Dusty Wyndow Blog

Waking up today after -finally- a decent sleep shaking off the thrill of the last two days has left me in such an awe, not realizing anytime before the amount of encouragement we are receiving, the thumbs up and the curious ones wanting openly to join us next time. Long story short, as an immediate result of my early morning sluggishness, we had decided, we as in a bunch of fellow white-hearted friends, to carry on the clown flashmob habit that started in 2013 by Mutaz Salloum, as a concrete reaction to the horrible tremor that was taking place in Jabal Mohsen & Tebbaneh, both of which areas now are thankfully in a state of peace after a political resolute earlier last year. We invaded both towns regardless of the warnings and all the threats. They were a blast, a total success. Fast forward to 2015, Maya Abas and a bunch of enthusiasts that gathered from all over the country, literally, had also taken their toll on both Haret el Tanak (literally the tin neighborhood) and Dahr el ...

Disclaimer: This post is to shed some light on the way animals are offered, slaughtered during Eid for Muslims and in many occasions for other religions and sects too. This is by far not concerned in discussing anything related to the righteousness, the history, the source or the validity of the mentioned ritual. Photo posted originally by Khaled Merheb I had always been traumatized by the way muslims slaughter poor animals on holy occasions, like Eid Al Adha for instance, under the sole excuse that it’s an Islamic ritual, a praised act by which god would accept your good deeds and wipe away your notorious ones. The simple fact that the tiny goat or that weakly sheep is held down really hard by two, sometimes up to four, strong men mainly holding it by the horn, raising their Allahu Akbar’s and slitting its throat, was just another painful, disgusting, mini-horror movie, every single time. Children’s screams and other people’s loathing makes it all come to sense: something serio...

Sine Wave "When you reach to your very source of being, where you are completely in the mood of the spring, and the flowers are showering on you, you suddenly feel a gratitude not directed to anybody, just like a fragrance arising out of you, just as incense brings ripples of smokes and fragrance, moving towards the unknown sky and disappearing" Left the taxi heading back home, it was only a couple 100s of meters and was totally worth the walk, yet all of a sudden I get this instant urge to be thankful.  And there I was, foolishly singing my thankfulness along all while not being able to resist smiling and waving my hands up in the air. Weird eh? I’d definitely point at me by calling myself a lunatic if I ever bumped into me, but I was happy, who cares then? "A sine wave is predefined, pre-programmed and pre-destined. It's the symbolism for life, ups and downs. And it is found to be the base harmonic for literally everything in life. And we, humans, are no diffe...

Takbeerat March, Photo by Ahmad M. Halawani I would never forget her when she followed our trail when leaving the khankeh, begging us for some diapers for her child, thinking we were some sort of an association, and not knowing that every lira was either donated by people who never knew each other, and by our own pocket money. That was more heartbreaking than anything else that whole time. I'm talking about the time we visited the "Khankeh", a place well known to old Tripolitans. It's the place where widows gather and are sorted out in a room each with her children, and sometimes more than a family need to fit inside the same room. I was explaining to my dear friend Soha, who came all the way from Beirut to Tripoli to celebrate Eid our own way, and cheer up the kids of Khankeh. I was explaining to her the history of this place, and how it was established and treated during the ottoman empire, and how it eventually ended up a worn out shelter for a bu...

It's the night I was able to stand in the Nour Roundabout so freely. It's the night this place was car-free. It's the night a prayer was held at the center of the Roundabout. It's the night hundreds of people felt joy at this place rather than being anxious whether to cross the fire lit there or not. It's the night a bunch of white-hearted Tripolitans took the initiative of throwing the first mass iftar at the center of my home town, Tripoli. The mass iftar viewed from the 15th floor, at the center of Tripoli, Lebanon. It was noon when I first passed by the place and saw couple of my friends there getting all busy preparing for the big event, 6 hours earlier. I arrived there exactly 6:30, the place was already packed. The sight of the roundabout being closed from afar reminded me of the time I had to avoid the burning tires and the raging thugs that have taken it as a habit to come and close the square preventing people from going home and forcing shops to close...

I still remember that day, I was a bit shy at the beginning, shy in terms of never had the chance to wear the official Hajj clothing ever before. I was browsing through the old emails in my outlook inbox, when all of a sudden an email with the title "photos" from my old friend Adnan was showing there, it took me instantly back to the day he told me he was going to visit me and Sam again in our apartment in Jeddah, back in the days. Well, Adnan was first our flatmate, until he resigned and moved to Riyadh; he had wanted that day to come to Jeddah for a sleepover and a trip to Meccah. It sure wasn't my first, but was surely my first attempt to do the renowned muslim Omrah. Sam, my wonderful flatmate had given me his clothes, all washed and cleaned, and showed me a guide on how to wear them, and all the regulations and rules to go with the Omrah. I have to admit though, such an occasion having its own formalities and structure had definitely added to the glam of it. I re...

