My own thing

 I want to write my own thing… only I don’t know what it is. There’s too little that I know and too much that I don’t. I’m not a writer. Two of my sisters are, though. You know, I really wish that I had that thing in them that enables them to make small incidents quite interesting and fun to read. It’s the angle they look from, I guess. Along with that a few things can help too, like having a beautiful style of writing and an interesting thing to write about. I believe that every person should write down their personal experiences and pass it down for other individuals to read. But, unfortunately, not everyone can write. Some choose the wrong things to write about. Some just can’t express themselves. Yet people should write, no matter what. You’ll find fascinating things in one’s journal. No one can do everything personally in life, so they might be able to live it through reading others’ experiences about it and take the morale without any damage. I think you’ll agree with me on this point.
I just remembered something. Writing is actually a way people express themselves through. Though not everyone can write, everyone has some ability which represents them to some extent. Some of us can draw, and some paint. Others can write poetry. Many people do crafts. Others sing. But the trick about singing is putting your own mark in a not-always-yours song.
Imagination is in almost everyone. Yet imagination can vary remarkably between people. No matter what each can imagine-That is to say, whether it’s made up or real-life-based imagination- it plays a role in your personality.
What personality is, I’m not exactly sure. But I guess I have a few clues to help. Each person’s got a different personality and it would be a great waste if somebody tried to erase their own. Your personality is your style, the way you live, the way you see life and things you see in life. For instance, there is a difference between me and the two sisters of mine whom I mentioned earlier. Though each of us writes in English, there’s a difference in what we write about, the way we write it and the way we see what is written. So I can conclude that your personality is what is different in you from other people. Yes, people are similar to some extent, yet each is different in some way or another.
By the way, congratulate me because I just discovered what is it that can’t make me write my own thing. It’s because I try to write like my sisters do. They see things through the day, some things trigger them to write and they have the ability of excellent story-telling (Which I lack; people get bored when I start telling a story) so they can come up with a masterpiece from an actual incident no more than an hour long. So what is it that I can write?
It turns out that I have a philosopher’s look at life. Because, as you probably noticed by now, though I can’t tell a story, I can extract a theory or morale from it and put in words.
So, thanks to God and, after Him, to you (whoever you are that I’m writing to) I guess I finally found what I can write about. I really hope I can meet you again through my future writings and, hopefully, masterpieces. And I really hope they’re going to be better. Until then, God be with you.
August 7, 2010

I have a dream,,

I have a dream;
To plant a pretty flower, and teach people beauty.
To treat people right, and teach them how to be kind.
To learn about life, to make me alive and teach others to live too.
To have beautiful thoughts, and spread them all around.
To learn to find what's beautiful in every thing, in every place, in every person.
Build, never destroy. Plant, never uproot.
Except for all the bad things.
Live life. Love life. Be a flower. Smile. :)

I wish...

I wish.........

I can be a flower

I am in a place where all is dry and sad

and dreams just evaporate in the air

I want to be that drop of life

and bring back a life to share

I want to have thoughts of gold

like a light, they'd glow

and warm me up inside

they'd shine, like the sun

telling all the buried seeds to grow

it's all right, life is here

just waiting for you

My first ever demonstration! :D

Yeah, believe it or not, I, Hala Gaafar went on a demonstration. Moreover, I'd organized it! :D
It was just three people: Me, Lina Yousif and Hadeel Ibrahim. I think I was in my fifth grade or something.We'd decided to run a demonstration against the pollution of the environment, although SQU was really the last place you'd expect to see littered.So we went. Carrying a sign that said something like "النظافة من الايمان" or something, and shouting enthusiastically: "النظافـــة من الايمــان، و القذارة من الشيطان، لا تدخّنوا، Don't smoke"
It's hilarious, now that I think about it XD we'd marched through three streets, seven, nine and ten, getting mocked gleefully by Amani, Israa and Lina's sister Amal - and afterwards we headed towards the staff club and the local shop. Of course we made sure to set a good example by cleaning the area about the (already clean) place, and as we marched back towards our own street, tried (and failed) to make sure a discarded, still full bag of crisps was not entirely wasted.
We stood for a few more minutes, me still yelling out and waving our single sign standing on a railing until I was tired. And that was that. We simply departed, went home for a good night's sleep and woke up, and completely forgot about it.
Those were the good times! ^_^

