Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Chronicles of a very gullible smurf....

Now, that would be cool right? And the pic posted expresses our utmost zest and enthusiasm being the smurfs we are. On second thought, nah it's not. Being a JU smurf isn't
exactly the best situation you could be stuck in. Why?

Bare my attitude, and read my story.

So i go to the Al Hasan Bin Talal Hall, holding my official paperwork, and am met by a very
friendly student guide who hands me this "Gift". And i am shocked, what gift could they
grant us?

And here am gonna ask you to visit Robz's post here. The student handbook and map are a
"gift". Wait, i thought they were obliged to provide us with such stuff when we first
applied. Oh never mind that. The pen doesn't work, and the map is wrong, and the caricature
inside the booklet is basically well "Vulgar". Why vulgar? We have such a beautiful
language, and instead we use common slang that basically made me feel well.. pissed. Cause
let me say it in their common slang - 3am ibtestahbeloni? I mean, it is kinda of funny if
you're in a good mood. But maybe it's not that funny when you stand in line to get a piece
of paper that says what subjects do you have. Followed by a visit to your Academic Advisor
who is sitting in open space surrounded by hordes of people, and asks you to pick a subject
besides the other three. I stood there "What?"

I didn't know what the hell am doing, and why the hell there isn't a single elective in
there that is related to my field of study. And when i tried to ask, well there are
gagllion of gals pushing me into the wall. We have absolutely no sense of line,
organization, and our life is a perfect example of El 7esbeh.

We are poor gullible smurfs that do not need jokes and funny caricatures in our student
booklet. Rather than a simple explanation of what we're doing. A girl in line asked me
"Listen, so am gonna be taking those 3 subjects for the rest of the four years?"

Imagine, how naive we are when it comes well to our first year. The student handbook should
have been given to us beforehand, not during the registration. It is a wonderful
initiative, the "gift", and the guides and the unusual friendliness we were treated with.
However, we are not satisfied, because we are small blue creatures that can not understand
the university system on our own. We are not satisfied, because our blue skin becomes very
itchy when we have to perform everything we don't know in a rush. And our small white tiny
feet hurt when 4th years send with false directions to the Southern Gates. So here is a
post from a poor gullible smurf, I can't wait to start the uni courses - where of course
my smurfness will gradually vanish by trial and error.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

The Camera Of Life

This is how she applied the water proof mascara to her eyes,slowly and carefully, dressed in her new clothes, the chain of pearls adorning her neck. The dress soaked and dipped in
invisible gold, otherwise it is unexplainable why is it so
expensive. The throats slaughtered for her fur coat -feel free to explain this pun the way you want. She bit her lip while staring at her image in the mirror "Perfect... girls will be burning with green envy tonight."


Girl in rags, standing by the corner of a dirty London street,perched like an owl waiting for the right moment. Her eyelashes are broken and bare, her rags are soaked and dipped in dirt - real and hard. She collects the crumbs of bread from the tables in the diner each Saturday. The ladies and gents laughing,
flirting, and dancing while she sits in the back washing the dishes. Her frock locked by the sink's door. She smiles... wipes sweat from her brow by the back of her wrist. Soap...water..
scrub... water... scrub it clean. The manager bounces back from the hall, hurrying the cooks and cursing the busboys. Her narrow hips camouflage her silky long hair. Among the busboys,
her girl status is dropped. By the cabinet an old broken mirror is hung, three different images stare back at her. She tames her hair with her fingers, the dark circles engulfing her
puffed eyes, the small wound on her finger trying to heal - her heart surprisingly refusing to. She stares for a minute or two, sneaks a peek at through the small parlor window, a customer
leaves his plate unfinished. She smiles, biting her lip.
"Perfect...I will be eating tonight."


"Perfect...someone will be thinking about his life after reading this..."