? I was so calm throughout the whole thing that it unnerved me. In fact, I was shaking after the whole thing had happenned because I was so shocked at myself. I didn't offer to help and didn't hang around to see if she was okay like the hero men who did. I just carried on walking to the next platform. I did go to a staff member and tell him the situation. But I was still very upset at myself.

This got me thinking all the way home of how I should be more compassionate in the future should another situation arise. But... how can you learn compassion? Is it even a taught material? What makes a person compassionate and caring? Is it because their parents taught them how, or was it something that was genetically installed? Or something else entirely?

In the end.. I feel rather cold hearted, the good bit I suppose is that I don't like being cold hearted at all. 

I'm Baaack!!!

Hello world, I've been feeling guilty at how I seem to have completely abandoned this precious space of written freedom. Sorry, I've had loads of things happen to me in the past 8 months which rendered me too busy to have time for fanciful writing, this should really be a valid excuse but I know its not... sigh. I thought to check up on my blog and realised that there was a new user interface, which probably isn't new but been hidden from my eyes for months.

Anyway, I discovered something called page views (I think) and I can't believe that I actually have some people out there that look over at my blog! I always thought that it was invisible to the world... weird. So I have decided to once again be faithful to my blog and actually dedicate some time to it to make it readable again so that it may be somewhat useful for whoever reads it. I'll start with a quick summery of my life: I am no longer a student and I am no longer fat! Nor heading for obesity as my doctor had once threatened against me.. I am a working woman! Complete with a monthly salary and everything. I work at a hospital helping and diagnosing people with sleeping disorders, usually with breathing related disorders, which hardly has any neuroscience in there but I hope one day I can return to that field.

I am no longer obsessed with Manga, this is both sad and relieving for me, I have come to realise that was officially addicted to the stuff and I'll write more about that later, but now I can take a breath of fresh air and say that I have rehabilitated myself and can move on in life. The sad part is I miss out on manga and don't read barely as much as I used to. For this rite of passage that I have crossed I have decided to take down my list of manga from my blog to signify that it no longer encompasses who I am. I will check in soon and write more :D

Egypt - Day 1

I'm on a computer!!! In Egypt! I don't usually have this privalegde when on holiday. Anyway, there isn't much to report about except the flight and the food and the place I'm staying in.. so I'll get down to it:

1. The Flight

We woke at 2.20, got ready by 3.45, I think I must've had little over an hours sleep what with the excitement one usually feels before a flight. Funny thing is, at 4.30 I was with my family at heathrow waiting for about an hour to check in with the luggage... that wasn't so exciting. anyway, it happened and there was a brief goodbye to our parents before we shuffled to the security desk which checks our shoes, liquid bottles and hand-luggage. The first flight to rome (for our transit) was remarkably slow even though it was only a two hour flight, I was so exhausted that i tried to sleep but couldn't get into a comfortable enough position, I can't sleep on chairs :(

We got to rome, it was hot, not so hot that it was unbearable, but hot non-theless, it was 28 degrees. we walked around for a while killing time inside the airport before we had to wait with.. shockingly... other egyptians to board the plane. weird thing is they take you on a bus and transport you to the plane, the stupid driver had no-idea where he needed to go and i was so afraid we were about to head off a plane on a runway. Anyway, the second flight to cairo was remarkably quick as I an Miss. Short fuse played connect four... on PAPER! We are soo cool! (hehehehe). we ate minimalistic aeroplane food and landed after a comfotable snooz. The landiing was pretty crap as the plane hit the ground really suddenly and the next thing I know, we're moving really really fast, so fast that it's scary.

2. The Place

We met our dad's friend and he took us to the youth hostel thingy we're staying, it belongs to the government so it's actually alot nice than what I thought it would be.

3. The food
Not what i expected, I.e we had pasta for dinner.. at like 9! but non-the less I'm not complaining, it wasn't amazing like pasta at Zizzi's or anything, but it was okay.

Till the next time I get on a computer!

Take off!

Right.. so, I'm going on holiday this Monday... Yeah, sorry for not telling anyone. I don't know why but I find myself really un-communicative about those sorts of things. So... I will be going away for two weeks! Although how on earth I could possibly relax about it all is beyond me considering the immense heat of the summer weather in the paticular geographical location I'm going to. I'll post "regular" updates about the things I've done, the places I've seen and the people I meet over there.

So yeah... end of post.... the end.

Airplanes

I really like this song. I'm actually just really liking BOB at the moment. I hope he continues to make good music :D

French lesson 1

So yesterday was the first lesson, I now know how to pronounce the letters f the french alphebet! I also remember the numbers! I can say greetings and the Avoir verbs, alot o it was year 7 stuff, but it surprised me how much I could remember.

On with the next lesson!

