and then our exile

in the Name of God,
Light,
Giver of Faith,
the Infinite,
the One!!

"like his brazzar" (Qasim)
"we were not created to sleep" (Zacharia)

Two weeks on, and much much has changed. As of this afternoon, i feel as though i've finally arrived in Damascus--not that the previous were any /less/ Dimashq, but that i have spent the six or seven hours before arriving in this netcafe cleaning with soap and water and elbow grease, and now a room tucked awae behind a forty-five degree hill and six flights of stairs in Rukned-Din, is now clean, is now smelling like soap, that my clothes are in the cupboards and the mattress has sheets smelling like Wuddistan. i'm here. i've arrived.

--the above written yesterday. It's as though i'm going through stages in my nonphysical "arrival": the first, a few days after i arrived here, i realized i wasn't praying qasr salah, which struck me as very odd. Then, days later, walking somewhere with Zacharia, and later in Masjidul-Hasan, further degrees of "i'm here...". i think i said something of this to Some of you before, that there are times i think my retrospect could be neatly organized into phases divided by physical translocation. Anyways, i bought my own fruit today, and ate it by myself, with yoghurt. Yesterday, walking in the direction of Abu Nour after 'isha, i felt very content. That a new life unfolded.

It's been over a month here. Tomorrow's the last exam of this course at the university, meaning these days i'm searching out other options for studies. First impressions aside, the course itself became decent, being a good review of things i'd forgotten and exposure to much new vocabulary (Michigan State University.)--but not, i don't think, translating into 10.000SP. i happened to arrive the term after they changed their system into more of money and less of time or worth. Some of the time spent there was simply a waste of time, period--that some of the things we did were useless, and much of the grammar we did i knew already. And, as Viktor says, "i didn't come to Damascus to be surrounded by white people." (Speaking of which, there have been times i've looked around me and wondered why in the dunya some of these people would want to study Arabic--how many of these were the newest brood of orientalists. Except, then i realized i should focus on other things, instead of daydreaming.) But, alhamdulillah 'ala kulli haal. Private studies, the institute in Mezzeh, Abu Nour. Futures.

One thing of import that my days seem to be cent'ring around--that one cannot measure time. That one cannot ever measure time, or the things that happen therein. More on this later, once i've worked out what i mean, to myself.

That: i'm oulder now than i've ever been before. It is a profound thought.

Also: i was clearing out a cupboard in my room somewhat full of a previous occupant's stuff, and came across photocopies of two works from the Islamic Texts Society, (as well as graffiti of an Albanian woman) and a fascimille of the EWGibb Society: things of benefit, gifts from One.

A week ago or so, when i was in Masakin Birzeh with Khaled, i went on a run as the sun rose, arcing over onto jasmine and bougenvillea, the red earth of semi-barren mountains, the minarets of Ibrahim al-Khalil. And i came across a poignant scene: a single pigeon, silent on a black guard-rail, beyond which ran a stream of sewage and sprawled houses made of metal sheeting.
Today, again, i walked through part of the Souq al-Hamadiyyeh, passing hundreds of people, thousands of people (the thought: that a few weeks ago i lived in the relative wilderness.), the Oulde City in legacyish glory.
i returned today exhausted, drained, yesterday of emotion, parasympathetic impulse, and today of physical, the sweltering sun and no solid food. The banana i had? It was the best banana i have had for months. The fruit of Damascus is the silk of the Milkwood river. (Ph-R-D in the Frankfurt Flughafen: "no offence to Arabs, but their food sucks"--i amn't agreeing yet.)

i tried searching radio frequencies for RadioSAWA, but couldn't find it. Possibly the radio--it were ancientish.

Zacharia left two weeks ago. Khaled: "don't worry akhi, life is hard."

After i arrived--i realize, i was hit by a sort of culture shock, not that i was consciously expecting anything different, but that this culture shock were in reverse: that it were not because it were so different than Canadada/the West in general, but that there was so much overlap: this is what struck me.

By now--i've filled my postkarte-quota, i've set many things in place, this is the verge of the cliff of the silent sea: remember me in du'a, as here begins the true test. A sense of quiet, but whether this is true appreciation or the eye of the maelstrom remains to be seen.

Wasalam./