Up Too Late: An Endless Search for Mr.Right & Other Important Things in Life

I arrived in Ottawa at 9:30 pm on a Friday night and rushed to the first shuttle I saw at the airport, to make my way to the Mariott in the Market, the hotel I was told I'd be staying in. I got there, only to find out I was miles away, staying in another Mariott near Parliament Hill, on Kent St. I got a cab and quickly made my way to the hotel, rushed to my room,which I was sharing with a guy from Alberta, had a shower, got in bed [super-comfy, they must have just changed them] and slept for 8.5 hours.

The next day was rainy and muggy, a perfect day for a meeting, which lasted all day. In it were some of my favourite people from the organization I volunteer with, so it went pretty smoothly. I told Gina, whom I met for dinner later on at a Moroccan where we all decided to go, where Renee also made it, that I wasn't overly fond of a certain someone as I thought the person was very self-involved. I thought about it later on and decided it was just a spite decision, I think partly contributed by a misunderstand I had had with the person...

Before I made it to the resto, I checked out the Ottawa Turkish Festival, which was great...I laughed as I observed a man dressed in black, looking like a con man, sing traditional Turkish songs. It was remarkable to notice the number of veiled Turkish women in the fair, selling food, items, or enjoying the concert. I could swear I had seen fewer head-covered women in Istanbul two years ago than I saw in Ottawa on Saturday. I bought a Beşiktaş soccer team t-shirt for me and a Fenerbahçe one for my brother.

A funny dessert combination that was popular at the Kasbah, the Moroccan restaurant we dined at, was one of Moroccan mint tea and crème caramel. We had a big photo session, as it usually happens with talented and willing photomodels I come across.

Following the fun evening at the Kasbah, I didn't join Renee and the crowd in going to the back deck of her appartment, but instead lured Gina into coming to Parliament Hill with me for a walk behind the building to see the stray cats. It is rather remarkable, and it only came to mind after Gina pointed it out, that we have a shelter for stray cats on the grounds of one of the most important government buildings in the country.

The evening was beautiful and though we had missed a fireworks show that had happened five minutes before we had gotten to the grounds of the Parliament, we enjoyed the spooky light show that came about on the towers of Parliament Hill, where fog-like smoke caused by the fireworks made me want to sit down and enjoy the view...

Gina and I shared our frustrations and also some excitement as we walked around downtown Ottawa. We talked about things I would probably not discuss with anyone else, matters of philosophic and perhaps moral nature that I would find most people would have trouble understanding. What is always strange for me, though, is the fact that I use things I do, films I see, songs I hear, as channels to show my thoughts and feelings, and that's what happened when she and I talked about Armin, a Bosnian film about an overprotective father and his son, dealing with the new generation of Bosnian war survivors who wish to be identified with Bosnian and not victim.

We ended up back at Renee's deck after looking for it a good five minutes until a kind lady in a wheelchair opened the door to Renee's apartment building. We joined a crowd of semi-intoxicated young people who told politically incorrect jokes that didn't overly appeal to me, and I judged, based on Gina's facial expressions, her neither. They were mostly told by my Albertan roomie, who said that "the Chinese will eat anything", then, having just realized what he said, tried to correct it by saying they were resourceful and would never die out of hunger because they will make anything edible, which was just another generalization. I thought I'd call it a night, since Gina said she'd leave and Renee looked like she was well-settled with the crowd, joking and chatting away...

I didn't get a chance to have gelati with her this past weekend, though she said a couple of days ago she wanted us to go out for some. We'll have to go for beaver tails the next time I find myself in Ottawa, probably in October or November. That is, if Renee doesn't find another job that takes her around the world...

Labels: Friday, friends, ottawa, St.John's

Ever since we met, Adam has repeatedly been asking me if I'm okay, partly because he doesn't know how to react to my sighs or strange ellipses while chatting, or just the silence surrounding our conversations sometimes. His concern is that I am too private and hold too many secrets about myself.

While I was in Montreal, Bee was concerned that it was unhealthy for me to hide my sadness/anger and conceal it with a serious, "I'm strong enough" attitude.