Manga of the Month - June

Apollo's song is a remarkable manga by Osamu Tezuka and is a rare story in the sense that it describes the link between affection, love and care in association to sexual intercourse and pro-creation.

The main character Shogo, is the illegitimate son of a prostitute. Growing up in environment of confusion and no maternal affection Shogo soon learns that his mother sins, the uncomfortable way. As he grows up he feels the need to kill animals in the act of mating, as his mental stability falters from time to time he is then admitted into a psychiatric hospital before his attacks transfer from animals to humans.

While unconscious, Shogo meets the goddess of love in a different realm, she is angered by his crimes and then sentences him to a cycle of repeatedly falling in love with the same woman only to be separated from her repeatedly for eternity.

And thus begins Shogo's never ending life, meeting, loving and tearing away from the same woman over and over again. The manga quickly grew painful for me as a reader to see Shogo constantly being separated from his love. But his deep routed detest of affection between two beings was slowly being cured.

Apollo's song included the Greek myth of Apollo (son of Zeus) making fun of cupid for playing with warrior's tools, cupid got angry at Apollo's mocking and so shot him with a gold arrow so he would fall in love with Daphne, he then shot the nymph Daphne with a lead arrow so she could hate Apollo. Apollo then chases after her, wanting nothing but to claim her. When he just managed to catch her, Daphne pleads her father Peneus to save her, and so her father changes her into a Bay laurel tree (I have one in my garden!). Apollo is grieved but vows to tend to her as his tree and makes all famous leaders wear her leaves as a crown (hence Olympic game winner and bay leaf crowns). The story is metaphoric for one who mocks love and then is punished for it.

At the very beginning it brought forth the idea that conceiving a child is the highest proof of affection between two people, and then cuts to a child born from sin and empty lust. The story then discusses the disapproval the child has for anything related to copulation as a result from the lack of parental affection or observing romantic affection.

Apollo's song was not only medically imbibed but also highlighted the need for love between two people in order for healthy peadiatric development to occur. In a way it is saying that affection is a medical requirment.

The manga was not in anyway crude rude or graphic, I think it was a terrific story despite being painful to read. Tezuka delivers again, 8/10 rating.

New Layout

I think the beans make it!

The title picture had to go I'm afraid, it was getting rather old, and a new picture won't hurt anyone I hope.

And I just had to choose Cowboy bebop.. an amazing Manga and anime, which was brilliantly directed by Shinjiro Watanabe.

Let me go find a link.....

*one minute later*

Found it!!!!

http://www.animefreak.tv/watch/cowboy-bebop-english-dubbed-online-free

Any comments, opinions or mean remarks are welcome.

French

Miss. Short Fuse is going to teach me french by bi-weekly lessons. Joy....

To Tell you the truth, I always like learning new languages and it would help me a lot if I learnt french in particular as I'd be able to read a lot more manga that is not translated into English.

I'll put up regular posts describing the progress. :D

La Vie En Rose

I watched La Vie En Rose on Saturday night, in a nutshell it is a disturbing, insightful, brilliant piece of film.

It centered around the life story of the illustrious Edith Piaf, Piaf was the name she adopted at the beginning of her career, her manager commented she was like a bird and so she took up the name 'Piaf' meaning swallow.

Aside from her glitzy success, her earlier life was shrouded in dark neglect, brothels and drugs. Her mother paid her little attention, her father used to work at a circus, he rescued little Edith from her mother's neglect, but I was shocked to find he left her with his mother who ran a brothel... I hope you can understand me when I say that a brothel is no place for a child to grow up in... at all. She nearly lost her sight from keratitis, after she had recovered and some time elapsed, her father took her with her to the circus (a wise move in my opinion) but the working women had grown a deep attachment to the child, possibly due to her innocence and untainted purity, and the leave of Edith was strongly opposed, resulting in a distressing farewell sene. It was at the brothel that Edith was introduced to the act of praying to St. Theresa whom the ladies would visit when seeking solace. Edith's belief of St. Teresa grew up with her in adulthood.

A few years later Edith's father fell out with the owner of the circus and chose to move his act as a solo on the streets of Paris... one word to give you a clue of what he did: Joint Hypermobility (okay, two words). It was then that Edith was suddenly put on the spot at the age of 9 to do something by her father, or the crowd would disappear. She sang, and that's where it started.

Growing up she continued to sing on the street and local clubs (hence not being needed as a working girl), her talent was discovered by a talent agent and she got to taste her term of stardom, until one of her acquaintances died of a drug overdose, that was when she believed herself finished as her own involvement in drug abuse was becoming more aware by the public.

She was also quite the drinker.

She eventually came back when she got an opportunity to sing at a vast music hall, which reinstated her position of excellent singer, as the years went by she was able to expand her career in New York, where she met Marcelle, a famous french boxer, married of course with three children. They fell in love..... yeah whatever, it's still wrong.

