Stars Conversation

Talking to the stars has never been this enlightening.
What is the purpose of life if not to wonder about humankind and roam?
Why is everything getting darker day after day? It is also something to wonder about.
He said he loved us. He surely loves his kids. But what about me? I am no part of that us. I have never been. Even if he dares telling me I love you, I am no longer able to believe it. I just can not believe it. Life has been harsh on me. Some would tell me there surely is harsher than what you are going through. But shall I remind them that no one can weight the suffering, nor compare it to another one. One small pain to them can be the greatest deal for another one. It is all about perception, position and background. You can not judge. Everyone is filled with some bit or more of arrogance, thinking he or she can go along with superficial advises, as if everything will certainly be OK.
OK is only a modern word to tell yourself that there is actually an answer, that anything can have a justification, that there is a reason behind it. What if there is no explanation? What if everything goes wrong because it is simply meant to be? Why would you, strangers, bother to look for one? Why would you give it any care?
People are dying. People are suffering. People is just a word to cover faces. To hide names. At the end, everyone is anonymous to pain and even death. It just happens.
Making it simple does not resolve the problem. Making it simple sounds silly either. Brave ones, or those thinking of themselves as brave ones, will tell you to face it. To face anything, you must have a face, a name, a history. When you deny all of them, you find yourself naked, sitting in nowhere, waiting for the light to show up, for some mercy. Coming right from the skies, from the Gods.
They keep teaching you, God knows mercy. God is the merciful. Where is the mercy in this bloody world? Did you witness any? I have never did.
Sometimes, I just think I should rather be in some dangerous place, fearing for my own life to know its value. What if at that very moment, I realize it actually does not have any? What if I would be there sitting for Death to embrace me? What if her arms were warm and welcoming?
But here I am watching the sky and its torments. Thunderstorms, the light and the stars. I keep on talking to them, looking for a way out of this eternal question. What is the purpose of life? She asked. But neither the sky or the stars replied. They kept silent. Just like the whole world is – silent – while watching the horrors happening, while watching lives fading away.
From my balcony, I can see that light coming from the Eiffel Tower. I watch it roaming, making perfect circles in the sky. I see it coming to me and fading away. I wish I could catch it but it is uncatchable. Nobody can.
Find the light and follow it, that is the path of your salvation. Who, you fool, think you can make anyone believe that? There is a light, there are many but you will never be able to reach it. It is just a mirage, calling you night after night.
You gave all you can and even more. Not just gave but gave up as well. A sane life is made of compromises not sacrifices. He has dreams. He wishes for his country to be free, for his fellows to be free. Day after day, he is running after his interests and you are there, watching him getting closer. He only can because you are there, besides him. What is the you? Where did you bury it? When will you acknowledge that only selfishness rules? Why are you even bothering to think about the others? Is it making you more or less human?
I wish to see the world, to travel and visit each country of this world. I wish to watch how people live and experience their way of life.
And here I am interrupted by a snapchat message. Fuck modern world. Yes, you heard me.
My only question will always be: is there any purpose for all of this? And please do not give me the “life is made for worship”. I tried it. It does not work.

An Endless Plea

It has been a long time I have been wondering why I could not publish anything, as if I blocked every way of sharing; every way out of me. I even tried to read old posts I have here but I could not. That might be the problem with me. I can not do something twice. Watching a movie for a second time? No way. Except if it really has that thing which struck me at the first place. I also have been thinking about those days, when I was rushing home, back from work, to get some time to do nothing but to write only.

This year has been particularly difficult. Everyone handles changes in a personal and unique way, where some unconsciously follow  psychologic steps lists – designed by professionals or pseudo pros whose favorite play is quite comparable to a boring wiki copy-paste essay – others just keep on fleeing to get where they were at the start. The expectable fact with changes is the doubt which comes along, the moment when you have a screw loose and you wonder how come you got that low. It is good to challenge yourself, “see the glass half full rather than half empty” and the only answer I was able to give myself was: Yeah, tell me about it. Bullshit! It became so easy to brood, I even got to like it; to find refuge in it to not face what was preventing me from being happy. I let my fears take control of me.