During all of May, Giles, one of my good friends, was afraid that I was in a state of depression. He thought it was unusual for me to stay home for so long [two weeks] without going out.

I wondered what was happening to me when I first moved back to St.John's. I was so glad to be home, yet so many unknowns were hovering over my head that I couldn't stabilize and enjoy the savage Newfoundland nature.

The stress of having to find a summer job, the worry of making sure my mom would make it safely to Kosova, my concerns about her health [diabetes, heart disease, high cholesterol], my brother's cochlear implant prospects, the likelihood of cochlear implants helping his hearing and thus his independence [and not dependence on me and my mother], his loneliness in St.John's, my student loan [only four months, but still something bothering me], my other brother's return to a Kosova where 60% of the population is still unemployed, my ever-delayed draft of a non-fiction work, my long "to-do" list, my worries about my post-graduation studies, whether I will do well on the LSAT, whether I'll get a driver's license this year [which I need, if we ever move out of the province], whether my long distance attempt at dating would work, whether I would get voted in for a leadership structure I hoped to join at the end of May...These all added to my frustrations in May and months later, many of them still are in my mind.

As Giles would have said in his pseudo-Freudian theory, I am joining my brother in painting the interior of our home, in hopes of cleaning up my own struggles and worries.

If I started telling those around me about my worries and about my inner feelings, I would only make it more difficult for them. I often feel like I feel worse after going through my worries and concerns with someone than when I don't mention them to anyone.

I grew up witnessing events around me that would have shocked any one of my friends here. I have grown up to live with my worries and deep concerns, to deal with them in my own ways, in exchange for the inquisitive and interrogating looks I would otherwise get.

As I walked with Gina around the Parliament buildings last night, I told her about a Bosnian-Croatian-German film production I had recently seen, a film titled Armin. She was deep in thought and slightly worried about her own priorities and issues, but she didn't talk about them too much and I didn't want to bother her by asking too much. I talked with her about the message of Armin. I mentioned that I was impressed by the film's message about a boy who, 12 years after the Bosnian war, wishes to move on and wants to be seen as a victim of the war no more.

Goethe, the most well-known German writer of all times [along with Schiller, wrote a novel that touched me deeply when I first read it three years ago. The Sorrows of Young Werther is a short novel about the inner struggle between that which we are and that which others, namely the society, would like us to be. It struck a cord in me in a similar way that Thomas Mann's Tonio Kröger did. Mann's novel dealt with a man who went through a lifelong struggle of the main character witnessing events around him and acting as a sponge of emotions being felt around him, only to reflect those in his work, resulting in a man who eventually finds himself in depression, as a result of all the emotion and passion he feels.

To answer Giles's concerns, I have sad days, especially when I sit down and while writing, recall days of my childhood. I am saddened by things that most people wouldn't flinch at, things like sad songs bring me to tears, sad movies make me a wreck. It's part of me.

My hope is in the future, in looking forward to the day when I'll look back at the friends and events, things that gave me hope to accomplish something that there was little likelihood to do. Every day I look back at the past, I see the struggles my family went through and in ways, continues to go through. These struggles shape me, just like the accomplishments I made in the past with the help of my friends.

I have had to deal with inner questions like if I was lacking in self-esteem or self-confidence, only to realize that I have no problems with my self-esteem. In fact, as my next paragraph shows, I just may have too much of it.

Something completely irrelevant to this post but important to me was the realization this afternoon that I never use the word hate. It came under my attention as I read an article on Capital Xtra! about the extent of hate in today's world and how it impacts people.

I'm not depressed, nor am I a secretive person.

I am the way I am for a reason and those who know me well understand those reasons.

I am listening to Malajube - Montreal -40°C.

P.S: This is not a justification of my personality. It's a reaction, an expression of my character that I've yearned to write about for years.

Labels: airport, ottawa, problems, sad

It was 16:45=4:45 pm when I realized that, having just made my way to the St.John's airport, my flight would be delayed by 30 minutes. Partly stressing because I had with me a Kadare novel that I had almost finished reading and partly because the duty-free shop,aka the magazine store was closed and I couldn't get the new GQ, I resorted to opening my laptop and reading, for the second time, some of the meeting documents I was to read for a mini-meeting of 6-7 fellow activists from across the country.

