After the Gaza Flotilla Attacks This Novel Hits Home More

This is just a quick post about a novel that my cousin (thecoverfelloff) gave me to read last week. ‘Where The Streets Had A Name.’ It is written by Randa Abdel-Fattah, author of ‘Does My Head Look Big in This?,’ an Australian author of half Palestinian heritage. She writes about Palestine in this novel, more specifically, about a young girl who lives in Bethlehem and has to deal with life under occupation. She writes about curfews, deaths, checkpoints, refugees, soldiers, peace activists, families and weddings and somehow manages to infuse humour and light heartedness with underlying pain and grief. The story narrates the journey of the young girl Hayaat, as she tries to sneak into Jerusalem illegally, and along the way readers get just a snippet of what living in Palestine is like. It’s enough however, to get bleary eyes by the end of it. If there’s one thing that stands out in the novel more than anything, it’s the complete sense of loss conveyed through the nostalgic descriptions of occupied Palestinian homeland. Read it, and you’ll know what I mean. It may be a teen fiction novel but it’s beautifully done.

Journal Jungle

Those of you on my course at Uni may have noticed that I carry with me at all times a small red journal. It’s tatty and thin and looks like this:

Well the reason for this is in my first creative writing lecture I was told to carry a ‘thoughts’ notebook with me at all times, in case a brilliant idea strikes me when I least expected, like on my way to a Historisim lecture or when I’m coming out of Aldis. It’s also something authors and writers advise— it’s something Jacqueline Wilson advised when I meet her in Year 2 and told her I wanted to be a writer, and it’s what Julie Bertagna claimed she did on her blog (for anyone who doesn’t know of Julie Bertagna she was one of my favourite childhood authors). So anyway I went ahead and brought myself a journal and started to jot all my ideas down. I salvaged as many thoughts as I could, but to be honest, it’s impossible to keep track of them all. Minutes after I’m struck with a ‘brilliant’ idea for my next short story or poem, they are slipping away, second by second as I search for my journal and try and translate these ideas into words.
But anyway I came home at the end of term and stashed my now full red notebook away and found that I couldn’t fit it in my desk draw. After having a good rummage through (I haven’t sorted through that draw in ages) I found that buried beneath my pens, missed-matched felt tips and lids and old Pokémon key rings I had an entire stash of journals and notebooks, looking something like this when they’ve all been pulled out:

They consist of recipe collections (the red flowery one in particular), story drafts, general ramblings, photos, bad drawings and revision notes. One or two are completely blank because they’re simply too nice to fill with revision notes or rough story drafts and I plan to fill them with something more worthwhile eventually. A couple of the rambling ones have ideas that I must have thought of ages ago and with a bit of tweaking would be potential articles or blog material. In fact, now that I’m on holiday I plan to use as them as posts, so watch this space!

You Don't Have To Be a Buddist Monk To Appreciate This

4am and I couldn't sleep, so I reached for the book nearest to my bed. Turned out to be Chicken Soup for the Soul. Nice.

Two monks on a Pilgrimage came to a ford of a river. They saw a girl dressed in all her finery, obviously not knowing what to do as the river was high and she did not want to spoil her clothes. Without more ado, one of the monks took her on his back, carried her across and put her down on dry ground on the other side. 

The monks continued on their way. But the other monk after an hour started complaining. 'Surely it is not right to touch a woman, it is against the commandments to have close contact with women. How could you go against the rules of monks?'

The monk who had carried the girl walked along silently, but finally he remarked, 'I set her down by the river an hour ago, why are you still carrying her?'

The Wisdom of Zen

It's now 4.30, I'm going to try and go back to sleep.

All about Voting- using logic to argue the point

Well it's voting day today so I suppose this post is a little late. But nevertheless, it's useful to read and keep in mind. I've posted this in response to many people debating over whether voting is Haraam.

Oh and I promise more posts after May! Exam time=no time to do anything I want to do, and it seems to come around so quickly every year :(
http://alternativeentertainment.wordpress.com/2007/04/06/all-about-voting-shaykh-haitham-al-haddad/

Are you a carrot, an egg, or a coffee bean?

I have an aunty who used to give me a modern-day fable to read each time she came to visit. There was one in particular that stuck in my mind, depsite reading it four years ago. I decided to Google it and was surprised to discover that it's a much cited fable. As it's one I like so much I though I'd share it with you:

A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life, and how things were so hard for her. She did not know how she was going to make it, and wanted to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling. It seemed as one problem was solved a new one arose. Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water. In the first pot, she placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs and the last she placed ground coffee beans. She let them sit and boil without saying a word. In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She fished the carrots out and placed them in a bowl. She pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. Then she ladled the coffee out and placed it in a bowl.

Turning to her daughter, she asked, "Tell me what do you see?" "Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied. She brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did and noted that they got soft. She then asked her to take the egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard-boiled egg. Finally, she asked her to smell and sip the coffee. The daughter smiled, as she smelled and tasted its rich aroma. The daughter then asked, "What's the point, mother?"

Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same adversity- boiling water-but each reacted differently. The carrot went in strong, hard and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the boiling water, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior. But, after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened. The ground coffee beans were unique, however. After they were in the boiling water they had changed the water.

"Which are you?" she asked her daughter. "When trials and adversity knock on your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg, or a coffee bean?"

Think of this: Which am I?

Am I the carrot that seems strong, but with pain and adversity, do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength?

Am I the egg that starts with a passive heart, but changes with the heat? Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a financial hardship or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff? Does my shell look the same, but on the inside, am I bitter and tough with a stiff spirit and a hardened heart?

Or, am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it releases the fragrance and flavor. If you are like the bean, when things are at their worst, you become better and change the situation around you.

When the hours are the darkest and trials are their greatest do you elevate to another level?

How do you handle adversity?

Like the CARROT, the EGG, OR the COFFEE BEAN?