Friendly conversations turned to be repetitious pleas, complaints, me dwelling on my so-miserable life. What would you do when you know that nobody can ever convince you and what is in your mind will dig its grave in it no matter whatever can happen? Indeed, that is called being stubborn to the bone. It is also being a little – if not, much arrogant; putting your self esteem way too high, just to vigorously hide your weaknesses. Because no one has the right to see them. Because you do not have the right to be weak. Because every one that was any close to you used them to destroy you. Because it happened more than once. The energy spent on hiding, playing a role kept my attention away. I ended up closing many doors and leaving behind some who counted and some who could have. I blamed it on everyone’s occupations, work, studies, distance, way of life… And nothing new, I was complaining again, finding myself alone. I could not hear anything, as if I was simply invisible, a spectator watching the show – without any pause or return button.I threw myself in my inner prison because what was outside was scary: decisions, choices, change – big words that can tackle the big men.

Every day I feel the sun rays stroking my face and I close my eyes to breathe the fresh air getting in. The day goes by and the sun sets. And I go back to sit on that chair, put in the middle of that dark cell.

Violence & Women, Still a lot to work on.

Museums preserve proofs of what Women have been bearing through time, traditions, cultures but there is still a lot to work on.

The 25th of November marks the international day against violences on women. Years after years, numbers are not changing much. In France, a so-called “Land of Human Rights”, a supposed to be “developed country”, two women die each day due to their partners’ violence. This average is alarming, while elsewhere it is much worse and worsening.

According to the police, 2,000 people took the streets last Sunday in Paris; 5,000 according to the organizations (source) to shout for Women’s Rights, reminding to everyone that women must be equal to men and protected against economical, social and sexist abuses they are facing daily.

Law should fix some of the injustices but I believe Capitalism and Patriarchy must be annihilated for a real social justice.

On a more cynical note, I have to say that we shouldn’t need a specific day to be reminded that there is no difference between genders, that every human being should be granted the same rights, protection and respect. Culture, Religion, politics shouldn’t have any right on one’s life hence the need of another system, another political guideline for all to build better societies.

Here and here, you will find what I and my comrades did for the 25th of November.

We are also doing a screening of the movie “The Source” open for women only on the 1st December in Paris. (Details here.)

Here is also a video of last year’s protest in Paris on the international day against violence on women.

Hope for equality through music and a man’s voice: a beautiful song by Calogero – “Aussi Libre Que Moi” (translation: “As Free As I am”)

Broken Strings

Do you hear bombs falling out there?

Where will my Love lead me to?

Truth hurts, reality isn’t fair.

Will there be any Justice? For you, too.

Today, He, She and They died.

Death doesn’t care about Innocence.

Never will, I, body and soul sit on the fence.

Carelessness, Hatred, Hypocrisy. Justified?

I am the threat to your existence.

I am none but a believer, in peacefulness.

Nothing is left but Resistance.

Who is to blame but your blindness?

Swearing to what is the most precious, Life

I will never stop loving You.

Defeat me, break me, bury me;

I will never stop loving You.

Unfaithfulness is just another strife.

The Battle is on, ready or not,

He, She and They count on You.

I do too, for you want it or not.

Take it as the last chance ever given to You.

It has to be today, not later.

That Love, that struggle, that fever,

Don’t let it fade, don’t let it flee, don’t let it die.

Free, alive, high up to the Seventh Sky, the Dove must fly.


The Cairo Fever

Me in Egypt

Cairo is a beloved place I called home the second my plane landed on the Egyptian soil.

What about this place? How did I instantly fall in love with it? Was it just because I was experiencing real holydays for the first time ever? Or that total feeling of freedom, far from my parents and family? All of it, I guess.

Cairo is God damned polluated, God damned crowded, noisy, hot and dirty. When I can, especially here in Paris, those are all the things I always flee. Fresh and pure air, the silent calm of an empty place, the brise brushing my face, the cool weather… This is what I actually look for when I think of vacation.

But something irrational happened to me when I got the Cairo fever.