I had only come to the second page of the first document when a familiar face got my attention: Brett, a dear old friend from St.John's who had similarly found himself in Montreal at the same time as I had, was coming toward me.

I met Brett six years ago when, his uncle, a lawyer, had hired me as an interpreter for some refugee claimants who needed some documents translated. It was Christmas time and I, after meeting one of my first crushes since my arrival in Canada, had fallen for Brett. That day, I didn't ask him anything about his sexuality and neither did he. I wouldn't see him for another year.

I couldn't wait until the next year. I went to his uncle's X-mas party once again and he was there, though slightly inattentive, lacking in excitement, anti-social even. He seemed disinterested, which made me wonder why he was that way, whether I had said something wrong, whether in fact, my gaydar was right in putting this Irish descendant on the list of the double-male sandwiches.

His sister Mariah was kind enough to introduce herself and keep me company for the rest of the evening. As I left, I looked for him so I'd say good night. I went to one of the bedrooms where he and a few of my schoolfriends were chatting away. On my way out of the door, I hear him calling out my name. He ran down the stairs and asked if I was free anytime soon for us to go out for tea or coffee.

We went out, and I found out my guess was right, that indeed, this son of the newfound land was a rainbow hugger.During our date, I found out my newfound friend smoked grass and did some heavy drugs at one point in his life, had made six porn films, hadn't been in a monogamous relationship before but looked up to one in the future, if one did show up on the horizon. None of these points that Brett had so honestly pointed out, made me feel attracted to him. In fact, if anything, they made me feel physically disconnected from the guy I had so long thought I was attracted to.

Various things, mostly clashes in values came in the way of our second date. Brett was offended to hear that I would say no to him. This was the first time anyone had turned him down. I felt sad for weeks, not knowing what to do about the guy I had for so long wanted to date and then turned down on the first date.

I had seen Brett in Montreal, where he got his life together and started Mideast Studies and Arabic...I saw him here and there, on the street or a dance bar, but somehow, I always thought about whether or not he had forgotten this moment in our lives...and whether he got over the fact that I judged him and based my decision not to go out with him on the fact that he kept no secrets from me. Somehow, I still do think about these questions, every time I see him.

Seeing Brett at the airport brought all of the emotions back. Surprising, but at that point of the day, I couldn't have been happier to see him.

He had lost weight, still looked straight at me with his blue eyes and tried to look serious. The only change was how calm he had become. Brett always had anger issues, but seeing him on Friday was proof to me that people can change. He had little luggage and, aside from Courrier International, only carried a small bag and a shoulder man-purse.

He was headed to Middle East, Palestine and Israel, in fact, aside from Lebanon, Jordan and Syria, which he wants to visit simultaneously, all during his six-week break before going back to school in Montreal in the fall. There were many things that had happened in his life since I had last seen him, including a switch from an Israeli boyfriend to a Palestinian one that he had met in Montreal and had now left in St.John's. He looked self-confident, ready to embark on his new adventure, excited that he would finally see a part of the world he was so close to via his boyfriends.

We talked for almost two and a half hours, mostly about world issues and conflicts and also about Kosova, the future of the region, etc. A woman behind us complained, saying we were too noisy. We didn't really get any quieter.

I was moved to see Brett reading Courrier International, an issue on Kosova at that, which he said he picked up, as he wanted to keep in touch with the situation there now.

Somehow, despite my happiness to see him and the fact that I felt like I had been with Brett all my life, I could not see Brett as anything other than a friend. I was honestly glad that he had gone through a transformation I never thought he'd manage to go through. I say this because he didn't feel comfortable being who he had become five years ago, a drug addict forced to resort to any means just so he could get his fix.

We parted ways in Montreal, where he got to his connection to Toronto, the place he was going to stay in for a week and then make his way to the final destination, whichever middle Eastern country that was.

As we said our goodbyes, I hugged him and wished him all the best.

I felt like telling him I was proud of him and the strength he had had to go through a world of changes, including a drug rehab program, but once again, risking being misunderstood, I kept my thoughts to myself.

