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Archive for September, 2008

Al-Daya: Dalal & Domesticity

The month is coming to an end, and as promised in a comment on my previous post on Fitha, this one goes to Hayat Al-Fahad’s Al-Daya.

What happened to Dalal (Mona Shaddad)? Domesticity changed her from a caring, compassionate, and smart woman to an old-fashioned jealous wife whose fear of losing her husband to another woman makes her cruel to the little girl she raised as her own daughter.

A Little synopsis for those of you who don’t watch the show:

While Moza’s husband was at sea, she was raped and died soon after childbirth (performed by none other than our Daya Hayat Al-Fahad in complete secrecy. This is pre-oil Kuwait. A woman pregnant after being raped finds it impossible to return to her husband’s house, or so the show argues). This benevolent Daya brings the baby girl to be raised by Dalal, Moza’s unmarried (as of yet), educated (as educated as a woman can get in those times), totally compassionate and intelligent sister. Dalal, loving and caring, cares for Moza’s baby and soon marries Moza’s husband in order not to allow a strange woman to raise her dead daughter’s children.

All well so far. But as soon as Moza’s baby girl grows up, Dalal turns into this wicked stepmother image, complete with a wicked stepsister.

What happened to Dalal? Or rather, what is the show telling us? That women’s compassion and intellect die when they become ‘domesticated’? I doubt that’s the message meant. But this is definitely what I’m getting out of this show. šŸ™‚

I read a book a while back. Midwives for Chris Bohjalian. A midwife performing a C-section kills the mother by mistake and the midwive’s obstetrician daughter revisits the story and the trial. An interesting book in terms of the questions it poses, but the writing didn’t capture me that much. Worth a read nonetheless. It was interesting how the daughter indirectly justifies her choice of a traditional career as an obstetrician opposed to her mother’s strong belief in the necessity of home-birth through a midwife.

Midwives are interesting people. At least in the books I read. I never met a real one.

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Eat, Pray, LOVE


Today I celebrate.

I choose to begin my new blog today with Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert mainly because today marks my own celebration of love and this book attempts to conclude with finding love, a place where spirituality wins when the mind steps aside to allow love to dominate. The thought is a constant one for me lately. (Check my previous post on Always and Forever). But maybe also because it’s Ramadan and the three activities are in the Ramadani spirit ☺ (if you allow yourself to consider the love here as love of god)

Don’t be fooled by my choice though. Spirituality never gets to me. It’s not only lack of faith. My mind just quickly races to try to find logic whenever my ā€˜spirit’ even attempts to transcend. The book was chosen by a group member, and accepted by me because of the lack of books in Kuwaiti bookshops. I think the Italian setting of the first chapter, devoted to eating and fountains, must’ve been the bait.

I don’t mind spirituality. I actually applaud people who can achieve it. But I always have this smirk when reading or hearing of people’s experiences with this world beyond our physical and rational reach. It’s not mockery exactly. Ok maybe it’s close to mockery. ā€˜Suckers’ is the word that my mind races to use, but that same mind checks itself because, after all, being judgmental isn’t a vice I willingly allow. This is an activity that Gilbert does a lot in her book: conversing with her brain. She actually picks up her notebook and writes things like ā€œhelp me pleaseā€ and after a pause, the notebook writes back ā€œI am here for you and I love you.ā€ This is no Ouigi Board stuff. She realizes that it is her own self that is telling her to persevere and that she is consciously writing those words with her own hands. But the whole schizophrenic behavior that manifests itself in her act of writing as an attempt to reach out to the strength that is within her … it’s just another one of those things that invite that smirk.

I didn’t mind the first part that is set in Italy. I mean who in their right mind would mind Italy? She describes their fountains and their food and a little bit of their history. That wasn’t bad. But then when she moves to India I just find myself losing interest completely. She spends her days chanting a certain mantra and scrubbing the floor. The same mantra. The same floor. And this is supposed to be her path to God. If so, then it’s such a boring path. After that she goes to Indonesia, as she claims, to find some sort of balance. She finds love instead. Maybe that would’ve been expected. The book’s title already told me that the last stop after eating and praying is loving. But is that it? Is that what a woman’s search for everything (a subtitle found on the front cover) amount to? Finding the person you love? So we eat and pray in order to be lead to love? And not even the spiritual heavenly love which I would expect in a book or prayers, but earthly love? Not even love of oneself, but love of a man, when the journey itself was started as an attempt to cleanse herself from the negative vibes caused by a recent divorce from another man.