يوم النتيجة: مشهد من الجامعة

أيّام الشّهر تمرّ مرّ السّحاب.. انتهت الامتحانات منذ أسبوعين و اليوم جاء الطّلّاب لحضور نتيجة نهاية العام. الوقت هو العصر، و المكان أمام إدارة الكلّيّة حيث ستُعلّق النّتائج مكتظٌّ بالطّلّاب المتوتّرين. مرّت ساعة... ساعةٌ أخرى... و كلما مرّت الدّقائق قلّ الكلام و تصاعدت حدّة التّوتّر حتّى أصبح الصّمت هو المهيمن، و المشهد هو لشبابٍ في وضعيّاتٍ مختلفة توقّفوا عن مجرّد محاولة فعل أي شيء سوى الجلوس و الانتظار... كلّ حركة داخل المبنى تبعث نفضةً في الفوج فتلتفت مئات الرّؤوس ثمّ لا تلبث أن تعود للنّظر في الأرض ثانيةً. يكاد يكون بالإمكان سماع الأفكار الّتي تزنّ الآن في الرؤوس في هذه الدّقائق الثّقيلة..
فتاةٌ تقضم أظافرها و عيناها تحدّق في اللّا شيء.. "ماذا لو رسبتُ في أكثر من مادّة؟ إن لم أنجح في مادّة وظائف الأعضاء فأنا قطعاً لن أستطيع أن أنجح في امتحان الملحق... هل..؟" و لا تجرؤ في التّفكير في ما بعد ذلك فتنتابها رعشة خفيفة ثمّ تتلفّت باحثةً عن شيءٍ يلفت انتباهها لينقذها من التّفكير في هذا الكابوس..شابٌّ يتّكئ على الحائط المقابل لمبنى الإدارة. لا يُظهر منظره الهادئ القلق الّذي ينتابه. في الحالة الطّبيعيّة فإن الشّباب لا يقلقون بشأن النّتائج كما البنات و لكنّ كلّ اللّا مبالاة تنهار أمام سطوة الموقف الرّهيب.. " تُرى هل يستقصدني استاذ فلان بعدما طردني من محاضرته تلك؟ هل يفعل بي كما فُعل بزميلنا فلان فلبث في ذات المستوى لثلاث سنوات؟ لا أستبعدُ أن يفعل ذلك، ذلك الرّجل الحاقد.. سنرى إن تجرّأ أن..." و تنعقد حواجبه و هو يتصوّر ماذا سيفعل بالأستاذ الّذي يجرؤ أن يضع له التّقييم "راسب"..حركةٌ أخرى من داخل مبنى الإدارة تقطع حبال أفكار الجميع، و مرّةً أخرى يلتفت الجميع بحركةٍ تلقائيّة ناحية الباب.. أحدهم قادم، صوت خطوات.. و انحبست الأنفاس. كان الخارج يحمل أوراقاً بين يديه و وراءه الشّاب المسؤول من قاعات الكلّيّة يحمل دبابيس ضغط. بدا الأخير مترقّباً هو الآخر، إذ كان يعلم أنّه في أيّ لحظة ستنقض عليهما مئات الكتل المنفعلة و الّتي لن تفرّق بين الأسود و الأبيض في حالتها هذه. مئات الأعين تراقبهما و هما يتجاوزان اللّوح المخصّص لإعلانات السّنة الأولى، ثمّ الثّانية، و كذلك الثّالثة.. و يتوقّفان تحت اللّافتة "المستوى الرّابع". بأسرع ما يمكن قاما بتثبيت النّتائج و هدير الأقدام الكثيرة يعلو من خلفهم. في النّهاية كان الإثنان يصارعان التيّار العظيم الّذي كان كلّ هدفه الوصول للوحة الإعلانات، و بعد عدّة دقائق تركا الجمع المتزايد وراءهما و وقفا يلتقطان أنفاسهما، و تظهر على وجههما تعابير الإمتعاض لعلمهما أنّ هناك أربعة نتائج أخرى يجب أن تُعلّق وسط صراعٍ لا يُتوقّع أن يكون أقلّ من هذا. دلفا ثانيةً داخل مبنى الإدارة.. و لكن ماذا عن الطّلّاب؟إنّ لحظة تعليق النّتيجة من اللّحظات القليلة على الأرض الّتي تنمحي فيها كلّ المبادئ (مثل السّيدات أوّلاً) و الأدب و الذّوق و كلّ الأفكار كذلك.. لكلٍ امرءٍ يومئذٍ شأنٌ يغنيه، فلا توجد أفكارٌ كـ "هذه الّتي تصارعها فتاةٌ" و لا "فلانٌ هذا جاء قبلي" و لا تلتفت للصّيحات المذعورة الّتي تسمعها وراءك سواءً بـ"اقرأ لي نتيجتي معك" أو كانت تعابير أصحابها عن مشاعرهم بعد رؤية نتائجهم.. و يصبح العالم بأكمله هو فقط أنت و ذلك الورق المعلّق و الّذي عليه نتيجتك.. مصيرك.أمّا الطّلّاب المساكين و الّذين كانوا لا زالوا ينتظرون تعليق نتيجتهم فقد كانوا يعانون الأمرّين، فقد أطبق الجمع تماماً على النّتيجة و لم يكد يُرى شيءٌ وسط الكتلة الكبيرة المتحرّكة.... و فجأة.. صرخةٍ عالية. و تركّزت أبصار من خارج الدّائرة على الشّاب الّذي كان يتقافز و يصارع في ذات الوقت للخروج من ذلك الجنون.. يصرخ و وجهه كلّه يتنفّس الصّعداء، و قفز وسط الأذرع الكثيرة الّتي تلقّفته و رفعته للحظاتٍ قبل أن يتذكّر أصحابها نتائجهم هم الآخرون فيخلّون سبيله.نصف ساعة مرّت، و رغم أنّ الزّحام حول اللّوحة لم يخفّ بعد، خرج (المعلّقان) ثانيةً من أعماق الإدارة يحملان نتائج مستوىً آخر. هذه المرّة كانت الأعصاب مشدودةً أكثر من قبل بالطّبع، فهناك علاقةٌ طرديّة بين طول الإنتظار و حدّة التّوتّر.. أضف إلى ذلك المناظر الّتي اختبروها، و الّتي تنوّعت بين البكاء الهستيري و الانهيارات العصبيّة و الزّغاريد و الصّراخ بشتّى أنواعه.. و كان الطّلّاب أشدّ انقضاضاً من سابقيهم على اللّوح.. طلّاب المستوى الثّالث.تبعت ذلك نتائج المستوى الخامس.. فالثّاني... و بقي المستوى الأوّل. بالطّبع كلّ من يستمع أو يقرأ (ممن لم يكونوا مع الحضور)سيستنكرون تأخّر تعليق نتائج هؤلاء رفقاً بهم و بأعصابهم المسكينة.. و لكن من يدري؟ ربّما كان من الأفضل لهم ألّا يروا نتائجهم مبكّراً، إنّهم لا يدرون كيف سيشعرون (بتحسّنٍ..؟ أم سيشعرون بماهو الأسوأ؟) بعد رؤيتها..؟