Edith had a rather nervous disposition to begin with, but at the death of Marcelle in a plane crash, she wallowed her pain in regular daily injections of what I assume to be cocaine. Five years later she was married to a man I doubt she loved, living in the US and heavily dependent on the psychoactive stimulants. She entered rehab. where she was asked to sing the fame Non, Je ne Regrette Rien, she sang when she got better. but not too much later she was diagnosed with jaundice due to Liver Disease, a result of her unapologetic drinking, from her youth to her stardom. She died as a result.

It was at this point in the film that I felt no sympathy for this domineering, dictating egotistical woman at all. She was a remarkable singer, a gift god gave her that brought her from the slums of Paris to the safety of New York. But she was rude, a drunk, drugged, uneducated and shockingly of all... a neglectful mother, leaving her two year old daughter to die of meningitis when she was still a cabaret singer. She inherited her singing gifts from her own neglectful mother but paid no remark of gratitude or respect to her.

She drank herself to her death and I have to say, she had it coming. By the end of the film I felt no envy, jealousy or admiration towards her. She had a retched life, she obviously could not help the unfortunate start in life, but God gave her the most remarkable gifts in life and she used the benefits reaped on booze. Despite the fame and fortune she died incapacitated, immobile and dreadfully weak, a result of her own infliction and mental dependencies.

Even though the film was not focused on faith or religion, I saw God bestowing gifts on a little girl in poverty, a dramatic turn of a life, the removal from the dark to sparkling lights. But Edith Piaf remained a wretched. To me it widened my eyes on how lucky my life started out and remained, how ungrateful I am to those around me and the comforts I keep shrouded around me.

It was definitely an eye opener.

I feel...

I have a pretty important week this week, I'm pretty nervous.

I've been under quite a few different emotions for some days now. Irritation, anger, sadness, excitement even a sensation of well being.

I am irritated because I feel walked upon, a punch back, the push over.

I am angry because I know all these things and don't do anything about it. And when I do snap, I feel ashamed for upsetting the other person.

I am sad, but sometimes happy. It's strange, I can't really explain it... like feeling hot and cold at the same time.

I am excited because I will be giving an important presentation all about Manga! And I will be going on a much needed holiday next month.

I feel well because I've discovered a vast amount of beautiful land that is literally 30 feet away from my doorstep, walking through it with miss short fuse for 2 hours was wonderful and exciting. Like being a small child and being brave enough to stray from your parents far enough to start exploring.

Last night, more than anything, I was physically fatigued by my family, I'm too old to endure their selfishness, accusations and battles. I just wanted to walk away, as cowardly as that may sound, it probably would have been the best thing for all of us. I'm tired of playing the peacemaker and getting nothing for it.

My trip to the Market

My father took me to a Market today. I think something like this should have been done about 15 years ago, but it was done today and I finally know what a maket is like.

We waited untill the very end of the market day when the fruit would be sold at a very cheap price. It was a little manic to say the least, hands were in air raising money, trying to get the attention of the seller. I did it once, and I felt a very compelling feeling to make sure I got that bag of grapes, a bit like knowing this is the last possible chance to get what you really want. It was indeed, a money making feeling.

In the end I and my dad debated a lot about how much the fruit bought was compared to a normal trip at sainsbury's. We ended up with one water melon, a box of very ripe mangoes (yum yum!) and 4 boxes of white seedless grapes. We intended to buy working gloves for my dad so the wood chips wouldn't give him any splinters, however, we were too late and the gloves were gone! Next week it will have to be then.

We then tried to find a pound shop on a high street near my home, no gloves there either, but the gloves were no where to be found. We made our way back to the car to go home.

But we got stuck in a narrow road with cars behind us and a car in front of us, facing us. It was a big car, with four young men, polish by the sounds of their loud swearing. They shouted orders to my dad while he remained quiet trying to think of a solution, the woman behind the big polish boys was also shouting out orders. Dad tried giving them hand signals to stay calm, but the boys considered dad a light weight- Big mistake.

When he was trying to reverse the stupid people in front of us was not making things easier, shouting orders.

'WAIT!!! Wait!' shouted my dad like a billowing thunder heard after lightning. I'll never forget the look on those boys' faces, just pure shock and fear. My dad can have a pretty scary face when he's angry, I know all about it, but I guess I'm immune considering I technically have half of that scary face. I've never been more proud of my dad for kicking the ego out of those boys.
Dad shocked those kids into silence and the drivers of the cars behind them. Eventually we managed to get out, but heard calls along the lines of 'ya pakistani!' which made me and my dad crack up laughing because the next time they come across an angry arab, they won't go unharmed.