Skeptical as I am to how the book ends, I still see it as the best way to begin a new blog started on a day I celebrate love. I took part of her journey after all. I visited Italy. I ate their pizza. I loved their ice-cream. And I adored their fountains.

And I love.

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Adil is married 15 years, has two daughters, and a wife who epitomizes all that is perfect in a Kuwaiti wife: looks, motherly affection, devotion to husband’s family, and an amount of love that is not weathered by circumstances. The Adil meets Sahar. And Adil falls in love with Sahar. Sahar, pregnant and abandoned by a man who married her but never authenticated the papers (thus leaving her with a possible bastard child), and lacking in motherly affection (her mother is more attentive and caring for the mentally challenged daughter of her old employer than to her own daughter), finds herself, in the midst of this roller coaster, naturally clinging to a stranger’s affection, and loves Adil back.
So far not a bad plot line, in spite of the absurdly annoying acting of almost all characters, and in spite of the lack of insight into the human nature that results in this exchange of love, and in spite of the perfect goodness of Dalal (Adils’ wife) and the perfect evil of Faika (Huda Hussain, another story, another family).
But today the plot thickens. Now Adil’s brother Adnan (a pilot who has two daughters from two separate ex-wives, one of which international) discovers his brother’s infidelity. And Adnan, who up to this moment was portrayed as the drunk playboy who was almost willing to give up his daughters, is now attempting to steer Adil back to the path of righteousness by … can you guess? Trying to win Sahar’s heart in a challenge he put for his brother: If I don’t win Sahar within a week, I will personally facilitate your marriage to her. His certainty is bewildering. What is it saying about Sahar? That her love is fake and she can easily be won by any man? Or is it showing us viewers that Sahar is indeed a woman in distress, and as such, has been vultured upon by Adil who, finding himself in need of love, grabs at the easiest prey?

Pardon me, dear readers. I find myself drawn, in Ramadan, to the essential duty of viewing at lease one badly-written, worse-acted Kuwaiti show.

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More KU Grumble

As the school year approaches, KU deserves a dedication:

This one is found around Shuwaikh Campus, mainly by the entrance gates:
New Comers Club announcing “We are in your service”
In? As in they are indebted to the new comers? And then again, what kind of name is that? New Comers? Is it just me or is the title rather awkward?

And this next one is found in a book quickly becoming a favorite of mine:
This is just not right. Such desecration! Why claim to teach art when we can’t teach art? Why implement a new course “Literature and Arts” when the textbook ends up being mutilated like this? Poor Venus. The Goddess of Love deserves much better treatment.

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Always and Forever

Such beautiful concepts, as uplifting to the spirit as listening to ABBA songs. So romantically bewildering even when rationally impossible. Or maybe because they’re rationally impossible, they can be so romantically enchanting.

In preparing for my Literature and Art class, I am reading on Greek and Roman civilizations. Whereas the Greeks excelled because of their insistence on upholding the principle of reason (Plato’s ideal Republic that is built on reason alone has long been a central argument in my theory classes where most of the students are ‘romanticly’ inclined to love literature, a world of emotions and passion), the Romans excelled because they were like a sponge, ready to absorb other cultures and ideas, ready to be open for others to assimilated with. When you’re in love you allow the other person’s ideas to be part of you, to absorb you.

When you’re in love you throw reason out of the window, you throw Greek order out of the window (ironically Greece was the setting for that ABBA movie that tells us to throw away reason and succumb to passion.) And it is only when you’re willing to do that that love works. Rationalizing a concept as romantic (pun intended) as love would naturally lead to its destruction.

The Romans also excelled because they saw themselves as rulers of the entire world, an impossibility as history has continuously proven. And when you’re in love you believe in the impossible, also much like the Romans. You believe in Always and Forever, and you’re happy to believe in them, you want to believe in them, and you can’t help but believe in them.

I know I’m in love because I believe in the Always and Forever. And I’m not even a romantic person.

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