Today’s my third day in Damascus, one of the few archaic cities still inhabited by the treacherous, all-consuming race of homosapiens. As some of you may have known earlier, the lovely, gracious Syrian Government (haha, can anyone smell taqiyya, or at least a dash of sarcasm :P), God protect and lengthen their freedom loving (copyright bush?) country. Anyway, i now officially have TWO of the three axis of evil countries on my passport, and in all likelihood, and as logical induction would suggest, North Korea is the next stop :P Haha gotta love bush’s star-wars speeches, and they say t.v. doesn’t fry your minds!
Ooo, I need all your prayers right now. So far things, after seemingly funnelling down a hopeless streak of failed and unexpected series of events, like the rejection of my groups student visas by Syria –which now that we’re here we’re being told was as a result of certain terrorist incidents that occurred by a certain Turkish (saif, you around?) student who was studying as a foreign student so apparently there was a lot of hesitation on the governments parts to admit any foreign students, particularly those of some Islamic affiliation! But alas, like many countries they don’t distinguish between the myriad of Islamic strands of thoughts and instead, when a so called ‘Muslim’ does something horrific it seems to stain and taint the integrity of every ACTUAL Muslim irrespectively. Shame… R>Anyway, so far so good, but I could still use your prayers. Whether or not we wish to acknowledge it, prayers do have a viable sway in the grandeur hierarchy of causes and destinies; this we have been repeatedly assured by scripture, and as some would adduce, by sheer experience. Certainly, what will be will be, but a prayer might certainly steer the direction of even the seemingly inevitable, perhaps not always in an exceptional, miraculous type of way, but many a times through casual means. That said, please pray for me, especially the prayer of the pure-hearted and the believers (who are supposed to be pure-hearted anyway :P) toward whom God is especially attentive.
Status: Damascus University seems to have accepted my application, they are waiting for one more document which should be ready tomorrow from the Canadian embassy :) other than that all is great alhamduillah. Next obstacle is getting my visa status changed from tourist to student, haha, we were rejected before i pray that that won’t happen again. Damascus Uni seems to really have a thorough, intensive Arabic program. I hope it works out. They have interesting requirements too, lol, like an AIDS test for forigen students (which i tested positive for! Well positive, here means negative lol thank God they had brackets explaining what they ment—i.e. positive for not having Aids). Haha at the placement test (where they decided which level they should PLACE me in) which took several hours, it got really interesting, the last part of the test was a live interview with one of the teachers and they would access your ability to communicate in fushah (traditional arabic). I’m sloppy at my colloquial Arabic let alone my traditional Arabic, anyway, the lady that was examining me seemed to really have a go at me with the best of questions! Could it get any better than this?(in Arabic of course, interviewer in plain text, thoughts delineated by asterisks) Are you married?
Err noo I am not married.
Why aren’t you married?
Humm, *looks for quick excuse* the time isn’t suitable for me yet *as if it will ever be*.
Why would anyone want to get married anyway?
*hunh? Is she serious! Drop the freaking topic lol!* oh well, *again looks for a quick excuse after a long pause and a perhaps an invisible blush* for love, for… *as she cuts me off, oo good I hope she’s leaving the topic* …
What do you think of the events in Iraq and across the arab world in the name of Islam?
*ooo, interesting topic, but sadly, I can barely speak in such terms in Arabic… and begins another struggle* :P
 This is lady Ruqiyya's shrine at the Umayyad mosque..ah, this please is so laden of unspeakable sadness...what to say, to a five year old martyr who died seeing her fathers beheaded head before her.!  Lady Ruqiyya's shrine from distance  This is the grave of Prophet Yahya (john the baptist), ah, it was so beautiful to be in his midst, alhamduillah! It really felt like something around his tomb! err despite the fact that he's sadly in the heart of the Ummayyad mosque, where the tyrant yazid would issue his oppressive edicts, the worst of which was to murder the grandson of the Prophets and his family! aww how can such beauty as Yahya's grave stands poised besides such nefarious filth!  This is the podium, awwh man the anger that surges through the heart knowing what evil used to sit on that podium and wreak oppression in the name of natures religion! err..sigh our history is sadly so dark.  leave the most important pictures for last of course :P lol in case ya'll forgotten me already haha, mind the sleepy eyes haha, its Ramadhan tooo, and God err, crazy dogs wouldn't stop barking last night!! so annoying they seem to mysteriously decide to bark just as i'm going to sleep haha, those of u know who know me well enough, know that i'm a poooor sleeper, i'd do good as a security guard of some sort, you can count on my not sleeping on the job... anyway... nuff rambling... peace to yall, and Blessed month of Ramadhan to all the believers!
A friend of mine forwarded this video to me...Its one of those few video's that really move you and break your heart as well as your tears; its extremely saddening and it takes a direct look into daily Palestinian life as well as aggressions committed by the so-called State of isFake against peaceful protesters from around the globe (such as the International Solidarity Movement). It delves right into the middle of it all and lets you see and judge for yourself... Disturbingly real and extremely deplorable, but a reality that we must nonetheless recognize, at least that's the first step. A caution however, some of the video scenes are quite graphic--but that said, sometimes you need to see something to fully appreciate its magnitude. Here is its description on google-videos: British report on Israeli violence in Gaza against not only Palestinian civilians, but international aid volunteers and foreign reporters as well.
Estranged in its toils and miseries, you are a stranger wandering its jagged, soiled streets, longing for a home you’ve yet to reside and a peace you’ve yet to encounter. The cold winter night clothes you with its harrowing comfort—sheltering you from the sun’s searing heat. Alas, it is the sun you truly seek, or so your heart assuredly whispers, but much to your dismay, your body can only take so much of the sun’s heat. You realise you are weak. After further deliberation you recognize there are untapped reserves of inner strength, dormant, lurking behind your simple, and yet most difficult of choices. That said, you realise in whose merciful hands you subsist, and in whose eyes your penitence will be readily valued—suddenly, the prospect of self-revolution dawns on you, for there is no alternative. No alternative but to stop the lie and stop trusting the illusion. Is it your indecisiveness that torments you? Could change be so simple? Choice. Could there really be solace in the cold? If anything, you’ve been in the cold, perhaps far too long—you’ve felt its callous touch, stared deep into its deafening eyes, and swallowed its riddled promises. You can’t take it any longer, how can you? As you watch yourself butcher the few meagre remnants of your humanity—the spiritual guillotine you’ve submissively offered your neck to. Others too, weren’t as foreseeing, they too readily forwent their souls, sparing it of life’s most prized choices, as though infants suckling the illusion, embracing the wretched mother that has no mercy over her child. You are surrounded by such gruelling martyrs—they clutter its streets—theirs stories all so similar, of far-flung expectations and mundane dreams. They are strangers too, their eyes laden with regret as they mourn their failures. If you listen closely you can hear their faint, brittle cries, echoing past the ruptured chambers of their now hollow hearts. Peer then, into their furrowed desolate eyes, for past the dreary void you will find the root of their desperation, the least of which is a looming fate, a fate ever so crimson. They chose to be strangers, not to this world, but the other. Choice; a liability ardently sought by those who lack it, a gruelling burden to those who exploit and abuse it, and a lasting tribute to those who honour its temperament. Now choose.
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