Mornings

My magazine mornings.

Life is about the simple pleasures, like having a leisurely breakfast on a weekday morning, accompanied by some reading and birds chirping; He reads The Economist, whilst I have a go at Fortune.

Beginners

Early Sunday morning; Boxing Day.

I like my early morning barefoot walks in the garden. I like the feel of the grass on my bare soles and the coolness of the morning; If I'm lucky, a light breeze keeps me company. My favourite bit of the walk is watching the sun shine through the thicket of bamboo, the light brilliant and luminous green reviving all that was a moment ago dark. To me, this truly marks the start of a new day; a new beginning.

Carnations

These are carnations too...

and their flowers now adorn a tall crystal vase on the dining table. These stems will be chucked away as soon as the photo is taken because when we think of carnations, we think of bright beautiful flowers only. I can't help but think that this is a reflection of the Christmas season; reflective of us picking and choosing the nice bits and disregarding the not so pretty bits. As I bemoan every year, there must be more to Christmas than just the flowers and the pretty bits; alas there is a bit of stalk to it all. I would like to think that the season for giving entails more than just giving to friends and family but also giving to those who are in need. Things need to be viewed in totality and we pick and choose, often to our detriment. But perhaps that is another topic for another post. On the eve of Christmas, here's wishing all of you a very Merry Christmas!

Conversation

Talk, down; Aleppo.

When I travel, I always wonder whether the locals have to same conversation as we do back home. Do they ask the same question? Do they exchange the same pleasantries? Do they make the same small talk? Except all in a different language. Is their conversation simply generic or a reflection of their environment, complex, varied, frazzled? Do they also whisper the same words that we do, when there is no one around?

Chairs

Have a seat or two; Tripoli.

I've always had a soft spot for chairs. If I had the space, I'm sure that I would be the Mia Farrow of chairs, adopting all the abandoned chairs that I come across. Being a bit of a word geek or an amateur etymologist, depending on how you look at it, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the word "Chair" has its origins in 13 century French "Chaiere" which in turn is rooted in the Latin word "Cathedra" or "seat". What a noble heritage for such a humble implement. I think the chair is often taken for granted, somewhat like the use of a cliche; chided for being too generic but too readily reached for when in need.

"The chair is a very difficult object. Everyone who has tried to make one knows that. There are endless possibilities and many problems - the chair has to be light, it has to be strong, it has to be comfortable. It is almost easier to build a skyscraper than a chair."
~Mies van der Rohe

Ava

Take the wheel...

And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
~ T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

Palmyra

7am shadows and a pile of rocks.

There are days where I doubt that I was ever there. There are days where the memory of climbing over the rocks, dusting away the sand from the columns, deciphering the ancient Latin and watching the landscape change with the rising sun seem so distant and surreal. A fleeting memory that refuses to settle. Is this what time does? Vainly, I try to make permanent my presence, like Zenobia and Rome before me; all failing miserably.

Pew

So I sit and I pray.

Life was a lot simpler to keep.
when a night's sleep began with
'Now I lay me down to sleep...'

Kwele

Happiness; there's no masking it.

Picasso said that all children are born an artist, the trouble is remaining an artist as we grow up. And it is this naivety and spontaneity from which beautiful art springs forth; clearly, it is a feeling rather than a cerebral process. But the same can be said for other beautiful things in life; like moments.

Shadows

Layers in alleys; Old Damascus.

A city is probably as complex as its inhabitants, often consisting of many layers and numerous passages. Sometimes, we lose ourselves, but it is not a sin to lose your way. Just make sure you follow the light, home.

Remember

I Remember Me

There are not enough faces. Your own gapes back
at you on someone else, but paler, then the moment
when you see the next one and forget yourself.

It must be dreams that make us different, must be
private cells inside a common skull.
One has the other's look and has another memory.

Despair stares out from tube-trains at itself
running on the platform for the closing door. Everyone
you meet is telling wordless barefaced truths.

Sometimes the crowd yields one you put a name to,
snapping fiction into fact. Mostly your lover passes
in the rain and does not know you when you speak.
~Carol Ann Duffy

China

Well fed and contented.

The weekend whizzed by too quickly again but what a weekend it was. Good food and good company. What more can one ask for.

Sihouette

Silhouette; Liselotte and the Chouf.

Lise was our guide for the little hike that we made in the Chouf Mountain range in Lebanon. Do you know what it is like raising your children amidst a civil war, bringing them to school in between bombs and bullets, living without constant water, electricity or security? How about bringing your children up through all of that and then losing one of them to a freak car accident? Lise's daughter died in a car accident last year, many years after the ceasefire. After that, you become like a shadow, a shade of your formal self. I like this photo because I think it has to some extent captured this feeling. Stories like Lise's makes you ponder about the frailty of life. Why do people close to us die? Perhaps they die so that we won't continue living our lives in vain. Perhaps.

More photos here