We are one

         An Egyptian man sat next to me one morning on my way to college. It occurred to me that he might think himself better than the Sudanese people sitting around him, and in response of this idea a rush of thoughts ran quickly through my mind, making an imaginary conversation.
         What, you like your revolution so much? Think you’re a lot better than all the rest of us on earth? Oh no, don’t start with the rubbish all the Arabs make us Sudanese people hear. Don’t you know we’ve done a lot more than what you people ever did? And we’ve kept our silence, we don’t go boasting on every nook and cranny the way you do. Heard of Al-Mahdi? He stood up against the Turkish invaders leading the rest of his people in a way no other Arab in the rest of the Arabian world dared to do. We’ve made our own independence from the Anglo-Egyptian rule (Therefore freed from being a part of Egypt, thank god), we’ve had at least three truly democratic governments, all starting with its own revolution against dictatorship, and you people? This is the first time you’ve had one of those...  Then one thing, one random thought that popped into my head in the rush of flying things put it all to a stop.” You think our father Adam was Egyptian?” A pause followed, in which my mind’s engines froze, as the answer that extended far beyond “No” was beginning to form. In fact, Adam was not Egyptian, and he definitely wasn’t Sudanese either. The truth is; we’re all sons and daughters of Adam, aren’t we? That was clearly defined before we were this or that. We’re all human, we come from one father so that makes us brothers, doesn’t it? All the irritation melted away and then I thought of it no more.

Yes, we are one. It’s funny how often we forget that.

Pride

You know, I just thought that the problem with us Sudanese people is that we're all too damn proud. We're too proud to marry this girl or that man,we're too proud to admit we're bottom at everything. We're too proud to let go of some of our rights for the sake of peace. We're too proud to forgive. We're too proud to pay the kumsari his full sum of money, yet how dare he protest. We're too proud to admit we're wrong, and we're too proud to say we don't know. The reason we'd never hand over Omer El Bashir is not because we think he's innocent, but because we're too proud to hand over one of our own to some foreigners. Our college was closed for three months not because the police entered the college, beat up the students and arrested them, but because the students were too proud to let them get away with it, and the police were just too proud to apologize to some dumb students. The students then blamed the vice councilor because they were too proud to knock on his office door and discuss it with him. Yeah, we're Sudanese, we're not stupid or anything like that. The reason that's holding us back and causing us all those stupid problems we have is one single, extremely ugly word: PRIDE.