The passion for the nation, the passion in the political debates, I felt it, I dived in it on my first night in Tahrir. I still can’t speak of danger but adrenaline and excitment. The mass was impressive. The poverty level was incredible. The kids of the street were so eloquent. The taboos and behavior code were obvious and followed by all. Don’t walk hand in hand with a man. Don’t go out with a short dress and naked legs. When a girl, don’t smoke anywhere. When a girl, don’t go out alone. Period.

Sexual harrassment? Yes. Everywhere. In the bus, in the cab, in the street, in the coffee shop, at the pyramids. My good Karma kept me away from any disastrous story. I was lucky to always be surrounded by great friends. I spent three weeks between mid december and january 2012 but it felt like few days. I wish I could have stayed there longer.

I have absolutely nothing for the Egyptian food. Nothing for (I wonder if there is any…) the architecture. Nothing for Cairo’s landscape: towers, bridges, cars, donkeys, oil stains, broken pavements, dark alleyways and the God damned heat. Tho I didn’t have to suffer it since I travel in the winter.

Tourist’s tours? Well, the most annoying day of all my trip was the pyramids’ day. Harrassed by the souvenir sellers, the pseudo-guides, the camels’ owners, the horses’ owners, the beggars… I almost forgot about the pyramids’ presence.

But the Cairo fever caught me and I fell in love with that city.

I thought Egypt was a religious country. I thought I would get in whatever troubles related to manners, dressing code and more. I thought none was as free of move as I am, living in France, a western country. It is actually true but when you want to get something, there are ways to achieve it.

I realized that it is not because a friend has an Arabic name that he/she is Muslim. I also realized that I used to automatically put together “Muslim” and “Arab”, while there are atheist Arabs, Christian Arabs, Jewish Arabs, agnostic Arabs and more, I guess… This may sound silly, but I got more open-minded than before.

Cairo broke off loads of my religion related inhibitions. I think that’s the turning point of my Cairo love story. That place made me able to test things that I thought I would never be able to try. This is quite paradoxal when Egypt is considered as a Muslim country (again!). I should have been breaking off with religion here, in France, in the West – where anything is accepted.

The more I think about all this, the more it seems to me that people in the West are more attached to their religious beliefs than in the Arab countries. The veil became extensively, in a nonsense way, important here. While, there, in Egypt or Morocco or Tunisia, it is just a common way to dress, something normal; a part of the big picture.

There is no such place obviously called “BAR” in the streets of Cairo, downtown Cairo. You’ve got to know about the few places where you can have a drink. Hiding is ridiculous, says me who grew up in a country where lewdness is accepted through sex advertisements, through sexual education at school, through national programs of HIV protection, through the French wine tradition, through the European culture of alcohol… It is then weird, strange when realizing that elsewhere, people need to hide as it is seen as dirty, bad, evil – a place where you can be judged and punished right away because it doesn’t fit religion or the main opinion.

My “khmeera” (yeast) face and my “7aramoon wa makroohon ya bni!” (This is illicit and abhorrent son!) soldier statement (hardly serious) are my best souvenirs of Cairo. The witnesses of those two moments will recognize themselves and will surely have a good laugh remembering my naivety and silliness.

I don’t measure a good trip by how dark I got under the sun nor by how much money I would have spent, but by the awesomeness of the people I have met, the simplicity of the time spent and the feeling to be always welcomed and loved.

How do you say LGBT in Arabic?

For a first topic, I picked up homosexuality.

I am an Arab woman who grew up with the Islamic and traditionnal background, with the: “Oh astaghfiru Llah! Close your eyes, don’t watch it’s HARAM!” and the “Aren’t you feeling ashamed of yourself, ha? With your very short dress, not even covering your knees?? It’s not enough to be wearing pants, the dress must cover your knees!” and way more…

The all-time seperation between women and men at home, at friends’, with guests, at the Islamic school, at the Mosque, at the Islamic events and more, made me unable to deal with men. What to say? What to not say? How to behave? What to avoid? What are the signs? Signs of what? Sexual tension? Most probably.

What if my parents were not as much religious as they were? Would I have became a more open-minded adult? Would it be related to my psychic balance? Would I have felt “normal”? What is even hiding behind the word “normal”?

Few months ago, I was the lucky one to meet a lovely woman who became a dear friend with whom I shared a lot, of whom I enjoy the compagny. In my writing, I will call her Lina.

