Tololy's Box

Lists, Lists

Whenever I find myself in the unpleasant position of having to make a big decision, the kind that determines major steps in my life, I make lists. I discovered this technique when I was 16 and at the first real crossroads in my life: determining which way to go in high school; the literary stream or the scientific stream.

My upbringing didn’t prepare me for either, really. I always thought that was because I never went to any summer camps largely because my parents couldn’t afford to send me to any, and also because they never bought into the idea in the first place. I am not sure that argument makes any sense now. I loved physics and biology equally as I loved Arabic and English. I hated math and chemistry as much as I resented geography. It was a tough call. So I made my first list.

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Status Quo

Now that I am unemployed, I really should devote more time to writing, maybe even blogging. But as with everything else, I am a creature of whimsy. There are no guarantees that I will do what I say or express what I do unless, I suppose, someone’s life depended on it. I doubt you will attach your life to the words of this insignificant, whimsical blogger. You’d be dead by now.

The Race

In my race against the clock (or calendar), I’ve put myself in a state of mind which is exhausting to maintain. Since I will be leaving, and since I have a tower of unread books tucked safely away from dust and humidity in my closets and bookcase, I decided that I must read as many as possible before my departure.

It’s a sort of pleasurable pain, if you will, with the pleasure outweighing the pain by folds. The pain itself is minimal (headaches, stress, continuous calculation of time left, sometimes a tinge of boredom) but the pleasure is immeasurable, acquiring almost physical qualities. The sensation caused by the rapid expansion of my horizon (whatever that is) and the way I can feel my knowledge stretching is second to none. It’s beautiful.

I suppose if this wasn’t a race I’d have been lethargic at some level, I wouldn’t be exactly racing against time but using it. I am not sure which scenario is better, but given the circumstances I don’t have much choice but to accept the race. On your mark, get set, go!

CEDAW: Pseudo Science & Pseudo Care

There’s a lot going on lately in Jordan and the Arab world to tempt one to claw their faces off. But I won’t claw my face off, because I obviously need it.

It seems to me that there is a growing tendency for Jordanian conservatives to pose as pseudo-scientists of late, and this is most evident in their refusal of the CEDAW (Convention for the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women) which, interestingly enough, was not even signed within the last decade (signed in 1992) and was ratified in 2007. The uproar caused by the country’s recent lifting of its reservations on one of the three articles it originally objected to has been quite telling. It sort of opened Pandora’s Box of Medieval retardedness.

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Fixation : Validation

My waiting is over. The taxing days of holding my breath, keeping my plans secret, humoring distant possibilities are over. Gone, at least for now.

I was awarded a full PhD studentship by a top UK university and now I embark on a wholly new adventure. I am set to receive my MA degree in August, and to leave Jordan early October. I will be doing a PhD in Women’s Studies– fancy that!

The minute I read that email my life changed. Nobody can now tell me I cannot and will not be able to expand my horizons, for now I am mistress of my own destiny. I had received a partial scholarship from the same university last month but it wasn’t enough to give me peace of mind and I burned my brains out trying to figure out a way to meet my prospective financial needs. I also received offers of scholarships from a Jordanian university but wasn’t at all keen to take them up because they would mean I will put years of my life as unwilling hostages to my sponsors.

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Waiting for Godot

It’s been almost a month since I last wrote here. I’ve been mainly microblogging on Twitter, but I found that Twitter lacks depth. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fun, but it’s also superficial. It’s like a cheap hooker when you want a passionate, loyal companion.

The title of the post says it all. Waiting has been the key feature of my days this past month. I have been increasingly busy starting March and the ball just kept rolling. Right now, I am typing this as I wait for my lecture to start. Earlier in the morning I interviewed someone for work, then had lunch with a friend, and now this. Today has been OK, not too busy compared to my typical days recently.

And the state of being busy excites me. It excites me because it makes time move quicker, but very soon this excitement turns into fear. Time moves too fast for me to understand it. I’ve always had this problem and I’ve said it over and over again in this blog: I don’t understand the passage of time. As I consume time doing things, I do not get the chance to fully absorb them or appreciate them, and then I find that they become part of the past. It’s this fleeting nature of things and time that makes me a skeptic. How can I know anything for sure when I do not fully grasp what I do, or what is done to me?

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Twitter

Since I can’t find the time or the energy or the desire to blog much anymore, I decided to give microblogging a shot. I’ve always been against it, sillifying it whenever I can, but as with other trends I sillify, I end up trying them anyway.

I added a Twitter widget to The Box, it’s at the bottom of the right column. This will be where I post my rubbish and other vital stuff you absolutely need for your spiritual and intellectual well-being. I imagine it will mostly be trivia, the kind I don’t need to tell and you don’t need to know, but is totally publishable just because I have a Twitter account.

What actually motivated me to start tweeting is this following mockumentary about Flutter, the new Twitter. It’s hilarious in a creepy realistic kind of way, because I can definitely see something like the stuff in the video happening in reality. I mean let’s face it, 140 characters is a lot of talk and nobody has the time for vowels any longer. Watch this, it’s good:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BeLZCy-_m3s&hl=en&fs=1]

HERE’S A LINK TO MY TWITTER. CLICK ME! …or just check the right column in this blog. I should totally drop my caps, and stop saying totally.

Sketchy

Draft from March 29th:

I walked into the bookshop last night to prove a point. A couple of points actually. A-current fuel prices are making me the queen of mobility. B-I’m committed to buying the book I’m required to buy for class.

What do you mean it’s “censored?” You have The Lion of Jordan and you don’t have The Israel Lobby and U.S. Foreign Policy?

I ended up buying The Lion of Jordan even though I am not a fan of reading about the ruling family. Figured my father might enjoy it, at any rate, it makes for a good addition to my small library. It’s way down on my reading list though, right at the bottom.

I forgot where I parked my car. I went to the wrong level and imagined that my Havana got stolen. Then it occurred to me, I should have washed her at least. I spent a solid five minutes running around in circles, panicking, imagining life without my car, before realizing that I parked somewhere else. I found her at last. Sweet reunion with my mechanical companion.

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Inside Out

Some guy I knew briefly a couple of years ago sent me Bryan Adams’ song “Inside Out” at one point in time and, in the folly of youth, I got excited. I thought the man really wanted to know who I was; my darkest hour, my hardest fight.

Do we ever really know the people around us? Do we ever know who our partners are? Yes, surely we know how they talk and how they behave, but that is only true for what they choose to reveal to us. We know only that much, and nothing else.

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Dreams Derailed

March 8th was International Women’s Day, and I remained mum.
March 10th was the 6th tragiversary of my aunt’s death, and I forgot.
March 12th was the 2nd blog about Jordan day, and I didn’t participate.

While attending a seminar last summer at the Socialist Thought Forum, about women and the Left, I was genuinely captivated by the eloquence of the speaker — a Palestinian activist. She knew her stuff and she spoke so well that I almost couldn’t breathe. I had found it, I knew I had found it even though I didn’t know what it was.

In the Q&A session that followed, a man with side parted hair stood up. He demanded to know if women had a “special condition” that would call for “special treatment.” The man with side parted hair was wearing a white shirt and grey pants, he had grayish hair even though he was young. He was clearly emotional as he made his case against the separation of man and woman, his arms moving restlessly and his voice a tad louder than necessary.

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