I didn't want to make our friendship any more awkward than it already had been in the past.

I turned my iPod on at the airport and listened to Adelina Thaqi's S'Mundem Më [Real Media File].

Labels: airport, date, friends, Montreal, St.John's

I have been worrying about miscellaneous personal matters in the last few days and have completely ignored what is happening around the world, only to find out today that the six medics sentenced to death by Libyan authorities only two weeks ago, for supposedly infecting 438 children in a hospital in Libya through blood transfusions workers were finally released.

This may sound strange, but for an hour, I felt relieved and in a sense, as pleased as some Bulgarians and Palestinians must have been to hear that their compatriots were flying back to their homeland, for the first time since 1999, when the group of six was arrested.

I'd been thinking about the six for a while, as they had gone to Libya to help people in need and probably find some work to support their families. Bulgaria in 1999 was a country still recovering from the communist past and migration and unemployment were just two of the problems the country was going through. Eight years later, Bulgarians enjoy a European Union membership.

Somewhere down the line, the medics had become victims, some say, of a system gone awry which wanted to use them as scapegoats for a problem that someone else had created, a problem that is spread nationwide and not limited to the Benghazi hospital, where the initial infections were reported.

I was translating for a family doctor today who is originally from Libya. He said to the patient I was translating for that he was going on vacation for a month to Libya. As I left his office, I mentioned to him about the case of the freed medics [after the Bulgarian government paid $1 million/victim = $438 million to the Libyan authorities] and how big a news item it was today.

Meanwhile, I continued to think about the medics' families and how glad they must have been to have their husbands, fathers, daughters, come back home.

The doctor wasn't so moved by it all. He shrugged, said he didn't care and added that he doesn't really follow the news.

Photo credit: [left] Reuters -Nikolay Doychinovn / [right] Campaign to Free The Six Medics in Libya

Labels: amnesty international, Bulgaria, human rights, Libya

Those that know me well knew that a couple of years ago, I used to watch Amelie every second Saturday of the month. I still watch the film every now and then and Yann Tiersen's incredible soundtrack can cheer me up and sadden me anytime, no matter what mood I'm in (he recently organized a youth film festival in Gaza to an audience of 10.000, which made me an even bigger fan of his...a distraction from the daily life is what those youth so desperately need).

This last week, I saw 에스다이어리, or S.Diary, a 2004-produced South-Korean film about a young woman whose thirst for reciprocated love is never quenched, despite her rather lengthy search. The story begins when Jini (Kim Sun-a) receives a journal from her mother, who thinks that now that her daughter is of age to date other boys, she should write about them in her journal. The misfortunes and happy times, love- and sadness- filled moments that Jini goes through as she is dumped repeatedly by the men who feel overwhelmed by her love is touching, sad and so realistic.

To get some satisfaction, Jini devises a plan to get back at her ex-boyfriends. What I liked most about S.Diary was that in the end, despite a marvelous plan that works out to perfection, Jini discovers that it isn't revenge she is after, but love and that in a unique way, every one of her former suitors loved her. This sudden "A-ha!" moment comes just before the credits roll, and I just loved the fact that so much could be said in one short scene...

Today, as I showed the town to a friend visiting from Saskatchewan, I had a chance to think about the storyline, especially since Jo and I were in the car with Jan and Cilian, a couple that broke it off two weeks ago, but are still still trying to remain friends. They had three major fights throughout the day, called each other terrible names, to the extent that Jo and I felt that we were perhaps in the wrong place at the wrong time.

S.Diary has become my new Amelie.

Labels: movies

My brother hid my laptop today to cause me hell for beating him yesterday in our 3-hour, around-the-town bike race.

It's terrible, but instead of feeling shocked and terrified that someone would steal my laptop [which was my first thought when I noticed my laptop was missing from my desk], I was relieved for a moment that I could now buy a new one.

I'm such a consumer...

Labels: funny, St.John's

I read an interesting article this morning on the New York Times website about a panel of judges from the US Federal Appeals Court decision to dismiss wiretapping as damaging to certain groups and individuals. The American Civil Liberties Union, which,in recent years, has become synonymous with major human rights organizations for calling on the closing of Guantanamo Bay and for calling on the protection of the rights of Muslim Americans, has sadly lost the challenge.