Her weight can’t be not noticed. People think it is her main problem when it is not. She has more self-confidence than I will never have. She is beautiful and her soul and heart hold more love than any other person I’ve met so far. Don’t be confused, I’m not her lover but I do love Lina, in a non-romantic way ;)

We talked a lot about our experiences, about life and its dramatic events till that day: the day we became fully honest about ourselves. When it happens, I always feel blessed to get closer and be trusted. She finally confessed that she was Lesbian and in a serious relationship for almost two years.

At first, I was quite surprised but then I felt sad for her. Surprised because I would have never suspected it and sad because I perfectly knew it was something her family will never accept. Lina will never be the real person she is before her parents and great family. Never as in her parents would have needed to be born a generation later to understand. Do not forget, “to understand” is different from “to accept”. There is actually a huge gap between the terms “understand” and “accept”.

In a year, my lifestyle changed and I became a completely different person. I’m not the person I used to be, the person my parents wanted me to be. I can now tell that I’ve never been devoted to religion. My parents are. But I am not. When I understood it, I made choices. I decided to try things which are “haram” (illicit) to know what’s bad and what’s good. When you’re used to be controlled, when choices are made for you, when you’re brainwashed to think what they want you to think, it takes time and sacrifices to free yourself from all those chains.

I’ve been taught that homosexuality is “dirty”, that “those people should be killed”, that they are “disgusting”, that homosexuality is a “sickness” and not something which comes at birth. Women are made for men and men for women, homosexuality is against the Laws of Nature, the supreme laws of God. I’ve been taught all this and even more homophobic statements when I never met any homosexual person. I just had to follow like sheep and give the proper reaction, the reaction my parents expected from me when facing an obvious homosexual scene on TV for example.

I do believe in God and I don’t find anything wrong in Islam but Muslims are themselves the cancer of this beautiful religion. But Lina, she stopped believing in God. She said: “How can I believe in a supremacy rejecting homosexuality, rejecting me?”.

So, she keeps faking the perfect Muslim daughter to please a mother in law and the rest of the family. It is not a question of being ready to face the family and force them to accept her homosexuality but the obvious reality of the issue of such a struggle. At this point, I felt her closer and I understood what is being homosexual.

I never had any serious opinion about the topic, never nourished any hatred nor sympathy. I was simply neutral and pleasing the main opinion of the various groups I was or am part of.

Today, I made up my mind. I’m not able to reject a friend because of her/his choices. I’m not able to judge someone and hate only because of the differences.

Tho, there is a question I can’t answer yet: “What if I give birth to an homosexual son or daughter?” – “How will I react?” – “Will I be able to accept it?” – “Will I be able to stay human?”.

It’s time to sweep the dust!

Hello world, hello friends :)

This past few years have been emotionnally and physically rough which made a regular writing tough to follow up with. My previous project “The 365 Run” payed the price of it and ended up being abandonned. Though I need to keep regularly writing: to improve my personal level and style in English but also to heal.

Writing is an efficient therapeutic way to heal wounds of the past, helpful by putting words down, by putting feelings down and in retrospect, feel stronger than what made you once fall in the deepest depths of depression and other similar dark places.

The words will help me but I also need your help, my friends.

Don’t hesitate to slap me when instead of writing, I keep avoiding the serious things I need to talk about. No one cares about what I would eat or shop but my experiences. We all need to hear others’ stories to get stronger but also to stop whining about loneliness. Sharing experiences is helping others to be more aware and success by not failing life tests and traps.

Inhaling, exhaling, deep breaths… Let’s do it, I can do it!

Awaiting for your feedbacks, always, my dears. :)

The Light

We all seek for our path to be enlightened. We all wish to see clearly in things that are happening to us, whatever blessing or disaster it is.

Ramadan Kareem… Ramadan Kareem… Ramadan Kareem… What if the very beginning of this holy month blessed me with a message, with an understanding, something my heart couldn’t handle yet…?

Instinct isn’t tricky. When you smell something fishy, there is actually something fishy and you need to dig and dig again to discover it. Most of the time, your first feeling would be the right one that you should have followed and, in some rare cases, you would have been wrong to doubt and be suspicious. I wished again, deep in my heart that I would be wrong and that my doubts were not legitimate. And again, my instinct didn’t betray me.

