Regrets. There’s nothing worse to endure. The worst regrets emerge from the failure to follow the heart — to go against it.
Continue reading “Broken by Heart”Broken by Heart
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House of Salted Caramel
Christoph was a terrible driver. I only drove with him once, and he almost crashed us. Not long after that, he did crash the same car, a cube-like Skoda, and then bought himself another Skoda. He was so fond of the Czech automobile brand, which was acquired by the German Volkswagen Group in 1994. I always assumed his car choice was influenced by his roots.
Continue reading “House of Salted Caramel”my microcast
When we think of social media, the first thing that comes to our minds are the various electronic platforms that operate it. We associate it with services that range from MySpace to Twitter, and from Yahoo! to LinkedIn. Our understanding of social media is quite shallow. Yet, in fairness, the term ‘social media’ itself is rather vague. Which media isn’t social anyway? Some people like to call it ‘new media’, which is more accurate – today – but not tomorrow.
Continue reading “my microcast”I left Syria, but I brought Damascus with me
I’m back in Bamberg, where winter is warm, the streets are clean, and the air is fresh. There is a great degree of noise pollution here, though, because Bamberg is an industrialized city that has not yet learned how to properly informatize itself. Most people here have not reached a point where they struggle to record text without being interrupted. In fact, they are not that interested in encoding their own content, despite the insane tax-money that goes to their free education. Once they start using their keyboards, they’d realize how severe noise pollution is in their city.
Continue reading “I left Syria, but I brought Damascus with me”The Last Damascene with a Keyboard
Two days after my arrival in Damascus, I woke up depressed, unable to imagine that I had to spend three more weeks in this zombie city. I did my bed, and sat on it for a moment, unmotivated to do anything. And then I saw my reflection in my mother’s big dusty mirror. The miserable way I looked inspired me to snap a picture. That experience somehow energized me to get up and have a busy week.
Continue reading “The Last Damascene with a Keyboard”A Baathist Legacy
It hasn’t been easy to be at home with my mother again after all this long. This is the fourth time I see her since I moved to Europe in early 2015. My mother is the same every time we meet, yet she’s changed a lot. Some things never change about people, but they age. The war in Syria has made most of us age faster. Mom is now 70, although she looks more like 80. It broke my heart to see how old she’s grown since I last saw her two years ago.
Continue reading “A Baathist Legacy”
Damascus Diary 