It is important to emphasize that the court today did not uphold the legality of the government’s warrantless surveillance activity. Indeed, the only judge to discuss the merits clearly and unequivocally declared that the warrantless surveillance was unlawful.

ACLU Legal Director Steven R. Shapiro

On another note, Patrick Stewart speaks about domestic violence in his family and why he stands for Amnesty's "Stop Violence Against Women" campaign. When my grandfather died, I was about 6-7. I used to see Patrick Stewart as my new granddad. See the video below:



I was at my friend Ryan's photo exhibit a couple of days ago when I first heard some of the music by the British musician, producer and composer, Nitin Sawhney. Ever since, I've been hooked to his music... Below are three of my Sawhney favourites:

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Mausan


Koyal (Songbird)

Sunset [Remix]

Labels: american civil liberties union, amnesty international, arabic music, favourite music, human rights

Princess Ivana's birthday celebrations started on Sunday night, Canada Day. We headed out to George Street, which had lots of guys in the Navy uniforms looking around for someone and lots of drunk men and women performing their zombie routine of crawling and mumbling Gibberish words... we tried five bars before coming to the conclusion that we had missed the crazy partying by about 24 hours, so we thought we could head out to the Zone , one of the only two gay bars in town, as there is always something happening there.

We entered, only to realize everyone was looking at everyone else and no one was dancing. After about 30 minutes of dancing with Ivana and Jason and some other guys, we called it a night...Jason invited us to a barbecue he's having tonight.

The birthday dinner on Tuesday turned out to be just ok. I thought that trying a new steakhouse in town AND getting together with two of my closest friends [and another friend from Kosovo, Zana] would make the difference, but

a-Ivana showed up 30 minutes late and even caused the waitresses to question me whether I really had three other invitees for the reserved table or whether I just needed the extra space;

b-Zana never showed up.She had some sort of trouble getting to the resto.
c-My prime rib was nothing special.
d-Julie got dessert all over her white jacket.

The Princess, Zana, David, Andrew, Julie, myself and some other friends are going dancing again tonight.

Labels: birthday, friends, St.John's

I spent my Canada Day working. I was registering new citizens prior to their ceremony, where they pledged their allegiance to our glamorous Head of State.

I got emotional when two little girls who had been adopted from China four years earlier received their citizenship, while their parents tried to document every second of their moment on stage. Equally emotional was the flow of families from Ireland, USA, Sri Lanka, Chile, Ecuador, all proud to be Canadians, to the point that while one of the heads of families from Sri Lanka was on stage getting his citizenship certificate and a bag of Canadian propaganda goodies such as "my Citizenship keepsake book" and various Canada pins, a Canada flag,etc., he shouted out how happy he was to call Canada his home.

I could sympathize with him in many ways. A couple of years earlier, I gave a speech stating how proud I was to finally be Canadian. I still am, though I wonder how much longer will it be before I start hiding my maple leaf when I travel. Under the current government, that time may be very soon. In fact, it may be just now.

We were in the middle of the woods, 2.5 hours away from anything close to a major city, yet somehow, I didn't feel like I had to go home. This is home and once again, on Canada Day, I remember the feeling of realization that my travel documents wouldn't say "stateless" anymore, but rather the citizen of a country that I admire.

I do, however, find the constant "Canada is the best place to live in the world" and "According to the UN, we are the biggest recipient of the world's refugees, when it comes to the developed world" slightly egotistic and not cool at all.

That being said, seeing the red maple leaf on tattoos, paper flags, posters, displays, my name tag, etc. gave me enough Canadianism that I have enough to share for the rest of the year.

Oh, and I got a few pictures of the RCMP guys...Those slacks are just far too funny, but I still love them :). I love that we have a traditional national police force uniform based on semi-cowboy hats and wide polo slacks. Gucci and Armani would probably say no...I can't imagine Italian police wanting to wear our gear. After all, Italian police does wear Armani.

Labels: Canada, Canada Day, St.John's