Lies, past, secrets, all those filthy things I can’t bear anymore nor tolerate. Any truth is good enough for me, it proves the person’s honesty and good heart, whatever horrible things you would have done before: just tell and show you took seriously enough your responsibilities. Nobody is perfect and everyone happen to do mistakes, but we can all learn from them to become better.

I wished the light would come and free me from the doubts and fears I was holding. The light came and it didn’t free me but it burnt me alive. Here is the shock, here is the slap, here comes the torture and the dark days… The more atrocious the pain is, the more I wish to burn longer and longer. The further I need to be, the closer I want to be. The harshest I must be, the sweetest I am.

We all say it, at a time or another: we will be tougher and the tougher we are, the less situations and assholes can affect us. But, how can I become tougher when I was happy? I was happy until elements out of my control came up and started to darken the story, damage that beautiful painting, destroy a bit of myself… If it hurts, it is because there was some true happiness. If it hurts, it is because I was enjoying every moment. If I would have been faking, then everything would be alright now. Everything would be alright…

The less communication there is, the worse it is. How about compassion? How about humility? How about kindness? How about support? I do think, when you have done something wrong, it is your responsibility to fix it, or to try at least. But being insensible, uncaring, unconcerned and even incurious about the consequences is a real insult.

Fate and Karma are two powerful words. I won’t utter any curse or bad wish, it is not even necessary.

Roots and Routes

When at a crossroads in life, suddenly loads of questions come up: things you have neglected for so long, things you never gave any importance, things you started but never finished. Now that time is free of charge, what is the best way out? A way out or a way in? Flee or imprison yourself? Quit or silence your mind and dreams and whatever can endanger your position?

I decided to resign. Here I am wondering about my identity. A problem, a question I let unsolved.

What defines you as a citizen? As a part of a group? A nation? A family? A way of life? All those ties, most of the time, clear and obvious, can suddenly appear as blurred and undefined.

I decided to no vote. Would have had my vote any significance or any power, I would have voted. But how to know about the consequences of a simple action? There were no candidate for the presidential elections that caught my attention or respect. There are all the same: liars with interests.

I was born in France and I have always been living in France. My passport is the only privilege that ties me close to the French identity. But am I really French? French in the meaning that I love my country and that I may be ready to serve it? Would I die for France? Would I corrupt myself for this country? I have no answers for those questions. Though I like to give a proper “No!” to all of them, something that might be stuck under my skin after all those years spent and lived in some other France: the France that the French themselves deny the existence of.

Whatever you experience makes up your identity. Am I to follow up with that reactionary mentality? The denial? The denial of the self? What does really make me French? I wonder.

I was close to ask one of those brown policemen: what does make you feel French enough to serve this country? This is not a question of color or racism but roots. Are we supposed to chose between our origins and what we gained within our own generation?

There is no French political party that I like or would ever be a member of. I despise the French politics. I despise the French system which brings only a particular social class to be successful. Be successful? Or how to trample on the weakest to reach a higher position.

What about the foreign politics and the French agendas? I disagree. What about wars? I disagree. What if I was the president? How would I run this country? I have absolutely no clue.

With the one percent of truth (if we are even getting that much…!) leaked in the medias and the very few I know about France’s interests while I am already disagreeing, how can I be French *enough*?

If I had answers, I wouldn’t have that load of doubts and hesitations confronting the various routes before me. I am in the position where even roots are routes. What to do? Ramifications from all sides, the more questions come up, the more leads I find and the more difficult it is to make a decision.

I don’t think my identity should be a decision but it has to be. It would have been much easier if I had one single origin matching with the color of my passport. Anyways, decisions have to be made.

Witnessing the outrageous collaboration #AirFlotilla2

The RDV at Paris’ main airport, Roissy Charles de Gaulles, was fixed at 5AM today for the departure of the French pro-Palestine activists joining the international “Welcome to Palestine” campaign.