"أذكروا هادم اللذات" It would be stupid for me to hide the fact that I'm yearning to spend some time in a grave, my grave. I confided a close friend with this secret recently, only not to keep it within me and grow into becoming a burden. Her support was a relief, she understood and offered some help. I felt I was not alone. Am I that emotionally disturbed to ask for such a simple thing? Am I this paranoid to want to lay down in a grave? Am I the type of people that are so dysfunctional that they only succeed at burying themselves? No, no and a no. I'm a fully functioning, fully productive human being who constantly has the feeling of wanting to lay down for as long as possible, 6 feet down, with the company of someone close, waiting at the edge in case something happened. It might be the state of mind I always find myself at, the type of psychological state that constantly asks me to remember death. A teacher threw a poll at a class ...

What happened with me this morning was another proof to me personally that the renowned Orthodox Electoral Law was nothing but an obvious manifestation of the local mentality most of the Lebanese are still holding on to, unknowingly, especially the previous generation, the ones that were my age during civil war. In the course of looking for a housing in Beirut, I came across an online advertisement for a small apartment in Ashrafiyeh with two bedrooms, which is generally my preference since that would cheapen the rent and of course I'd enjoy the company. That phone call left me traumatized for a while after I hung up: the weight of the shock was actually insurmountable, especially after all the reforms people I know are trying to make, and of course after all the positive energy me myself and other activists are trying to spread. I just couldn't stand that someone, that naive, would actually ask me such a question. I leave you with the discussion: "Me: Hello, I just f...

The article below was triggered by a recent conversation I had with a friend lately. Those few lines were enough to surface a large amount of hatred, anger and despair as well, that were all hidden for as far as my parents' divorce 10 years ago. Here's part of what he had to say upon me asking him what he would do in times he felt down: - I get very irritated and feel like breaking down or curl against a corner and just sleep on it (dysthymia). Its nothing new but i've been coping for years and recent events were a catalyst for more depressive episodes. - Do you ever tell anyone about this? Or at least do you have anyone by your side? - I only have a therapist to work with. Besides that, i have no familial or social support. They just don't understand. - what do you think would've prevented this phase? what do you wish of having around that you'll be sure would help you out? - A decent family. A decent society. A decent everything There is no do...

Source:  Original Article The Last Confession was the straw that broke the camel's back: What I started on my previous post  was phenomenal, it was pretty obvious that I had to document it. If you're still unfamiliar with what I'm talking about, check the Anonymous Confessions blog post; I had announced I want to play a game, based on the work of an american artist. Source:  Anonymous Confessions The thread of confessions started out with the following: "I still love her" "İt hurts not to see him" "I do care about what people think of me" Several anonymous persons decided to join later on, upon seeing the first feedback, and thought it might be a good idea to throw in their own confession, since, in the end, everything was totally anonymous. The majority spoke of relationships, parents, self esteem, aspirations, and unfinished love stories. Until the last guest posted their comment : "Confession 1: I wish I can help everyone who...

Ever wondered what the bunch of great people that came to knowing and carved their names in history would've felt like during the course of their days? What was Einstein's bath like? Did he just plunge his body inside the hot-water-filled tub and leave his thoughts for time to dismantle while he soaks? Were he concerned if he ever forgot the towel? Or was he the type of people to overjoy about the bits and pieces in absurd reality trying to give it some essence while waiting for some achievement to kick in? Einstein How did Jesus's face feel like? Did he ever trim his beard? Ever cut his hair? How? What was seeing him from afar like? Did he ever cough? How did he smell like? Was he of a deep toned voice or slightly thinner? Would he rather skip around of joy or hide the feeling for the sake of his divine emblem? Didn't he ever pick a rose to smell? Did he ever have a deja-vu? How was it like? What would Muhammad have done if he ever stepped in poop? How would he ...

[Continuation of the previous post ] It was the turn of another man, a man that apparently lived his entire life out of Lebanon. He was extremely happy, filled with beauty and overflowing with satisfaction. He, and his female companion, were eager to park nearby and have a chat: The man seemed to be dying to tell his story to someone, basically anyone. “Ok so, I have two stories to tell you. Ready?” The first was of the reason he was imprisoned, he lived his life in Africa, where planting Marijuana in one’s backyard was common. Upon coming to live in Lebanon, he gave it no thought and thought it was considered the same, therefore he ended up imprisoned for planting (and by the Lebanese law, trading) two plants of Marijuana or “Hasheesh”, that he planted in the first place for personal use only. Eventually he got out of jail pretty soon. The second story on the other hand left me traumatized for a few seconds. A while back he found out he wasn’t the son of his father, his father is ...