Most of the participants received the day before a notification cancelling their tickets after Israeli authorities ordered the airlines companies to do so. Even a day after the airlines companies’ notifications, most of us were able to register themselves online and get the boarding cards, which keeps being a paradoxical and unexplained point.

Once at the airport, the advises given to all the participants were so far respected, i.e. keep being with your partners or friends and not call for the gathering of all the participants for example. The medias were also ready to film and interview the pro-Palestine activists answering the call of the 5AM RDV.

The “luggage strategy” divided the participants between those going directly to the boarding gate and those trying to register their luggage. The “strategy” lays in the luggage would delay the deportation if there is any to happen.

All of the participants, French citizens, handing French passports were immediately denied access to the planes, whether from the luggage registration reception or directly at the boarding gate. The French authorities, as well as the Lufthansa staff, had lists: lists of all the French citizens, not double nationality holders, without any link to Israel, which is a quite success as in the Israeli authorities will not be able to track the activists apart from the simple tourists.

The lists black-listed all the French citizens booked on the 15th of April to Israel. It is actually an attack against France above all, considering its citizens as second class ones: ashamed we were all at the collaboration of our authorities to the fascist Israel.



After the WTP participants tried to board their planes, they decided to obtain an official letter from Lufthansa giving the reasons of the banning. There was no responsible, no head of the airlines company except a powerless employee with copies of a standard paper accompanied with a mere copy of a letter from the Israeli ministry of interior to all the airlines ordering the ban as following:

“1/ Due to statements of pro-Palestinian radicals to arrive on commercial flights from abroad to disrupt the order and confront security forces at friction points, it was decided to deny their entry in accordance to the Law of entry to Israel 1952.

2/ Attached is a list of passengers that are denied entry to Israel. In light of the above mentioned, you are ordered not to board them on your flights to Israel.

3/ Failure to comply with this directive will result in sanctions against the airlines.

4/ This list is partial and at a later stage you will be advised of additional names.

Most likely there will be additional activists, that their names we will not be able to advice of in advance, that their entry to Israel will be denied.”

The Hasbara strategies keep being the all-time same demonization of the persons acting or joining for or with any pro-Palestine movement. “Radicals” means violent which quickly leads to “terrorism” and “terrorists”, while in the WTP statements and press-releases “peaceful activists” is clearly defined and much repeated.

The basis of the Israeli threat to the airlines companies lies on a law they change at every change of wind. Few days before the due date to the April flytilla, the Knesset decided to change the immigration law again, as in: every airlines company boarding an “illegal passenger” after he or she has been “officially” denied to enter Israel will be financially sanctioned by fines and whatever restrictions Israel can decide to apply.

And the latest point shows clearly that the Isreali authorities could not make any difference between the participants to the Welcome to Palestine campaign and the regular tourists, so on a large scale, all the French passengers have been listed.

Chants have been shouted during the whole time of demonstration at the airport denouncing the illegal ban Israel ordered, the abuse of the right of free circulation Israel signed, the freedoms of the French citizens and all those blocked in the other countries such as Belgium, Italy, Canada and Switzerland among others.

When any prisoner in the world is allowed to be visited, Palestine is a jailed country which does not even have that same fundamental right.

In solidarity with our Canadians comrades joining the WTP campaign and after French participants have been denied boarding by Air France staff under Israeli orders, the protesters tried to get in the Air France offices but were violently pushed back by the French riot police.

The latest step of today’s Air Flotilla 2 was for the participants to ask for refunding. As mentioned earlier, the foreign airlines companies rarely have official offices at the airport. No one was able to answer the demands of the protesters who decided to go for a sit-in inside the airport, facing the Lufthansa reception offices.

Some tried to convince the French authorities by talking and explaining the situation to each of those policemen surrounding, encircling the protesters – in vain. IOF or French riot police “CRS”, they finally take the same positions when it is about Palestine.

France has been felt by all as a new Israeli colony, where our people, our country has been asked to bow to the real and ultimate  terrorist, and ended up obeying. Yes, the French used to be proud of their country, but in the airport named after the greatest nationalist, master of the French sovereignty, De Gaulle, could have been most probably mad of anger at what became the country he held.

In this crucial election time, we are all waiting for the reactions of our representatives and candidates.


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